I.
The greatest tragedy of your life is that you’ve never had a mango.
When my dad said this, he wrinkled his nose like my entire palate was warped, an avant-garde food exhibit of Kraft Mac & Cheese and pizza and all the things that made him cringe. I was sitting on the couch, my red hair covered by the hood of my jacket, all five feet of me looking at him like he was crazy.
I’ve had a mango. You get them from Costco all the time.
No, a good mango. A Pakistani mango. You are the epitome of the ABCD.
He looked at me with pity, typing into WhatsApp as he spoke. I was an ABCD. That much was clear to him.
American-born?
Check.
Confused?
On occasion. I couldn’t contort my lips into the required shapes for Urdu, my pesky American accent stumbling over letters a baby would find easy. A Pakistani baby.
Desi?
Check. Ignore my red hair.
I’m not an ABCD. I’m cultured. Look at Connecticut’s diversity. Look at it.
What a bubble. Scoff.
I don’t live in a bubble. I knew Connecticut was a bit of an echo chamber. Would I admit it?
Yeah, you do. Think about it.
I thought about it. I lived through the old Bollywood movies on Amazon. I lived through the escapades of my father and grandparents in Pakistan.
Okay, maybe it’s an echo chamber. But at least it’s not as hot here.
II.
You know you’re an American-born Confused Desi when…
Your mom watches Pakistani dramas and then puts on Modern Family and you laugh at the antics of the overbearing champagne shalwar kameez-clad mother-in-law before she switches to the adoptive gay parents and you nibble on pizza while lounging in East Windsor, Connecticut, the world at your fingertips but you just don’t know it yet.
You are a born diplomat. You get strange stares from the Pakistani world when they encounter your red hair, brown skin, and American lilt. But, you don’t care, do you, because you are a sore thumb everywhere you go—why should it start mattering now?
III.
Mangoes drip into your soul when eaten right. They consume you and make you remember your green-and-white flag, that you are so far from home. Someone’s home. Not quite yours.
IV.
Pakistani mangoes for his American daughter.