No pot luck!

I have on previous occasion pondered on the construction of individual identity. Personally it has been a very rewarding experience for me. I have borrowed a large slice from my family history, flavored it with my own experiences, lightly sauteed everything in the many interesting world influences around me, laced it with a heaped spoon full of love and humanity, a cup full of universal spirit and sympathy, and simmered all of it in a large cauldron - till it was quintessentially me.

And of course, I have always assumed that everybody else has gone through the same invigorating experience - and that life really is a pot luck where we share ourselves, learn from each other - every once in a while borrowing and further enriching our personal recipes.

So imagine my disappointment when I painfully realized that most people go through life with canned identities. Which is fine by me - even though the thought is as horrifying as canned food itself.

But people who choose canned identities have been bothering me of late. Having found fulfillment in their cans, they become incapable of thinking outside the can. As a result, they make assumptions about my identity and before I can protest, cook up a narrative about my life that couldn't be farther from the truth. Which is still OK, because who cares what they think, right? But no, they go the extra mile and make me defend this narrative that isn't even me. Or worse, they start taking decisions for me and try to apprehend my thoughts on a matter - because isn't that the what the ingredients on my cans say?? (like ensuring that my seat at the dinner table has the vegetarian tag on it - without ever having asked me if I was vegetarian!)

To put it simply, I find it oppressive. And unfortunately it brings out the worst in me. I try to defend myself, try to distance myself from this thrust upon assumed identity - try to explain ... and then just as I think I am getting into explaining the complex intersection of culture and experience - that I am reclassified into "oh he doesn't like any labels" - which soon becomes a "what a hypocrite" if I were to suggest kinship to some group - such as say, Nerds!

Annoying!

... and I am not even getting into the indignities that are thrust upon me when I visit India, where the cupboard of cans is a lot more homogeneous and neatly organized.
(For example, recently a college class mate - with whom I have not had contact in 10 years, wondered in an email why I was not married yet, and then promptly went on to satisfy himself with the explanation that Bengali men marry late - so I was still OK.)

Whats worse - the set of available cans to choose from are so inadequate - there is nothing exciting to choose from. For example, there are narrow cans that are labeled by nationality and race. That bothers me right off the bat, because it assumes homogeneity of experience based on descriptors that people have little choice in. Race is immutable - but nationality really boils down to paperwork - where as it should be based on where your life experiences lead you to live.

Then if you further examine the contents of these cans - you are left with an insipid and sometimes out right rotten fare. Like gay men are somehow not masculine - as if masculinity had anything to do with sexual orientation. (it also highlights the rather dubious definition of masculinity in relation only to femininity - rather than a set of meaningful character traits)! Ugggh!!

Anyway - I wish life was indeed a potluck, where identity was complex and constructed - rather than canned, assumed and imposed upon. It is a freedom we are all afforded, but very few are willing to indulge in.