Growing up in a traditional South Asian, Muslim household that shunned artistic expression made me ignorant of what creative freedom was, let alone what it meant to me. My first experience with acting taught me that art was not just some meaningless passion – it was my purpose. I proudly strode forward onto the stage as the inquisitive gazes of everyone in the room followed me. For a moment, my heart dropped, and the self-doubt and fear of unlocking my inner power clutched my heart, squeezing it painfully as I stood in front of the audience. I glanced at the actor – no, I glanced at Macbeth, standing there looking unsure of himself. Suddenly a passionate flame kindled inside me, starting off as a mere spark before confidence surged through me like a tidal wave. “Vaulting ambition” took hold of me and I stalked forward (Shakespeare 1.7.27). Freedom of artistic expression is not a privilege, but a right. Artistic expression through any medium allows people to uncover their perception of life through their work. As an Indian American female, I want to act in and direct films that reveal the South Asian immigrant experience because that is my identity, and I know that others in my community may relate to my work as well. Art gives people a voice – it empowers them to tell their stories, conveying the human experience authentically and uniting those with shared experiences together. After years of struggling to attain artistic freedom, I finally realized I had it all along. External circumstances cannot take away my creative expression, only I am capable of that. I strive to convey this to other South Asian girls so they can escape the imposing confines of merged cultural and religious ideals that hinder them from reaching their artistic goals.

The lack of South Asian female representation in film inspired me to pursue my dreams of becoming an actress. As a young Indian woman fighting to pursue theater, I decided from a young age that I wanted to be the actress on television that I longed to see as a child. Being raised in a traditional South Asian, Muslim household that shunned artistic expression already made this difficult for me. However, my exposure to the white-washed nature of the entertainment industry further alluded to the difficulties I would undergo as an aspiring actress from the South Asian community. “They need you.” I sat stunned, struggling to comprehend my college audition coach’s words. “Do you mean drama schools?” She nodded with a subtle smile on her face. I hesitated, wanting to ask her what she meant and clarify if the struggles I just so vulnerably exposed about growing up in an anti-performing arts, South Asian household where I had to financially provide for my own theater education would now somehow increase my chances of getting admitted to a good drama school. However, I remained silent. My coach described how drama schools monopolized diversity for institutional gain. By admitting more diverse students, they promote the inclusivity of their programs and gain favor of our current society, which strives to increase minority representation. Afterwards, my coach contacted one of her students who lived in India and found monologues about very surface-level or stereotypical aspects of Indian culture for me to perform at my auditions. When I told my coach that I could not relate to any of the pieces she sent me, she did not see what was wrong. She strongly insisted that I perform the monologues since they would emphasize my cultural roots, which would appeal to drama schools. “You should look at that Taj Mahal monologue. I think there’s something there for you.” It felt like a coil tightened around my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I plastered a smile onto my face and nodded, though still refusing to speak. Since I am not a native-born Indian, I identify more closely with American culture than my parents’ native background. People often assume I have been to the Taj Mahal due to my ethnicity. However, I have never seen the infamous landmark in my life. Every cell of my body screamed at me in protest even though I was accustomed to the stereotyping of my culture, particularly in the entertainment industry. I knew that someday in my professional career, I would be asked to portray South Asian characters with this narrow, Western view of my culture in mind rather than the true experiences of second-generation children of immigrants. However, I did not expect to be asked to live somebody else’s version of my identity so early on in my artistic journey. Weeks later, my coach still staunchly insisted that I perform the monologues she had given me while refusing to help me with some monologues I had found that were from the perspective of an Indian American – the perspective I related to. That is when I decided to drop her classes and continue the college audition process alone. I realized that if my ultimate goal is to inspire other people of color to embrace their unique experiences and identities regardless of external expectations, I could not allow myself to try to fit into others’ preconceived notions of who I am. Pursuing the arts is difficult as an underrepresented minority, but my struggles fuel my desire to advocate for authentic representation and validate the unique experiences of other South Asian women.

Growing up, I did not see many women like me in film. Women who have had to struggle against the inhibitory notions of a culture that limits freedom of self-expression. Women who fought against all the odds, all of the shame and guilt that comes with fighting for a life that they have been taught from childhood could not be theirs. Women who were told countless times that they should give up, since they would never be welcome in an artistic industry. The lack of South Asian female representation was what inspired me to pursue my craft. As a young South Asian woman fighting to pursue the theater arts, I decided from a very young age that I wanted to be that actress on television that I had longed to see as a child growing up. As such, I was inspired by a lack of inspiration – I pushed myself to reach new heights and apply for a performing arts program in another high school in my school district even though I knew that I would be stepping far beyond my comfort zone while simultaneously triggering backlash and cultural clashes in the conservative, traditional South Asian household I grew up in. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be surrounded by a community that encourages them to be themselves, to “risk, fail, and risk again” – one of the precepts of the performing arts program I was part of in high school, or to let out their emotions without the fear of judgment or rejection. I began my theater journey in high school with fear, anxiety, and uncertainty. I felt a sense of imposter syndrome each and every time I stepped into my dance class and watched the other girls who had been dancing all throughout their lives perform splits as part of their warm-up. I felt like throwing up every time I had to sing in front of my musical theater class. I was never satisfied with my work in my acting class despite being told that I had a talent. I never thought I would be good enough for the program, let alone good enough to become an actor. The fact that my parents disapproved of each and every step I took did not help me either. But I kept going. Because at the end of every dance class, my teacher told us to applaud ourselves for our effort. Because I realized that I was surrounded by other people in my musical theater class who enjoyed acting more than singing and needed to work on their vocals too. Because every time I stepped onto the stage in my high school’s auditorium to perform a monologue for my acting class, I felt like I was flying. I received feedback that recognized and appreciated all of my efforts as well. Although I had always excelled academically, my decision to provide myself with an arts education drove me to realize my fullest potential. Despite my lack of experience in various artistic disciplines, my work ethic and determination prevailed by providing me with something far more valuable than ultimately learning how to do a double pirouette or qualifying to sing at our district music festival: they provided me with the knowledge to know that it is possible. To know that although I may encounter hurdles and challenges in my journey to become the South Asian actress and director I long to one day be, I will always have myself to rely upon. No level of external validation or outside approval will ever change the person that I worked hard to become.