Deconstructing my South Asian complexes

A few months ago, I came across an article online, that captured my attention. One line that stuck with me was: "The legacy of the colonial-era oppression is visible amongst South Asians in behaviours such as inferiority complexes, submissiveness, people-pleasing, and overachieving tendencies."

I thought to myself that this notion explains quite a lot about ourselves. Recalling my three and a half-years' experience of living abroad, I remembered how I continuously felt the need to outperform myself by working too hard. Be it during my days of being a student in Sweden, or working in a multinational company—I never remember working less than 60-65 hours a week.

Truth be told, there was some objectivity behind this. I wanted to secure a high grade in my MSc programme, and the gig in Singapore involved working for one of the top multinational companies there.

While I feel that the effort was well invested, I was not satisfied even after achieving my goals. Now, 10 years later, I still feel the overwhelming need to prove my worth on a daily basis.

Recently, I made an astounding revelation about how deep-rooted my South Asian complexes are. I have always been a big fan of Coke Studio, and everything that the programme stood for in India and Pakistan.

I hardly remember a Coke Studio song that did not make an impression on me. While I was deep in admiration, I wondered why we did not have a version of Coke Studio in Bangladesh? Immediately afterwards, my inferiority complex kicked in, reminding me that we do not have composers and artists of the same calibre as A R Rahman and Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. Hence, it is obvious why Coke Studio had not, at least back then, ventured into Bangladesh.

Then, in 2022, 'Coke Studio Bangla' was officially announced, starting with "Nasek Nasek", a track that surpassed all expectations. I loved the energy of the performers and the authenticity of Bangladeshi music that was put on display. Then came "Prarthona", and the high quickly turned into lowest of the lows for me. Personally, I did not like the composition, and felt that the performance was dull.

A lot of instruments were used without any relevance. Animes Roy appeared as a background vocal, almost as if to indicate that there was a shortage of singers in the country. So, that is where my interest in Coke Studios Bangla ended.

Or at least, that is what I thought. A couple of weeks later, a video popped up on my YouTube feed, titled "Reaction video to Prarthona". I clicked on the link, expecting a diplomatic reaction from the German lady, whose YouTube channel it was shared to.

Her reaction, to my surprise, was of genuine praise. By the time the video ended, the efficient YouTube algorithm had lined up several other reaction videos from different parts of the world—all of which gave the song similar levels of praise. After watching almost ten reaction videos, I had developed new appreciation for the song. I listened to "Prarthona" eighteen times on repeat, and each time, I found something new to admire about the song. It needed ten reaction videos—ten sets of foreign validation to be precise—to convince myself that "Prarthona" was indeed a modern-day classic. 

I reflected deep into my South Asian self, and the necessity for validation from foreigners. That is how desperate our need for validation can be. So, what's the remedy? I am not an expert, but maybe a place to start, is to acknowledge and address this complex.