Growing up in Leicester, my British Indian Gujarati identity wasn’t something I had to defend. It was simply all around me, surrounded by others who shared a similar blend of worlds. It was only later, looking through different lenses, that I truly began to understand the complexity of who I am.
My childhood was from both England and Gujarat (India). My mum ensured our home was filled with traditional Indian celebrations, such as the colours of Navratri and the lights of Diwali. Yet, alongside these, the calendar held space for chocolate eggs at Easter and the magic of Christmas morning. Attending a Christian school until Year 2 furthered my understanding of those British traditions, making the blend feel natural. Leicester itself felt like an extension of home, a city where seeing other Hindu families, hearing Gujarati in the shops, and knowing many shared my background was the norm. I never felt like the only one.
Even within this comfortable similarity, I noticed a spectrum. I met friends whose Gujarati was fluent, whereas mine stumbled. I could understand, listen, but speaking felt very difficult. This didn’t create pressure to belong in Leicester as there were too many of us in the same boat for that, but it planted the awareness about the varying depths of connection within my own community.
The real shift came when I visited India, specifically where my mum is from. Stepping off the plane was a plunge into a different intensity of Indian culture. The pace, the expectations, and the immersion were starkly different from my British Indian experience. Suddenly, the contrast was undeniable. I felt the subtle weight of expectation, a pressure to embody traditions more fully than I ever had back home. It was difficult confronting this realisation of the gap between British Indian and Indian. It made me aware of the cultural space I inhabited, very different from both my Leicester community and my relatives in India.
That trip and reflecting on the spectrum I saw even in Leicester, made me think about the expectations of being British Indian. Did I need to speak perfect Gujarati? Did I need to follow every tradition as someone raised solely in India? I felt a pressure to keep tradition in a certain way. But over time, I realised I didn’t need to fit anyone else’s mould. I could appreciate the differences of the uniqueness of being British Gujarati. I enjoy the aspects of my culture, particularly how it brings family together. The inclusivity of our events, the shared joy in celebration, and the sense of belonging are made simply by doing things together.
My experience has taught me that my identity isn’t fixed but shaped by heritage and experience. Being British Indian Gujarati isn’t about checking every cultural box. It’s about understanding the richness of my heritage while understanding the unique perspective my British upbringing gives me. I enjoy being Indian, I value my roots immensely, and I hope to learn more Gujarati and deepen my connection to the culture as I grow older. That desire for growth comes from a place of curiosity and love, not obligation or pressure. It’s part of my journey on that spectrum.
I am proud to be British Indian. Leicester gave me the gift of belonging without question, and India gave me the perspective to appreciate the distinct beauty of my dual identity. I cherish the fusion – the ability to appreciate a good cup of chai and a proper cup of tea, the comfort of familiar Gujarati dishes and the nostalgia of a British roast. The inclusive nature of our cultural gatherings, the way they bind family and community, is something I hold especially close.
(Second Generation British Indian)
Poem by Gabriella Hrymajlo
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