I ‘CrossFitted.’ And I’m Brown. But I just didn’t CrossFit anywhere. I trained at CrossFit South Brooklyn (CFSBK). That is a crucial component of my “CrossFitting While Brown” experience. Being brown and chasing ‘elite fitness’ does not necessarily entail a conceptual clash between the two, but my personal insecurities and the cultural placement of CrossFitContinue reading “Crossfitting While Brown”
Tag Archives: immigrant experiences
Narnia’s Pevensies And Personal Identity
Readers of C. S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe will remember the novel’s dramatic ending: Peter, Lucy, Edmund, and Susan, now all grown up and ruling as noble and just kings and queens of the land of Narnia, set out to hunt a mysterious stag; their hunt leads them into the woods,Continue reading “Narnia’s Pevensies And Personal Identity”
The Supposed ‘American Dignity Of Labor’
One family dinner a few decades ago, my brother and I made one of our usual smart aleck remarks about how it would be nice if our monthly allowance (or ‘pocket money’ as we called it in those days) were increased by our parents. My mother shot back with a quick, “Yes, and it wouldContinue reading “The Supposed ‘American Dignity Of Labor’”
Dear ‘Fellow’ Indians, Please Spell My Fucking Name Correctly
It’s ‘Samir’, not ‘Sameer.’ That, really, should be enough. Here is the correct spelling of someone’s name; please abide by it. But Indians will simply not comply. I’m a middle-aged man, about to hit fifty-one in a few weeks time, and my entire life, Indians have been systematically misspelling and butchering my name with thisContinue reading “Dear ‘Fellow’ Indians, Please Spell My Fucking Name Correctly”
Thirty Years After: Reflections On Migration
Thirty years ago on this day, I migrated to the US. At New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport, I boarded a British Airlines flight to London Heathrow from where I would board a connection to New York City, and set off. My mother and my best friend dropped me off at the airport; my grandmotherContinue reading “Thirty Years After: Reflections On Migration”
Middle-Aged Laments: Changing, Disappearing, Friendships
I feel old friendships changing, some diminishing in affection and interest, some fading in that crucial dimension of the interest we show in each others’ lives, and thus, threatening to vanish into insignificance. Some because of lack of attention, of the tender loving care that is needed to nurture relationships; some we have tried andContinue reading “Middle-Aged Laments: Changing, Disappearing, Friendships”
The Joys Of Crying
I cry easily; so I cry a lot. Many, many things set me off: movies, songs, talking about my parents, a sportsman’s death, showing my daughter music videos of songs that I listened to as a teenager, Saturn V liftoffs, the misfortune of others in the world’s ‘disaster zones,’ witnessing random acts of kindness onContinue reading “The Joys Of Crying”
A Mere Taste Of The Refugee’s Desperation
In 1990, my visa status in the US changed from ‘student’ to ‘skilled worker’; in the alphanumeric soup of visa designations, I went from being F-1 to H-1. This was occasion to celebrate; I could now legally work in the US, and earn more than the minimum hourly wage. There was a glitch though: theContinue reading “A Mere Taste Of The Refugee’s Desperation”
The Endless Surprises Of Memory
Memory is a truly wondrous thing. A couple of weeks ago, I met an old friend’s younger brother for lunch in midtown Manhattan; we were meeting after over thirty years. We ordered food, grabbed our trays, and headed to a table, our conversation already picking up pace as we did so. We talked about ourContinue reading “The Endless Surprises Of Memory”
On Surviving A Police Stop (Unlike Terence Crutcher)
One morning in the winter of 1989, after finishing up a short trip to Binghamton, NY with a pair of friends, I was driving back to my home in New Jersey. Rather, I was dozing in the front passenger seat after having performed my share of driving duties. I was jolted out of my slumbersContinue reading “On Surviving A Police Stop (Unlike Terence Crutcher)”
Samir Chopra 