Neena Sharma is a woman in love. In her debut memoir, What You Make Me Feel: Black and Brown LoveThrough her own interracial relationship as an Indian woman married to a black man, she examines the powerful love and solidarity of the African-Asian alliance.
Beginning in suburban New Jersey, the film follows Nina as she battles bipolar disorder while simultaneously grappling with her identity as a South Asian. Nina details her experience with mental illness, which mirrors the story of how she met, fell in love with, and built a life with her husband, Quincy Jones.
Mira Nair’s reflections on a classic African-Asian love story Mississippi Masala Set against a backdrop of visceral conflict with anti-Black racism in the South Asian community, Nina approaches her own life with equal parts raw vulnerability, humour and empathy.
Yes, Nina is a woman in love, but her love goes beyond marriage. Through this deeply intimate portrait of a woman finding her place in the world, we come to understand Nina as a woman who loves her husband, her family, and herself.
I spoke with Nina Sharma about South Asian identity, self-love in the writing process, and what African-Asian solidarity means to her.
Anupa Othiv: As a South Asian writer from New Jersey, this collection was immediately personal to me. You write about your life against the backdrop of North Jersey and speak to a particular South Asian upbringing in America. What role does New Jersey play in your identity as a South Asian woman? Was that something you were thinking about while writing?
Nina Sharma: Thank you! I really appreciate it because you have to be from New Jersey to notice the deeper meanings in this book.
Growing up in Edison in the late 80s and 90s, I saw Edison become the hub of South Asian culture and community it is today, including an ice cream shop that once called Bombay. chat The house was left as is, but the building structure was preserved along with the same ice cream sign. chatbut they made it work for them! In some ways, my journey has been the opposite: I grew up in a South Asian community but went to a predominantly White private school and spent a large part of my youth assimilating into Whiteness.
That journey reminds me of my parents and the journey they took to immigrate to this country. Even though Edison has a strong South Asian community, that dichotomy reminds me of how white supremacy operates in this country and how big of an issue it is for immigrants. It’s a big touchpoint throughout the book and something I think about constantly, having grown up in that area of New Jersey. My Edison roots have deeply influenced my identity as a first-generation South Asian and have helped define my sense of self over the years.
AO: One of the most poignant relationships in the book, outside of your marriage, is your relationship with your parents. You write about them so honestly and sensitively, including their anguish over your mental state and your relationship with an Afro-Asian man. What was it like writing about them in such a personal way?
NS: Honestly, it was very hard. I faced constant inner conflict, but I am so grateful to have my husband, Quincy, as my reader throughout the writing process. He helped me realize the power of writing complex human characters with strengths and weaknesses, whether it was my parents or myself. When I started my master’s program, I was writing stories about my life and relationships through a filtered lens. The sheen of perfection ended up creating distance between me and my readers. When I started writing messy stories about fights and dirty dishes, I realized that readers could empathize with me more.
I hope to humanize everyone in this book, portraying the people I love as characters the reader can root for.
Although this is a memoir, I see the people in this book as characters, including myself. I wanted to portray everyone, especially my parents, with the complexity they deserve — and that complexity is what makes them so lovable. By humanizing everyone in this book, I hope to portray the people I love as characters you root for.
AO: I understand the urge to add a “gloss of perfection.” It feels safer to hide the inevitable ugliness of lived experience. Why is your writing so raw?
NS: In general, I consider myself an introvert, but writing has always been my excuse to let my all out, and essays in particular are my medium of choice for connecting with others and sharing my true self with the world.
One of my professors at Columbia University, Philip Lopate, wrote in his book: The Art of the Personal Essay: An Anthology from Classical to Contemporary Times, I think it’s absolutely true that at the heart of an essay is intimacy between reader and writer. Whether you’re writing broadly about complex political issues or deeply intimate writing, that intimacy is essential to connecting with other people. It requires a certain amount of rawness to foster it.
AO: How did you decide which stories were essential to the story of this collection and which ones to leave out?
NS: When I was originally writing the essay “Shithole Country Clubs” for The Margins, my editor, Jyothi Natarajan, read my essay in this book. At the time, the piece had too many competing ideas and themes. To narrow it down, she asked me, “How much can you put into this story?”
I think about it all the time. What are the core elements of an essay, and what helps me get closer to that? What can I save for another story, another essay, or another book? Sometimes I’m writing something and I think, “Wow, I found gold! But this gold is for another day.” So it’s not like I’m leaving anything out, but rather I’m seeing the potential for something else in my story.
AO: Though the collection is primarily about your interracial marriage to Quincy Jones, the love depicted in the book goes beyond married life. What I’ve been most impressed with is your ability to write about yourself and your mental health journey with so much empathy and self-love. How did you keep self-love front and center throughout your writing process?
NS: For me, writing is ultimately an act of self-love. The process of writing about my mental health, for example, is a way to address and overcome anxiety about it. I’m surprised that I still encounter anxiety sometimes. [about mental health]But ultimately, I think it’s good to have those moments of reflection.
An alliance between Africa and Asia begins with two things: listening to and remembering our history.
Writing is a chance to dig deep into your emotions and understand where they come from. Am I feeling ashamed? Is it internalized judgement or prejudice? Writing played a big role in the process of writing this book, helping me work through my insecurities to a place of self-love. This is where it helps to write about yourself as a character in a novel, rather than as the narrator of your own life. It teaches you to root for yourself!
AO: That’s amazing. You’re Nina, the heroine on her hero’s journey!
NS: I’m like Mario’s princess.
AO: Princess Peach?
NS: yes!
AO: Your sense of humor runs deep throughout this collection, even though you’re writing about racism, white supremacy, and mental health. How did you use humor as a way to communicate these things without sugarcoating them or overlooking them?
NS: Humor is a way to create a conversation on the page. It is the art of capturing the way we talk to each other. When we talk to friends, we heighten emotions to get a reaction or to make them laugh. We tell jokes to bring us closer to each other. Humor is an essential part of my conversations with anyone. I can’t imagine building a relationship with my readers without humor.
If I can’t think of a comedy when I’m writing, that’s a problem. Even if the subject matter is dark, I tend to look for laughter. For me, laughter is not something that makes things lighter. I don’t subscribe to the idea of ”comic relief.” For me, laughter is missional, it helps me focus on something that I want to break the silence of. Laughter may be the first and most primitive act of breaking the silence.
When I started doing improvisational comedy at the Magnet Theater in Manhattan, I was writing the stories that ended up in this book. I saw a flyer at the theater for “You Are Not Alone,” a show that combines improvisation with uplifting stories about mental health and depression. When I saw it, I knew this was the perfect fit for me. I discovered that comedy has the power to make people feel seen and understood. Comedy is a tool to connect with people without belittling yourself or your experiences.
AO: Another powerful tool you use is pop culture criticism. One of the essays in the book is about your complicated relationship with Mira Nair’s film Mississippi Masala. For you, what role does pop culture criticism play in your storytelling?
NS: American pop culture is a big part of the book because it was a way of assimilating as a first-generation Indian American: movies and music were my anchors as I navigated my identity as an Indian and an American.
and Mississippi Masalais a film about an African-Asian love that I have always found beautiful and iconic, but it took me a few viewings to appreciate the impact it had on me. I never understood why I couldn’t relate to the film on a personal level. Was it internalized racism? Was it just painful to watch because of similar experiences I’ve had with my parents regarding African-Asian love?
Writing those feelings out helped me come to terms with them, and I realized that my journey to understanding and loving that film paralleled my journey to understanding and loving myself.
AO: African-Asian alliances are a running theme throughout the book, especially in the context of your marriage. What does African-Asian alliance and solidarity mean to you beyond the context of a romantic relationship?
NS: We live in a time when the teaching and documentation of the history of racism in this country is under threat. We live in a time when racism in this country is being challenged in new ways. Diversity and inclusion programs are being threatened and cut, record numbers of books are being banned, and critical race theory is being removed from school curricula. This is frightening, but it is also an opportunity to stand up and publicly oppose such a future.
For me, Afro-Asian solidarity starts with two things: listening and remembering history. Of course, sometimes we must take direct action through protest and mutual aid. But in a time when schools are monitored and students are censored, knowledge is the greatest power. Remembering history ensures that we do not repeat the same mistakes as our ancestors. We can practice it in many ways, such as donating time and money to grassroots organizations and platforming the work of Black, queer, and feminist scholars. I think the most important thing is choosing to go out every day to express and practice solidarity.
