FEBRUARY 2025
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YOUTH PERSPECTIVE

BONDING WITH MY ROOTS, CULTURE AFTER 7 YEARS

By DEV SHAH

DevShah Photo credit:

Photo by E. M. Pio Roda/Scripps National Spelling Bee

 

I didn’t know how to feel as I boarded the plane, bags clambering into the cargo hold. This was my first trip to India in seven years; it wasn’t just about exploring the country but about immersing myself in a culture and language I had long struggled to connect with.

I was also nervous about my Gujarati. Though I could understand most conversations, speaking was difficult. Just before I tried to speak, I’d get confused between the similar-sounding endings, and a long “uhhh” would drawl out.

Whenever I called my relatives, I’d stumble over my broken sentences, mentally sweating as I translated English into Gujarati, while they couldn’t help but laugh. It had been years of a plateau — no improvement.
Even though I’d studied hundreds of thousands of words for the National Spelling Bee, from languages like Swahili and German, Gujarati had left me baffled.

So, going to India, my goal was to finally crack the language of my home.

When I landed in Ahmedabad, it was as if I entered a whole new world. Inside, workers hollered directions as passengers poured in. Outside, flotillas of rickshaws honked and blared as they steered through large crowds. I tried to cross the road like everyone else, but cars would zoom by, leaving me flustered.

In this different world, it hit me why I hadn’t made any progress with Gujarati. I’d been trying to force translations from English into Gujarati, as if people here spoke, ate, and lived in English. If I wanted to master Gujarati, I needed to appreciate my roots as distinct and unique from America.

That understanding took shape in the smallest of moments, like when I tried to learn shaak (vegetable dish). In Florida, I eat them every day, but in Gujarat’s tawny air, sitting cross-legged with a silver thali, they tasted better. I asked my uncle, pointing to the verdant scoop of giloda, “How do you say this in English?”

He sat in thought, searching, and said, “I don’t know.” I had never seen giloda in America — just in the produce aisle of Patel Brothers. That’s because giloda is only found in India. And giloda shaak can only be found in Gujarat, in Ahmedabad.
Ahmedabad is not just a place of food, but also a world of fashion.

I stopped by a roadside market. Handmade embroidery lay on the ground, sandwiched between dhoti and kurta shops. I followed my mother as she bargained in Gujarati, spitting out numbers rapid-fire. I tried to follow along, at first translating the syllables into English, but for once, I stopped and focused on the language. I absorbed the moment and the context clues.

Even though I didn’t understand everything, I got the gist. If my mom turned as the vendor raised his voice, that meant the price was too high for its quality. Then the vendor would finally budge, shout a reduced price, and my mom would return. You’d never see this roadside market in America, and I realized that putting myself out there is how I’d learn Gujarati.

The next day, I attended a Gujarati pottery workshop. Molding the moist clay with my fingers, I nearly toppled the rotund pot, but the teacher said, “Arram ti.” I knew that arram meant rest, and I also knew that I couldn’t just ‘rest’ or the clay would fall. He took over, moving slower and more intentionally, and it just made sense.

I didn’t have to translate arram ti; I associated it with carefulness.

Moreover, the language reflects its culture, and in just two weeks, speaking felt like second nature. Playing badminton with my cousins, I’d shout directions, and if it was a 2 vs. 1, I had no option but to speak Gujarati — or I would lose to a seven-year-old.
But one situation that truly reflected Gujarati and how it connects to culture was kite-flying — and butterflies. The Gujarati word for butterfly is patangiyu, and a kite is patang. Gujarati named this flamboyant insect after the kite because that’s what the society is.

These moments — whether in the bustling market or the pottery workshop — taught me that Gujarati language is inseparable from its culture.

Although I ate the tastiest food and desserts and hiked across vast salt deserts, the most important takeaway from my trip was how I learned Gujarati and how it connected me to my family. I’ve gotten closer to my roots, and I appreciate my culture as unique.

Dev Shah, a 10th grader in Largo, won the 2023 Scripps National Spelling Bee.


THE BRIDGE TO COLLEGE

When Should We Start?

By Robert A.G. LeVine

By Robert LeVine

Prospective clients always come to us with worries. “I don’t know how it works” is a universal concern. “What schools can my child get” is a common question, too. Yet because these questions are not asked until a consultation is scheduled, one important consideration is pre-determined without advice:

“When should we start?”

Working with any professional is time dependent. Obviously, getting to an oncologist when the cancer is Stage 1 leads to better outcomes than starting during Stage 4. But in college consulting, earlier is not necessarily better. For students who are entering high school, talking about college may seem pre-mature. While you might believe that it’s a good idea, when your child does not agree, the client-consultant relationship will be strained. On top of a professional relationship, you will want a strong personal relationship that allows the consultant to mentor and push your child to do their best. Once the relationship is broken, it takes a lot of time to rebuild (and it never becomes optimal).

So, rule 1 in determining when to meet with a consultant is “when your child is ready.”

Note: That does not mean that you – the parent – cannot get advice for college planning. We believe that good information helps parents be better parents. Ask if the consultant provides hourly services.

For those seeking direction on undergraduate admissions, there are three typical times when clients sign up. The first is during grades 9 or 10. The second is around January of grade 11. The third is when grade 12 starts around August.

If your needs are merely “help us with essays,” it would appear that August of grade 12 would work well. Yes, and no. As consultants, we can do our job well, but there are three problems. First, when you start towards the end, the calendar is shorter and the work is rushed. That puts extra pressure on the student, and stress leads to inferior work. Second, because there is not enough time to build a strong personal relationship, students do not respond well to constructive criticism; it just feels like criticism. Third, there are lot of misconceptions about “how admissions works,” and without sufficient time to decondition you away from everything you have heard previously, your pre-conditioning will cause you to resist even the best-intentioned directions.

Starting before grade 12 is strongly recommended. We can get the work done well, but can you?

But should you start earlier in high school or in the middle of grade 11? That depends on your college goals.

Students and families who wish to pursue “the best of the best” of U.S. universities – say, the 25 or so at the top of the rankings – often need guidance on what to do in school and beyond. While there is some time to “build a resume” during grade 11, it’s a little late to get started (or re-started) on that effort. For that reason, those who wish to apply to the world’s most selective schools should probably begin working with a consultant earlier. Not only will that provide more time to guide the student towards more robust activities, but it will also allow time to mentor the student into becoming a more mature adult. We always say: “Don’t build a resume; build a person. With a strong person, the resume happens naturally.” We also say, “At UCA, we mentor changemakers.” So, for those who want to be great on a worldwide school, allow us the time to help your child grown into their best self.

Yet it is not necessary to hyper-focus on college so early. There are lots of amazing universities in the U.S. (and beyond), and regardless of name brand or reputation, “fit” between student and schools is paramount for college and lifetime success. If starting later is your preference, that works too. Our recommendation, however, is to begin working with a consultant in January or February of grade 11. That allows us enough time to help you prepare for the admissions season without overburdening the student with too much time or effort while they are busy with high school. A few extra months before summer starts can make a significant difference.

Whether to work with an educational consultant – and when to start – are questions that often vex parents. Don’t be paralyzed: ask questions so that you can make your best decisions for your child.

Robert LeVine is the founder and CEO of University Consultants of America, an independent educational consultancy assisting students around the world with applications to colleges, universities and graduate schools. For more information, call University Consultants of America, Inc. at 1-800-465-5890 or visit www.universitycoa.com


FAMILY MATTERS

Communities and Milestones

By Anu Verma Panchal

By Anu Verma Panchal

A few months ago, I had the good fortune to stand by my parents’ side as they celebrated a significant milestone, their golden anniversary. One of my favorite parts of the event was that in addition to uncles, aunts and cousins, we had with us their closest friends, the extended “framily” that had helped my parents recreate a sense of home and family when they were thousands of miles away from the place of their birth.
Circa 1980, with a toddler and 6-year-old in tow, my parents moved to a little town in Zambia called Kabwe. They knew no one and nothing about this new country beyond my dad’s offer letter and one phone call with a relative who had once lived in Africa.

But on their very first evening, there was a knock at the door. It was a young Malayalee couple with two little boys our age. Hearing that a new family from Kerala had arrived, they had stopped by to welcome us. From that one introduction, my parents were immediately absorbed into a group of friends.

The same thing happened every time we moved towns. The news of our impending arrival reached before we did, and we were pulled into existing Malayalee social circles. Our weekends were spent at each other’s houses, uncles in safari suits swilling whiskey, aunties in sarees holding deafening conversations while we ran around and played. As the years passed, my parents grew into the veterans who welcomed new families and organized the elaborate cultural events that gave the community a sense of home away from home.

And all around town – and across the South Asian diaspora – others were doing the same thing. In Tamil, in Bangla, in Hindi, they created communities that served a familial function for each other. Community building seems to be in our genes. Or, as a friend once told me, “We’re like goats ... we can only travel in packs.”

During the college years and in my early 20s, plugging into the local desi community was nowhere close to being a priority; in fact, I reveled in the freedom from it. It was irritating, even, to see the insularity that I imagined permeated those associations. Why move to another country and only hang out with the same people? Why not at least try to assimilate?

It was only when I became a parent that I found myself searching, maybe even yearning, for some small level of connection. I wanted my daughters to learn Bharatanatyam like I had, wanted them to celebrate Hindu holidays and go to the temple occasionally. Does that mean that I want my communities to be restricted by ethnicity, language or religion? Certainly not. I am blessed with close “framily” from many backgrounds, and I enjoy Gasparilla as much as I do Onam and Navaratri.

Yet I am grateful for the generations who came before we did and established everything from the Tampa India Festival to the India Cultural Center so that we now have the option to dip a toe, an ankle or our whole selves in cultural life if we so desired.
A week before my older daughter was due to leave for college, I took her on one of our habitual visits to the Hindu temple here in Tampa. By a happy coincidence, the pujari on duty that day was the same one who had presided on the day that we had taken her on her first temple visit when she was a 6-month-old baby. “You’re the one who carried her to the front of the room when she was born, and now she’s starting college,” I told him. He beamed. “Look at that!” he marveled.

Look at that indeed. That kind of continuity doesn’t just happen. It’s the result of hard work from a lot of people who came before us, many of whom we’ll never even know. The roots they put down gave us the luxury to pick and choose how much we want to hold on to, because some variation of it has been preserved here for us.

This very publication has played a crucial role in building this community. I am grateful that Shephali and Nitish Rele went out on a limb two decades ago and decided that Tampa Bay and Florida needed a South Asian publication. Because when they created this newspaper, they didn’t just give us news and features to read, they gave us a mirror in which we could see ourselves reflected and represented. So thank you, Khaas Baat, for being a cornerstone and staple of this community! Congratulations on 20 years of helping a community mark its milestones.


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