Children of diaspora and the romanticisation of the Homeland

There is no doubt that South Asian culture is the trendiest it’s been since the revival of “Boho-chic” in 2004 . Even though there have been ongoing conversations about lack of acknowledgement and cultural appropriation, South Asian influences are everywhere in the West today from clothing items like the dupatta to meditational practices such as yoga, a well-known Hindu tradition that’s now embraced globally.

However, this trendification of South Asian culture is not driven solely by Western consumers. Children of the South Asian diaspora have also played a role, increasingly engaging in a selective celebration of their heritage that aligns with Western tastes. Traditional clothing, music, and religious symbols are often reframed as fashionable or aesthetic, while more complex and uncomfortable aspects of South Asian identity – such as intergenerational trauma or the ongoing effects of colonialism – are frequently ignored or softened. For example, younger generations often embrace aspects of South Asian culture that are more easily packaged for Western audiences such as Bollywood, which is heavily influenced by Hollywood, and Kathak (a classical dance form). While more complex or less familiar traditions, like Qawwali or Bharatanatyam, are often viewed as less digestible or marketable and therefore sidelined.

This selective engagement is especially visible on social media platforms such as TikTok and Instagram, where diasporic creators often romanticise the “homeland.” Videos are paired with captions like “simpler times” or “I wish we never left,” presenting South Asia as idyllic and timeless. Yet these same environments were often marked by economic hardship, political instability, and restrictive social structures - conditions that compelled migration in the first place.

Such nostalgia is only possible from a position of distance and relative privilege. For many immigrant parents, the homeland does not represent simplicity but survival. Their memories are shaped by limited opportunities, rigid hierarchies, and insecurity, making the romantic framing of these spaces an oversimplification that overlooks the sacrifices made to provide their children with stability, education, and mobility in the West.

In repackaging these histories for online consumption, diasporic creators risk flattening complex narratives into visually pleasing content. Intergenerational trauma - rooted in loss, displacement, and endurance - is transformed into an aesthetic detached from its emotional and historical weight. What is presented as homage can instead function as erasure, prioritising an easy swallow over truth.

This becomes particularly troubling when the history of colonialism in South Asia is ignored altogether. In order to make the homeland appealing to Western audiences, diasporic narratives are often stripped of the violence, exploitation, and disruption caused by British and European imperial rule. South Asia is framed as culturally rich yet politically neutral, allowing its beauty to be celebrated without confronting the brutality that shaped its modern realities.

By presenting the homeland as timeless and apolitical, these representations subtly cater to the same Western gaze that once justified, and lest we forget, participated in Colonialism. Colonialism is reduced to a footnote (if acknowledged at all) enabling validation from audiences whose comfort depends on forgetting the West’s role in destabilising the region.

Colonial policies fractured economies, restructured social hierarchies, and contributed to famine, partition, and mass displacement - conditions that forced migration across generations. To romanticise the homeland without acknowledging these histories is to detach intergenerational trauma from its root causes, transforming history into consumable nostalgia. In this way, cultural celebration becomes complicit, reshaping South Asian history to suit those who once benefited from its erasure.

That said, it is important to clarify that it is not inherently negative for children of the diaspora to take an interest in their heritage. On the contrary, curiosity and reconnection can be meaningful acts of resistance against assimilation and cultural loss. However, this engagement often remains surface-level. Many are quick to embrace the easier trends such as “desi fusion” in fashion or aestheticised religious symbols, while neglecting deeper forms of cultural preservation. Learning ancestral languages, understanding regional histories, and engaging critically with the political and social realities of the homeland require effort and discomfort - things that aesthetics alone do not demand. Without this deeper commitment, cultural pride risks becoming performative, celebrating appearance over substance and trend over truth.