Easy As Pie
I was searching for college essay prompts (yes, it’s that time of my life) and I started looking through the University of Chicago ones. Undoubtedly, UChicago has THE BEST college essay prompts, so much so they are often sources of inspiration when writer’s block makes its loving presence known. In any case, I came across one that read “What’s so easy about pie?” which piqued my interest. I wrote an essay about it (although I am afraid that I might not have done an amazing job at ACTUALLY answering the question, but that’s a minute detail that we can conveniently ignore). Hope you enjoy it!
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The moment was nothing short of magic, when the vast expanse--hailing from the Atlantic to the Pacific --emerged before my father’s eyes. He peered at America from the plane, and even from afar, he could envision a life for his family in the land of the brave, a life with the promise of liberty and social mobility. That was the day Mr. and Mrs. Arukil set foot in the Los Angeles International airport--Americans not on paper, but at heart-- welcoming the scents of pies and cheeseburgers and all the tokens of the ever-so-quintessential American idealism.
But all it took was a few disgusted grunts at their dal and rice and their uncanny abilities to “steal American jobs,” before it became clear to my parents that we would be the unwelcome brown specks in a Norman Rockwell painting. Deepavali had no place in the holiday season, our saris promptly got turned into satin slip dresses, and the myriads of halwas were quickly replaced by classic American pies. Without a single complaint, we surrendered bits of our identities as sacrificial offerings to ensure our survival in the great melting pot. As tokens of gratitude for the “acceptance” we received from this wondrous country, we happily and dutifully inhabited what I call the “inverted coconut dichotomy”: white on the outside, brown on the inside.
This explains why I was raised in a house that always had the faintly ubiquitous, tantalizing scents of apple and cinnamon. Apple pie was a staple in the Arukil household, whether it was Amma’s special recipe or the four-pound, double-crusted beauty from Costco. It was simple to make and required only a few ingredients, but most importantly, it helped us feel for this country the way we felt for our homeland. Apple pie was the door to a long journey of assimilation. It was the gateway to a world of baseball games, barbecues, and “Curious George” books. Apple pie was easy. Inexplicably easy.
But every now and then, as a five-year-old with a brag-worthy palate, I’d taste hints of cardamom with the cinnamon, rosewater with the vanilla. Every now and then, my parents would slip up, and return to their roots. My dad would watch cricket instead of baseball, make tandoori instead of barbecue, and read the Amar Chitra Katha to me instead of “Curious George.” Occasionally, they’d even resort to making clandestine efforts to show me the literature of their homelands, and teach me their languages.
Sometimes, my parents reminisced about those streetside halwas and vibrant saris, with tangible poignancy. Sometimes, the fact that I couldn’t bring dal and rice to school without garnering unwanted attention made me visibly angry. Sometimes, all I wanted was to be able to talk to my school friends about the Mahabharatha and the Bhagavad Gita. Because sometimes, the easiness of apple pie doesn’t cut it. It couldn’t undo the years of accumulated hurt, guilt, and shame. It couldn’t conveniently erase our cultures.
It’s sad that America has become about easiness. It’s sad that America has been reduced to pies and consumerist tendencies. Because America is more than simplicity. It is more than living cookie-cutter lives, and more than creating boxes for ourselves with perfect 90-degree angles. America is the land of the self-reliant, yet empathetic; educated, yet unafraid; idealistic, yet pragmatic. America is loud, idiosyncratic, and beautiful, just like the smell of dal, kimchi, and sauerkraut. America is you and me and my ever-so-idealistic father, who now has the uncanny ability to create the very American jobs he was accused of stealing.
