Am I Kashmiri enough?

I have pondered this question for a long time.

What does it even mean to be a Kashmiri? What does it mean to be part of any identity group for that matter?

If I look at my blood, both of my parents are Kashmiri, and both of their parents were Kashmiri and on it goes for the ancestors in my lineage (that I know of). But, I have never lived in Kashmir. I have spent a total of 3 days on Kashmiri soil. Is that enough?

This is one of the few (poorly-taken) images I can find of myself in Kashmir during that one 3-day trip I took in 2011. I’m in the group in the back in the striped white and blue collared shirt, watching as my dad reconnected with his community after over 20 years. One of them even recognized him and invited us all over for chai. Chai is such a perfect symbol of community to me; it’s one of the few things I absolutely love to make for anyone and everyone who come to my home.

If I look at language, I can understand Kashmiri, but not really the intricate bits. Definitely not the poetry of my grandfather, whose depth in thought required vocabulary well beyond my internal Kashmiri dictionary. I can’t really speak the language either, having grown up in the United States where I was surrounded by primarily English-speaking individuals at school, and primarily South Indian families in my spiritual group.

I am married to a Tamilian, from the complete opposite side of the Indian subcontinent. As part of our marriage rituals, I had to sacrifice my own lineage and adopt his, so that we could get married. Does that mean that I’m no longer Kashmiri? I have held onto my last name for dear life, the last shred of proof that my blood is 100% Kashmiri, that I identify so deeply as Kashmiri. Some of my friends have sent invitation cards for various events, replacing my last name with my husband’s, assuming that I would have made the switch. But, how can I? Why should I? Replacing Razdan with Venkatesh would completely erase any semblance of my Kashmiri heritage with the stroke of a pen.

This is one of the Kashmiri rituals we did at our wedding. My husband and I are beneath the red shawl in the center of the picture. We are receiving blessings from the elders of my mom and dad’s families in the form of a shower of multi-colored flowers. My interpretation is that this ritual reminds us that our marriage isn’t just about us. It’s a time that all of our ancestors, our family, and the Gods and Goddesses come to witness our union and bless us with the wisdom of their cumulative experience. And I think that’s pretty beautiful.

This has been an especially painful thought. And, it’s obviously not my husband’s fault, who I love so dearly, who has been a beacon of light in my life. But, I also grieve, because the rituals of Sanathana Dharma have meaning and value to me, and those same rituals (likely one interpretation of those rituals) ripped my lineage away from me.

Even my current name reinforces the patriarchal paradigm. It completely disregards my mother’s family name, Bhat. Am I dishonoring my matrilineage by keeping my name Sonali Razdan, the name with which I now so deeply identify? Do I change my name to Sonali Bhat Razdan? Sonali Razdan Bhat?

I wonder what my grandfather would think, what he would say about my current predicament. Is the desire to be Kashmiri enough? That in opening my arms to Kashmir, she would accept me lovingly, without questioning the ways in which my identity and my life both diminish and reinforce my Kashmiri identity. That when I return to her arms, she would already know the feelings deep in my heart. That she would greet me like a long-lost mother, sensing the familiar traces of my ancestors that are ingrained into every cell of my body, and the accompanying grief and pain that percolates in our bodies because of how long we’ve been (forcibly) separated from her.

I don’t know. I have more questions than answers at this point. But when I do return to my motherland, I hope she’ll remember me, just as I have come to remember her.