she's starting to believe

so this my crack at 100 grand....

"How does your American Dream compare to that of your parents?"

For as long as I can remember, my father and I have congregated at the same place every morning- the bathroom. As I brushed and he shaved, we would take turns using the sink, never actually acknowledging one another, but always knowing the other’s presence by the humming of our respective tunes. Mine changed throughout the years; beginning as a school song or lullaby, it graduated to the newest Spice Girl number by the tender age of nine, and now varies from Broadway showtunes to top 40 hits. My father’s music choices have varied as well; I remember him humming old, unfamiliar Indian film songs, sometimes a smattering of newer numbers, and occasionally a recognizable tune that I could sing along to.
It’s no surprise that we start each morning the same way; music is a big part of our family- my dad is a musician and singer; his devotion to the tabla has played an instrumental role in how I was brought up. I’ve kept up the classical music tradition by my immersion in Bharatanatyam, a classical form of Indian dance.
My dad came to America when he was twenty-one and through a series of (chance, fateful, random) meetings and opportunities, wound up with a stable career and healthy family. He took a chance by coming to America- hopping from state to state, he worked hard at school and engineering, yet he continued to play for audiences across the country. As a young man, my father wanted nothing more than to perform, but he carried in his suitcase a greater sense of obligation and responsibility to the roots he had left in India and the seeds he would embed in this land of opportunity- and I don’t blame him; as the first in his family to come to this unfamiliar world of purple mountain majesties, to think of the pressure he felt is almost as overwhelming as the prospect of doing what he did. My dad put his dreams aside because he thought that if he could establish new roots in America, the ones he loved would have a shot at greatness, and that would make his sacrifice worthwhile.
So I know he understands when I tell him I want to perform. Despite the social stigma that the occupation of “actor” carries in our well-meaning, traditional Indian culture, he knows it’s in my blood. When I consider it, our dreams aren’t so different at all; it’s only a matter of circumstance. The twinkle in my eye is only a reflection of the stars I reach for- and I can’t help but have this feeling that he’s seen those stars before, he’s reached for them and that now, more than ever, his dream is for me to make mine a reality.
So when he joins me in singing a Rod Stewart classic, or when I try to keep up with a folk song in Gujarati, our native tongue, I hear more than just two raspy morning-breath voices. I hear music.


is it worth $100,000? please feel free to comment.