When Notre Dame speaks my mother tongue

For a long time, I watched Malayalam movies buried under the blankets in my dorm room. Not because I was ashamed, but because I believed that I could not afford to share this world of familiar voices and familiar words with the Americans. Alone, I watched my favorite comedy movies because I wanted to remember what it felt like to laugh out loud, with the people that I belonged to. I allowed myself to rewatch these movies, but I was always prepared to press my hand to my mouth, to smother the laughter before it reached the ears of my American roommate.

In those days, I also hunted down the latest Malayalam movies. I convinced myself to get Netflix and Hulu subscriptions and followed all my favorite Indian film critics with zeal. I even went so far as to write my first paper on the Malayalam film "Hridayam." Every weekend, I searched for new pieces of home, and when I found them, I proudly exhibited them in the empty spaces of my heart, knowing that I would be the only admirer.

In my sophomore year, I graduated to a more confident version of myself, and as a result, I started watching Malayalam films at my desk in my dorm room. My new roommate and I were still getting to know each other. Our conversations were good and long but eventually, we would walk away into our own silences.

"Hannah, any fun plans for tonight?"

"I’m just going to watch a movie."

"What movie?"

"It’s an Indian movie that you probably haven’t heard about."

I never told her the names of the titles or the actors. Why would she care to learn words that sounded strange on her tongue? We belonged to two worlds after all.

But one night she chose to step into mine.

I was procrastinating work and watching "Chithha," a survival thriller about a young man who is looking for his kidnapped niece. After three short hours of experiencing too many emotions, I put down my headphones, stretched and remembered wistfully that there was no one to share such a beautiful film with.

"Hannah, is the girl safe? I really need to know."

I turned to Ruthanne, and we laughed together. She confided that she had casually looked over towards my computer screen and had been hooked by the story. Of course, she had missed most of it–the dialogue, the music and the incredible acting. But the film had reached out to her in its own way. I promised her with a smile that the girl was safe with her uncle. In our shared smiles was a thread connecting our two worlds.

As our friendship grew, this thread became a bridge.

Ruthanne, determined to give me the full American experience, came up with a comprehensive list of Gen-Z movies that we had to watch before we graduated. Her willingness to invite me into her world gave me the courage to welcome her into mine.

One of the first Malayalam movies we watched together was "Forensic," a horror thriller. Even though Ruthanne claims that the blood and gore scarred her for life, I am so grateful that she gifted me with her willingness to immerse herself in the unfamiliar. The second time, I watched a Malayalam movie with her entire family. They asked me questions about the Malayalam phrases that the English subtitles did not do justice to, the customs and traditions of the community that the film focused on and the social realities that the film emphasized. Curled up on my roommate's couch with a blanket wrapped around me, I silently watched my American friends as they received and engaged with a product of my culture.

This was the moment when I finally stood on the bridge between the two worlds I inhabited. When my American friends invited me to share with them the most beautiful pieces of my faraway home, I finally experienced a wonderful sense of belonging in this new place I had chosen for myself. Their desire to wholeheartedly receive and engage with the gift of my culture told me that here, with these people, I would always be seen and known.

The sense of belonging I experienced in that moment has strengthened as I gradually found my place at Notre Dame. Last fall, I felt so proud when the University announced its decision to become need-blind for international students. Could there be a grander gesture of welcome, a more sincere way of telling someone from a different culture that they, too, are important? That they, too, are needed?

I experienced a similar, smaller moment of pride this Sunday when I read the Weekly Digest email and realized that Notre Dame would be screening a film in my mother tongue.

"All We Imagine As Light," the Cannes Grand Prix-winning directorial by Payal Kapadia, will be screened in the DeBartolo Performing Arts Center this Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

In the months after the film's release, as I listened avidly to the many Youtube reviews that celebrated the way the visuals capture the melancholic beauty of Mumbai and the way the music leads the audience into deeper layers of the story, I wished and hoped for a chance to encounter this film in a theatre alongside others who also appreciate the beautiful.

This Saturday, I will get to watch this movie with my Indian friends at the American university that we have come to call our own. In this place where we were once strangers and longed desperately for our familiar worlds, we are given the opportunity to celebrate and share with the larger Notre Dame community the pieces of home that we hold onto.

Perhaps this screening is simply Notre Dame's way of paying respect to a spectacular film that gained international acclaim. But to me it's much more. To the Malayali Indian girl in me, the screening of this film is an invitation to share the most beautiful parts of my identity with my university.

This Saturday, I will listen to the familiar words flow from the mouths of the actors and travel back home to my country, to Mumbai and Kerala, knowing that I am held and that I belong here at Notre Dame.