We are not a monolith: Why Western media must do more to reflect the true diversity of South Asian identities
By Nikitha Martins
Since the early 2000’s more South Asians have taken to the spotlight than I ever imagined, but too often this representation has been watered down to appeal to the Western media and its audiences, writes Nikitha Martins.
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I used to long for the kind of South Asian representation that’s become popularised in mainstream Western media today. But now that I have it, I’ve found myself dreaming bigger.
As an Indian kid growing up in the West in the early 2000s, spotting a Desi entertainer in the media was a rare and exciting occurrence. When the likes of Bend It Like Beckham’s Parminder Nagra or Slumdog Millionaire’s Dev Patel and Freida Pinto made it into the spotlight, I’d be glee-ridden. The lack of South Asian representation in the media at the time meant these moments needed to be savoured. I’d tell anyone that would listen: “Did you see [insert brown entertainer here]?! You know they’re Indian, right?”
Watching South Asian representation grow sluggishly in the West was a temporary comfort to my family and I. It distracted us from the challenges of our day-to-day lives as immigrants in Canada.
While I went to school and my parents navigated a new workforce, we all encountered discrimination, social isolation, micro and macro aggressions to different degrees. I was four years old when my mother explained that what our family experienced was racism, teaching me the strength we’d need to sustain resilience. My father would chime in often to echo what became a family motto: “Remember to have thick skin.”
Unfortunately for me, as a typical sensitive eldest daughter, I’ve never been fully able to embody the family motto and let rejection or criticism roll off my back. While I have gotten better at not putting too much weight on others’ words, there are times when they cut deep.
As more and more South Asians take up space in the Western media, I find myself conflicted. Reading comment sections and watching commentary videos of anything related to Indians - be it food, fashion, or travel - has become an anxiety-inducing pastime. Tense migration policy talks unfolding in Australia, Canada, the UK and the US have made dialling down the noise of racist anti-South Asian hate feel even more impossible than usual.
Every time I hear of another racism-fuelled attack, degrading comment about Indians taking up too much space, or resentful take on Indian international students, I struggle to remind myself that the hateful minority is not representative of the greater public.
It’s been difficult not to put credence in comment sections that belittle and reduce South Asians to degrading stereotypes. Comments made about how we are dirty, smelly and ugly remind me so much of the baseless and thoughtless things kids would say to me. But they were kids, and that was 25 years ago— have we not gotten past this?
Watered-down cultures and identities
Since the early 2000s more South Asians have taken to the spotlight than I ever imagined. From Mindy Kaling, to Aziz Ansari, to M.I.A., to Hasan Minhaj, to Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, to Simone Ashley, to Katseye’s Lara Raj. These entertainers, and so many more, have carried the heavy responsibility of representing the diverse diaspora of South Asians.
On the surface, it feels like a win. Especially when Dev Patel, Priyanka Chopra, Kumail Nanjiani, or Charli XCX have become household names, and leaders like New York City’s Zohran Mamdani have succeeded in Western politics.
So what’s the issue? Despite our community being more visible than ever, most of the representation Indians have had so far enjoyed has been watered down to appeal to the Western media and its audiences. Those of us who don’t see ourselves in the South Asian stereotypes are expected to put up or shut up. But these generalisations ignore the fact that we belong to a diaspora that encompasses so many cultures, faiths, languages and ethnicities.
Diluting our complexity and stripping and exploiting our culture for the Western masses hurts everyone. We are not a monolith or the butt of the joke. We deserve to ask for more.
Begging for more diverse stories
In a recent interview for American Masters, Korean-American actor Daniel Dae Kim was asked to speak about his thoughts on nationality-specific casting . In response, he argued that when the characters are fictitious, written by white writers, and call for specific casting, the nationality of the actor is not important. He said it “feels like an overcorrection” when casting general Asian-American roles.
“Anytime there’s a role that focuses, to me, on the American experience of being Asian, that’s something that no matter whether you’re Korean, Chinese, Indian, Malaysian, that’s something we all share in common as Asian-Americans. And we all know what it feels like to be othered. That’s a common experience,” said Kim. He said that nationality-specific casting was only important when a project had cultural significance or had language requirements.
I see Daniel’s point and agree that there is a common thread in the Asian experience when navigating a Western culture, but I really wish the media would get past this general storytelling of that experience. I think specificity, backed up by informed, ethnic, and regional stories—and, most importantly, stories written by South Asians—is deeply beneficial. Just look at Bend It Like Beckham.
The story that resonated with many of us was about not neatly fitting into a box. The main character, Jesminder “Jess” Bharma, was caught between two identities, having been raised in a Punjabi-Sikh household in the UK. This piece of media was the first time I saw somewhat of a resemblance to my family, as she and her parents sat down to eat curry and chapatis with their hands and the way Jess’s natural hair fell wavy. However, that’s where the similarities ended for me. I didn’t have the same relationship with my parents, culture, faith, or language as Jess did.
Even though the film didn’t fully reflect my own experience, it felt close enough at the time - and most non-South Asians viewers would be none the wiser. But it was exciting to see the way my Punjabi-Sikh friends resonated with the film. They truly saw themselves in it.
When films like Bend It Like Beckham were popular, I would be bombarded with people’s excitement, questions, and assumptions about my experience. However, when I tried to explain why my South Indian Catholic experience didn’t look like Jesminders, I’d be met with blank and confused stares, leaving me feeling misunderstood or unheard.
Over the years, I’ve fallen in love with the way Punjabi people I knew growing up lit up when they see the wide-scale attention on artists with the same regional roots as them, like Diljit Dosanjh. Bringing Punjabi culture and music to the global stage has also piqued people’s curiosity, leading them to learn more about Punjabi art, culture, and clothing.
While there’s still a long way to go, seeing such strides in representation for the Punjabi community in the West— in all transparency —makes me a little jealous. Selfishly, I long for the same attention for my own regional roots.
I’ll have what they’re having
Just a few months ago, though, a corner of the internet lit up and fed me what I have been craving –TiffinTok.
Lily Baria (AKA the TiffinLady) had a chokehold on one corner of the internet for weeks. She filmed a ritual of hers, revealing the dishes contained in each layer of her multi-stacked stainless steel lunchbox - and blind-box-crazed viewers couldn’t get enough. Her content might be simple, but for me, it means so much.
It was the first time I had seen anyone online mention the regionally specific cuisine (Goan Catholic food) I grew up eating, which isn’t often found outside India. Finally, someone was sharing our food in a positive light.
I felt seen in my Goan Catholic heritage. It was the beacon of hope I needed when things were starting to look grim. Lily’s videos showcasing Goan-Catholic cuisine were the first examples I’ve seen that highlight a part of my culture and were met with curiosity and openness.
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Many of my closest friends couldn’t fully understand my complex feelings around representation until they found TiffinTok. The trend sparked thoughtful conversations about my heritage. Some even begged me to cook them a traditional meal. Having my culture seen in such a positive light has been especially moving.
Immigrating to Canada for my family meant that culture and language were not passed down. However, my proud Goan father could not bring himself to say goodbye to the food that reminded him of his childhood. Since food could at least be shared within the private walls of our home - thankfully - it was part of my culture that was preserved.
As someone with a Goan-Catholic background, it’s been such a delight watching people learn more about the food I loved growing up - the same dishes I’d be teased for when I brought them to school. I’ve enjoyed seeing people’s efforts to either find a way to eat traditional Goan Catholic food or get their hands on a tiffin. This corner of the internet has been such a breath of fresh air and the hope I needed.
Between July and August, Lily’s videos garnered up to 4 million views each. The popularity of her videos has dropped off as viewers’ attention shifts to other things, but the work she did when millions of eyes were on her was impactful.
She still reaches about 100,000 to 200,000 viewers and continues to answer questions about life in Goa, India. Her success has made her somewhat of a spokesperson for the Indian community. Often in her comments, you’ll find folks asking questions about what life is like in India and messages from well-intentioned (and sometimes ill-intentioned) people inquiring about Indian stereotypes and if they have any truth to them. With grace and eloquence, Lily often addresses these questions and has created a safe space for people to better understand the region’s complexities, which are often given little attention.
I often find myself playing this role of the “resident brown person” in the room, and I’m sure many other brown people have experienced the same. Western media does not fully represent the diversity of India, let alone tell stories and celebrate other South Asians, such as Pakistanis, Sri Lankans, Bangladeshis, Afghans, Nepalese, Bhutanies, or Maldivians.
I’m not convinced the growing presence of South Asians in mainstream media has been a total win for representation, but I am no longer waiting for the mass media to accept and reflect my own complexity. Instead, I’ll be focusing my energy on preserving what I have left of my heritage, and I have Lily to thank for that reminder.
About the author
Nikitha Martins
Nikitha is an Indo-Canadian reporter currently based in Australia. Now, as an independent journalist, she focuses on bringing complex and compelling stories to light, and digging deep into outcomes and impacts on communities. When she’s not writing, researching, or interviewing, she’s immersing herself in the local Melbourne scene, producing a food news podcast (Forkcast), documenting her travels, and tracking down the “holy grail” of iced matcha.
For more from Nikitha, you can follow her on Instagram (@nikitha_martins) or subscribe to her Substack.
