Recently, the topic of culture has become a significant issue across the country. Some feel lost, others overshadowed, as the need to conform to one uniform identity rises. But having grown up in Slough, I often remember the different ways culture was embedded into mine and others lives, and this was most reflected through celebrating Cultural Days.
The first time it happened, I remember loving it. The bright colours and sparkles, the different traditional dresses kids rocked up to school wearing, parents blaring folk music from their cars like it was entrance music. Not to mention the tables of food with all kinds of aromas floating through the air as we would sit, squirming like it was torture being unable to immediately rush over and impatiently tuck into. It felt like we were embracing something powerful to always be proud of and everyone agreed unanimously.
I have fond memories of those times as I’m sure most do. But, unfortunately, over time, it did lose some of its sentiment.
It felt tokenistic as the years went on. Instead of discussing the meaning or history behind our traditional attire, it became something we just did. Instead of celebrating and acknowledging the depth behind our cuisine, it was another thing we just did.
Why? My teachers said to dress up.
Why? My mum said to bring in this plate.
It felt performative. It didn’t make sense why, on just one day a year, the shalwar kameez emerged from the cupboard, steaming the wrinkles from the material and shoving it on, hoping it fits.
Then again, majority of state schools in Slough are mostly comprised of students from ethnic backgrounds. Although it’s a massive privilege to grow up in a town as diverse as this, it was a luxury I hadn’t realised until I entered the wider world.
Stepping into a globalised workforce was one instance. Being introduced to various types of individuals felt like one giant leap from a fishbowl into the ocean. Suddenly, I was being questioned about everything that I thought was just normal. And sometimes, I’ll admit, their questions stumped me. But that confusion and uncertainty in those moments pushed me back to my roots.
I went back to my parents, overloading them with questions. And when that wasn’t enough, I went to friends or elders in my community. Soon enough, I began educating those whom initially I was flustered with by their enquiries, sharing my food unabashedly if someone wanted to try something. With this newfound knowledge came confidence. It was never something to hide away.
Similarly, no one else should be either. It fills me with indescribable joy when I see young people posting videos on social media where, in their schools or at work, they celebrate Culture Day; holding flags, strutting down stages as others cheer for them.
If there’s one thing Slough has right, it’s celebrating people. No matter the identity, everyone is always included. But to keep it from being a one-off event, more can be done. Whether it be in having heritage presentations, language tasters, every effort is significant in shaping minds and dismantling stereotypes.
So, whether you’re wearing a sari, a thobe, a dashiki or just jeans and a curious smile – your presence matters every-day. Your culture matters always.
