Failing to Assimilate

Over twenty-five years ago, my father and uncle immigrated from Bangladesh to America to create a new home for themselves. Today, Baba and Uncle Ujjal consider themselves to be American, but at the same time, they have great affection for the motherland they left behind. Whenever a Bangladeshi immigrant arrives to our community, they feel obligated to help, partly because they want to instill in them an awe of America, and partly because they want to reconnect to their love for Bangladesh. When Cousin Sanjay arrived, however, Uncle Ujjal realized that the differences between American and Bangladeshi culture are sometimes too great to reconcile.

Cousin Sanjay wasn’t really my cousin, but I was told to call him that because Uncle Ujjal treated him like family. When Sanjay moved to South Jersey in 1998, my uncle insisted on letting him stay in his home until he found a job. Based on what my mother says, however, Uncle Ujjal did more to find the job than Sanjay did; as my uncle called friends and pulled strings, Sanjay laid around all day watching old Bollywood movies and eating my aunt’s home cooked meals.  The only times he ever left the house was to go to the Indian grocery store and attend the local Bengali cultural events, but even here, Sanjay felt out of place; nothing was authentic enough for him, it was all “too American.” Baba & Uncle Ujjal believed he was just experiencing a temporary culture shock, but my mother and aunt took it as a sign of troubles to come.

Sanjay eventually moved into an apartment after enrolling in the local community college. Uncle Ujjal paid for much of this out of his own pocket, but it seemed worth it because things finally seemed to be moving in the right direction. Just as my mother and aunt predicted, however, Sanjay was not ready for all of these changes. Although he had moved out, he still spent most of his free time at Uncle Ujjal’s home, and although my aunt taught him how to cook, he continued to have most of his meals at the home as well. This certainly put a strain on my aunt, who essentially served as a maid to Sanjay, attending to his every beck and call. This sort of behavior made sense in Bangladesh, where women are expected to treat men with the utmost deference. In America, however, home responsibilities are more equally divided between the sexes. This is one of the many concepts that Sanjay did not understand.

As the months wore on, even Uncle Ujjal began to realize that things were not working out with Sanjay, and Sanjay seemed to sense this as well. The two became increasingly distant, and Sanjay eventually stopped coming over to Uncle Ujjal’s home. We all hoped this would do Sanjay some good, that living on his own would give him the opportunity to assimilate to American culture. Regrettably, Sanjay did not want this opportunity; less than a year after moving to America, Sanjay moved back to Bangladesh. Uncle Ujjal blames himself to some extent, feeling that he did not do enough to help Sanjay adjust to America; my parents blame Sanjay, explaining that he never gave America a fair shot; in my opinion, no one person is to blame. Sometimes, the differences between cultures is too great for immigrants to reconcile, and in those cases, they must consider whether immigration really is the best option.