COMMENT Yesterday, someone asked me about my race, again. I’ve been fighting for the past 29 years trying to find the best answer to this question, but as I started writing this article, I still have not come up with an answer that I would really like to give my askers.

My father is Indian-Malaysian and my mother is Chinese-Malaysian. That makes me a ‘Chindian’ (Chinese + Indian). So, settle lah? Not that easy. I have never introduced myself as a Chindian, but if I did, I'd always begin the story the way I began this paragraph.

For some reason, I feel that if I say that “I’m Chindian” I might come across as ‘syok sendiri’ (full of oneself) - only because people who know about Chindians usually associate this ‘kopi susu’ (milk coffee) breed with all the superior genetic qualities.

There was a question raised, not long ago, about the importance of race in Malaysia. Certain parties questioned why is it so important that official forms have to have a special space for race? For mere demographic statistics? After 57 years of independence and ‘assimilation’, “What is your race?” still seems to be an important question.

So, coming back to Chindians - God must’ve been bored one day and said, hey, let’s pair up people from two of my biggest populations and see what happens to the world.

Confusion. Confusion definitely happened (not more than the number of good looks and good grades, but confusion happened). Sometimes it happened to ourselves, and most times it happened to others.

Quite unfortunately, some Chindians undergo major identity crisis (true, at least, for my poor brother). When he was in Year One (seven years old) my mother went to school to see him.

Mum stood outside the classroom and his teacher called out his name, saying that his mother was there to see him. He refused to move. The teacher for a second doubted if my mum was really his mother.

Later on, my brother told our mother that he was afraid that his friends would tease him because his mother is fair-skinned and he’s dark. He didn’t want to seem... adopted.

The next event happened to myself.

Teacher: “What are you?”

“I’m a human being.”

“I mean, what is your race?”

“I’m a Malaysian, just like you are.”

“No, I want to know your ‘real’ race. Malay, Indian or Chinese?”

“I’m neither. Keep guessing.”

“I think you’re a Malay, but why don’t you wear the headscarf?”

“Maybe I’m not a Malay.”

“Are you a Sabahan/Sarawakian/Serani/Nyonya... etc, etc...?”

And finally, we both agreed that I’m Orang Asli (the indigenous people of Malaysia).

The story doesn’t end there. A few weeks later:

Teacher: “Which tribe of Orang Asli are you from?”

Neither unhappy nor embarrassed

If only I knew it bothered these poor kids that much, I would’ve just been ‘syok sendiri’ and say Chindian from the beginning. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not unhappy nor embarrassed about being Chindian. Far from it, in fact. There’s nothing more amazing than being able to embrace both my Indian and Chinese backgrounds.

I just thought that my students should love me for my personality rather than for my racial background. As a student, I have never been a fan of teachers who favoured students of the same race as him/her over the others and hence I never wanted to be liked just because I’m Indian-Chinese.

I have come to terms with myself that Chindian isn’t a race. I have acknowledged that, so count me out if you’re considering collecting signatures for a petition to officially recognise Chindian as a race in Malaysia.

If someday, a community of Chindians interbreed among ourselves over generations, a Chindian race could exist. But that’s almost, well, Utopian. We are living symbols of genetic diversity so let’s keep widening the gene pool, I say.

The best case now would be that of Singapore, where children of mixed marriages get to be registered as having two races. This is quite correct.

“Couples of inter-ethnic marriages now have the additional option to reflect both their races for their child as a double-barrelled race. This is in line with the government’s continual review of its policies in recognition of evolving societal changes.

“In this instance, we recognise that with the increasing number of inter-ethnic marriages in Singapore; the diversity of Singapore’s racial demographics has accordingly also increased.”

How brilliant.

Unfortunately for mixed race babies in Malaysia, we don't have much of a choice as our National Registration Department has decided that we have to take after our father’s race.

Therefore, I am an Indian, according to the NRD.

One slight problem, though. I look more Malay/Filipina/Burmese/Cambodian/Thai than I look Indian. And my friend, who looks like me, is stated as a Chinese because her father is Chinese.

A person from a certain race practices the culture and speaks the language. I do practice the Indian culture (and I’m proud to say that I can tie a ‘saree’ pretty well) but the only Indian language I speak is Tamil. And the Tamil I speak is limited only to words I yelled at the Tamil school kids in my school bus back in the days. You know, Tamil for self-defence.

'This one must be a Peterrrr'

So, since my race is stated as Indian, it’s natural for me to get calls from Astro (our satellite TV company), with a telemarketer speaking in Tamil, asking me to subscribe to the Maharaja package (a few channels from India packed together at an attractive subscription fee).

For the benefit of the person who called, I reply in English saying that I am not interested. Then I get a reply thanking me in the tone of “Oh, okay. This one must be a Peterrrr (Indian person who doesn’t speak Tamil, only speaks English)”. Of course, that’s my own assumption.

So then, whatever happens to my Chinese side? It’s quite upsetting that my siblings and I are also in line with the Chinese culture, but we aren’t considered Chinese at all. In fact, I do speak some decent Chinese.

Good enough to bargain for stuff, to order for food, to ask where the toilet is. And of course, like my Tamil, I speak Chinese in self-defence fluently, too - in Mandarin, Hokkien and Cantonese and in my mother’s dialect, Heng Hua.

Yet, when I apply for leaves for Chinese New Year holidays, my boss goes, “Eh, you’re Indian so you celebrate Deepavali. Chinese New Year you go on holidays for what?” So Einstein here clearly doesn’t get the concept of Chindian.

You’d be surprised that in this day and age, there are still people who cannot fathom the idea of a mixed marriage. Much like frogs living under the coconut shell (literal translation form Malay “seperti katak bawah tempurung” which means “person who doesn’t know what takes place around him/her” i.e. ignorant. For example, me not knowing that Sam Smith is actually a white person).

Just about three days back, someone asked to see my family photo because “I can’t imagine what your parents look like.” Boy, was she disappointed to see that my dad didn’t look anything like Rajinikanth, and he wasn’t wearing an Indian costume, or a turban or a pair of pointy Aladdin shoes.

Face. Freaking. Palm.

She was also devastated that my mum looked nothing like a Chinese princess from the Han dynasty with dangly beads hanging from her royal red headgear. Her reply was (and I’m not exaggerating), “Oh, your parents look like normal Indian and normal Chinese!” Face. Freaking. Palm. I shouldn't blame her though. We have been wired for ages that Malaysians can only fall into four categories: Malay, Chinese, Indian and Others.

Actually, on some days, I wonder why Chindians are not put under ‘Others’. On other days I don’t know if it’s better to get your race lebih kurang correct than to sound like a bundle of your least favourite clothes put together in the bottom drawer. Speaking of that, good on the Sabahans for finally getting the ‘Others’ term removed from official forms and replaced with a blank space to fill in their ethnicity instead.

On the question if I'm ‘more Indian’ or ‘more Chinese’, I would say I’m equally both and also equally neither. I’m equally both because we celebrate Indian and Chinese festivals, wear Chinese and Indian clothes, cook and eat Indian and Chinese food at home and so on. I’m equally neither because I haven’t spoken either language properly since I was a kid and I think that language is closely-related to culture.

Both my parents are from English-medium schools and English had always been the language we spoke at home. It is the common language for my parents. Both my grandfathers spoke good English, and both my grandmothers learned more English from us than we learnt Chinese or Tamil from them.

Even my circle of friends consists of a good mix of Malays, Chinese, Indians, Caucasians and so many others around the world - beyond the confined borders of race and citizenship.

When people hear this they'd usually go “What a waste! Instead of being able to speak four languages - English, Malay, Tamil and Chinese - you can only speak two”. Maybe it’s a waste, maybe it’s not too late to learn, and maybe that’s why I’ve managed to be better than most Malaysians at speaking and writing both English and Malay fluently.

After all, the world is but one country and mankind its citizens. And if the entire human race spoke one language, wouldn’t there be fewer conflicts in the world? That would be my sour grape answer, by the way.

Soon there will come a time when we will not be able to put a name to our children's races anymore - besides rojak (Malaysian fruit salad). And that's not a bad thing at all. The one-race label would one day be inaccurate for the children of mixed race couples.

For example, what would you call the child of a Chindian and Sino-Kadazan? Mind you, these children already exist, but are probably known as Indian.

For now, I’d gladly settle for Indian-Chinese Malaysian (and carry on enjoying the process of explaining to restaurant owners why they shouldn’t refuse to serve me food during the month of Ramadan). If there’s a petition to legalise that term on our birth certificates, I’ll sign it.

ANIDHA NATHAN is usually found teaching inquisitive young children at a local public school, when she’s not scuba diving or saving marine turtles from extinction. A lover of all things Malaysian, her dream is to one day own a petai plantation big enough to feed Malaysians around the world.