Growing up in Wausau, Wis., events such as our annual Diwali Festival were especially important to me because, even in an area that was predominantly white, the energy of Indian culture could create an evening of multiculturalism, happiness and humanity. My personal contribution to these festivals was as a dancer. With my sister as our choreographer, myself and several of our friends would perform in front of an energetic audience, all eager to see the months’ worth of effort we put into our presentation of Indian culture
Although most of my friends were not Indian, and many of those clapping for us after our dance weren’t either, the night did not lack magic. In fact, the very focus on learning about each other — our humanity and our backgrounds — almost made the joy more infectious. It was a type of happiness from which I never imagined I would feel disconnected.
Upon coming to Georgetown University — although I was surrounded by a community far more diverse than the one I grew up with — I found myself struggling to find the confidence to join groups with an Indian or South Asian community. I became a victim to a problem I never imagined myself having.
Only by listening to my peers’ experiences and acknowledging my own hesitation to embrace my culture did I truly understand why those Diwali festivals back home meant so much to me. Dancing, my culture, the people — it was about educating. While I derived great personal joy from being on stage and seeing our hard work pay off, I felt real power from how I contributed to the South Asian community, educated the Wausau community and advocated for diversity.
Unfortunately, when advocating for diversity, many organizations, communities, schools and other institutions often measure their work by how it looks. For example, in many cases, “diversity” is considered achieved by the mere inclusion of a single brown individual. This underwhelming attempt at diversification has the harmful implication that South Asians are a monolithic group; there is a gap in education and a clear lack of nuance in how most people understand South Asian cultures.
Georgetown Rangila, the university’s premier South Asia philanthropic performing arts showcase, introduces a creative solution to this complex and overshadowed issue. Because music and dance are such integral parts of many South Asian cultures, they can be helpful tools as we learn how to effectively appreciate the diversity within South Asia itself.
Saachi Baldwa (CAS ’26), a student here at Georgetown and a child of Indian immigrants, emphasized the importance of highlighting the complexities within the South Asian region and how art can be a productive means by which to do so to me.
“One of the easiest ways for me to access culture was to see myself on the screen through Bollywood,” Baldwa said.
Moreover, Baldwa not only praises this approach to cultural inclusion but also practices it in her own work. As one of the directors of Studio Rangila, a team of student musicians who perform South Asian music of several different genres, she explains how music can successfully achieve representation of South Asian cultures.
“Rangila prioritizes representation through diversifying our music taste and the charities we support,” said Baldwa.
This year, Studio Rangila will highlight music from several regions, including Afghanistan and South India, while also representing a plethora of languages, as seen in one of their selections, an Urdu-Hindi mix.
Rangila’s unique way of using art to provide a holistic appreciation of all different South Asian cultures is coupled with philanthropic efforts to fulfill its mission of uplifting these communities. Although Baldwa and I advocate for the inclusion of all different backgrounds, as Indians we are a part of the group that receives a majority of the attention among South Asians.
Deepa Phuyal (SFS ’26), a choreographer for Rangila, uses spaces like the showcase to not only fight for representation of the various cultures in the region, but as a Nepali, to also fight for herself. Phuyal recounted to me that Rangila showcased the first Nepali dance only two years ago. Even organizations like Rangila, whose intentions are to educate and include, have areas to grow and improve.
This year, Rangila’s chosen philanthropy partner is the Little Sisters Fund, a charity that seeks to provide at-risk Nepali girls with the resources and support to become empowered individuals, emphasizing a young girl’s right to an education and any opportunity to be a change maker within her community. The Nepali community — Deepa’s community — received not only a spotlight in the showcase the last two years but also the much deserved recognition as Rangila’s board members decided where the club should invest its revenue. Rangila’s growth in the last few years is indicative of the way that activism is about constantly learning, making mistakes and trying again.
What seemed so daunting to me at first about finding a brown community on campus suddenly seemed so insignificant. Phuyal, as a fellow Midwesterner, understood how difficult it was to adjust to a campus that seemed so diverse and rich in culture, especially when coming from a background where she was one of the few South Asians in personal and professional circles. And yet, through the guidance of upperclassmen, friendships made with classmates and, of course, personal courage, she has been a part of a student group that not only puts on a wildly entertaining and successful show but also does the important work of raising money for charity and spreading awareness about South Asia’s multifaceted nature.
South Asians are not a monolith and all aspects of their variety deserve to be explored. However, this larger picture can only be tended to if we can navigate our personal challenges first. It is unproductive to scare yourself away from what you are drawn to. As someone who has done just that, I implore you against convincing yourself that where you came from can stop you from accessing the things you care about.
Culture is pervasive and it’s important to embrace it. It doesn’t matter if you are someone like Phuyal and myself — who come from areas with a significant lack of diversity — or like Baldwa — who thought Georgetown lacked in multifariousness compared to the San Francisco Bay Area, where she was part of a large immigrant community. In the end, we all care about our background and our culture. We care about speaking up and showing out for all types of people, whether that happens to be through dancing, singing, donating or writing an article.
Mansi Peters is a sophomore in the College of Arts & Sciences. This is the second installment of her column, “Activism Through Art.”
