sonny

The other day I was DMing a girl I grew up with. Nothing crazy, just a little casual banter on a Monday afternoon, after her mom saw me wandering through Costco’s aisles. Amidst our exchange she said, “Remember when you went by Sonny?”.

Of course, I do.

Nicknames often have diverse origin stories depending on the source. This one in particular began in the third grade and stuck until the day I graduated high school. A few of the flagship movies from the third to the fifth grade were Spy Kids, Big Fat Liar, Holes, and Like Mike. Another staple for elementary school sleepovers was Remember the Titans.

For whatever reason at the time, kids in my class believed I embodied the personality of Kip Pardue’s role of Ronnie ‘Sunshine’ Bass. The cognitive processes of third graders can shift between kindness and cruelty, depending on the hour, so one can only be skeptical of their genuine intentions. With a weak resolve in third grade, my only course of action was to go with it.

During this period in my life, it was the first time I began gaining awareness that my cultural background and how I looked was different than almost everyone in my social circles. We attended the temple on Saturdays, didn’t eat meat on Tuesdays, and drove over lemons every time we got a new car to ward off evil. I’m laughing now reminiscing about my friends’ reactions when explaining why crushed lemons were in my driveway.

I would get nervous when friends came over after eating a traditional Indian meal with fear that they would make a comment on the smell and tell others at school. Side bar, today you can’t go a week without someone on Instagram posting a story from the renowned Indian restaurant in London, Dishoom. Funny how things come back around. More on this later in the story.

On top of that, my name stood out among the Ryans, Michaels, and Jacks that filled our roll call sheets. I would dread the days when substitute teachers would come in and butcher my name and in turn result in a chuckle from the peanut gallery. Therefore, it was fairly easy to adopt the name “Sonny” and move on with my life.

Throughout my adolescence, I struggled with accepting my culture and balancing my “Indian” and “American” life. I count myself lucky to have shared my upbringing with a remarkable group of Indian friends, and a select few of them I am still in contact with today. However, I never succeeded in bridging both social circles and it’s a regret I still carry with me.

Whether it was to their face or behind their back, many south asian kids I grew up with would get made fun of by other kids in the school. From the way they dressed, how they spoke, what they ate, or how they spent their time at recess, it was easy target for many.

Like many kids, I feared getting bullied and adopted that aforementioned chameleon personality as a defense mechanism. And that defensive strategy started with putting Chirag to the side for Sonny.

I had decided to go to college out of state at the University of South Carolina. A big pull for me to go out of state was my interest in a fresh start, a blank slate with my identity. That and my 1160 SAT score didn’t get me into UVA. My first step in that direction was putting Sonny to bed, and going by Chirag as I started fraternity rush in fall of 2011. Ironically, the sheer decision to go by Chirag excluded me from almost all the houses on greek row. Ten years later I rarely hear the name Sonny. From college to all the other places I’ve called home, people now know me by Chirag.

During my month long adventure in Bali this year, I was fortunate enough to meet many acquaintances and friends along the way. I wrote about meeting Illwaad and learning to smile again during the hike at Mt. Batur. I also met a few friends of Indian decent on the same hike.

The car picked me up around 2:15am for the Mt. Batur hike. One of the guys was already in the front seat, so I sat in the back. It was dark, so I couldn’t tell what he looked like. He had hailed from California. He too was a Laker fan and his favorite athlete, like mine, was Kobe Bryant. All Kobe fans have that instant connection. Our small talk flowed for the next 15 minutes before Illwaad and her husband got into the car. When we got out at basecamp, I remember surprisingly saying to myself, “oh he’s brown too”. And that’s when we finally exchanged names.

Over the coming days, we talked about being brown in a white world and relating to the idea of being an American Born Confused Desi (ABCD), a colloquial first coined in the 2001 movie, “American Desi”. It refers to individuals born in the US to parents of Indian decent. He had excelled more than I did in seamlessly connecting the two aspects of our lives. Furthermore, he possessed a keen insight into our culture and our origins. Both qualities left a lasting impression on me.

At basecamp, we met with my fellow Lakers fan’s friends, who he’d been at a wedding with here in Bali. They too were Indian and lived in Mumbai, but went to universities in the States and England. This group came straight from being out all night in Canggu and brought an uptick in energy we needed as we climbed to the peak.

This looseness and their inherent curiosity led them to ask me 21 questions on the hike. Swiftly, they knew everything from my favorite movies, why my partner and I broke up, and what I was trying to get out of this “Eat, Pray, Love” season of my life.

It was all fun and games and it was clear the five of us were enjoying each other’s company that day. It’s kind of wild how the course of events can change when you open a car door or put yourself out there in a new experience. There was dozens of tourist companies we could have chosen on this particular day, but the five of us decided to pick that one.

We continued hanging out the rest of the day by attending the Tirta Empul, a Hindu Balinese water temple where many go for the purification ritual. We ended the 15 hour day by eating at a warung in Ubud. The next day we continued this momentum and drove down to Canggu to see an Indian DJ, Yung Singh, perform at Old Man’s bar*.

Between happy hours at The Lawn, traversing Bali in car rides, and our trek to the summit of Mt. Batur, our conversations span various topics. We delved into the evolution of love languages, the way social media has constrained the allure of the unfamiliar in the world, our favorite Drake songs (classic brown boy move), and reminiscences of college—from first loves to parties. It’s fascinating to observe the stories people choose to share in these instances. In a sense, it provides glimpses into what holds significance and leaves an impression on each individual’s life.

The two days with this crew were some of the most formative moments of my summer travels spanning the globe. It felt like I had known them longer than a weekend, and the bond felt even stronger knowing that they came from similar cultural backgrounds. To Mansher, Dilsher, Sanna, and Akash – thank you for the friendship, and I know there will be more memories to come.

In December, I’m going to India to spend time in the country where it all started for my family. I’ve visited many times, but haven’t been back since COVID. My perspective going into this trip is quite different from past trips. In my youth, I would be unenthusiastic about such trips. We tended to go during my holiday breaks and it took away from spending time with my friends. Additionally, our family trips to India have a densely packed itinerary journeying from one family member’s residence to another.

I never truly grasped my culture during these trips and I’m the only one to blame here. My earbuds were constantly in place, and during my childhood, my attention would be unwaveringly directed toward my Game Boy. Our upcoming trip is no different as we will be zig zagging across the country visiting family, but I go into it with a newfound perspective.

Outside of me, my entire family was born in India and spent a substantial time there. I don’t have that experience, and I feel that lack of familiarity resulted in a huge gap in my understanding of where I came from. I can truthfully say I’m excited to explore my homeland this winter and will be all eyes and ears.

It’s quite funny today to think my classmates bestowed upon me the nickname “Sunshine” after Kip’s character. The name reflects his willingness to be himself, regardless of the societal (or team) pressures. His flowing, blonde hair was considered unconventional at the time and was a stark contrast to the more conservative, clean-cut image with short hair that adhered to many football players.

He was open-minded and his willingness to challenge racial stereotypes helped break down the initial animosities among the players. Looking back now, I see that nickname as a compliment. Thank you to my fellow classmates of Mrs. Jackson’s third grade class.

Wrapping up, this past weekend I was blessed to host friends in my hometown as we all came together for, you guessed it, yet another wedding. This time around, they were all excited to hear that my mom would be cooking an all Indian dinner for us on Saturday night.

As we came back from a day out in downtown Richmond, one of my friends said, “Mrs. Challa, your kitchen smells amazing!” This family dinner was filled with laughs, embarrassing stories of me, and hell of a lot of naan and butter chicken.

A core memory.

*Bali belly defeated me and I missed the show.