Fifteen years ago, my mother placed in front of me two traditional food dishes, one from Gujarat and one from Sindh. As a 5-year-old, I was faced with the daunting task of choosing whether I wanted to pick the vegetarian dish or the meat dish. This choice was a result of my mixed cultural upbringing; my father was Gujarati and my mother, Sindhi. Choosing food was not the most difficult choice yet; I was later asked to pick a language, traditions and a religious deity. The choices seemed overwhelming, especially when I had such stark dualities to choose from.

But most of the time when I traveled abroad, it seemed like it didn't really matter which side I picked. It didn't matter that I came from such a culturally rich and varied background. I was subject to the Indian stereotype and was quickly compartmentalized with all the other Indians that one may have come across in their lifetime.

Here are just some of the *intriguing* questions I've been asked:

"So, tell me, how is your English SO good? Don't you, like, speak Hindu?"

"Ohh, so you're telling me you DON'T ride elephants in India? Aren't they just all over the streets?"

"You eat MEAT? I thought Indians were vegetarians."

"Do you feel lucky to be in the U.S.? Isn't getting a visa, like, impossible?"

Some of you might wonder whether I've actually been asked these questions, and let me assure you, yes, these are all real. While some may seem too far fetched to reflect the general mindset, they still represent a false and unnecessarily crude image of my country and its people. Angry, I vaguely remember saying something along the lines of "How dare you ask such ignorant questions," or "Let me tell you a thing or two about Indians."

But it wasn't until later, while watching Chimamanda Adichie's TED talk, "The Danger Of A Single Story," that I realized that I too played a role in stereotyping — I wasn't just victim to these broad, untrue generalizations, I was also responsible for spreading them. And it wasn't just me. It was my friends, family and even strangers on a television screen, who, being Indian, compartmentalized another group, culture, or country through a very narrow lens. I may not have voiced these opinions as freely as the people who questioned me, but they still held true in my mind and were difficult to look through.

All through my middle and high school years:

I thought it was okay to group together all East Asians into a "similar features" group, because it was just a harmless joke.

I thought it was okay to attach the "poor Africa" stereotype to the entire continent, because who was there to correct us.

I thought it was okay to assume that European teens only cared about the parties and hookups, because that's what everyone around me said.

I thought it was okay to think that being lesbian was "hot," but being gay was something to be ashamed of, because it was all too humorous to do so.

I thought it was okay to think that Americans comprised of either obese, McDonald's hogging men, or lavish, exotic supermodels because that's what we had been told.

And really, all of us Indians kept saying these things, believing these things, and spreading these things, without realizing how offensive it actually was. Actually, I think we did know how offensive it was, but what did it matter, when we were insulated in our little Indian *bubble* where we had the right to judge anyone who wasn't one of us.

It's strange, you know. We would rush to defend our country and its ideals, but be even quicker to destroy those of any other country. In part, it was ignorance or even a lack of exposure. But mostly, it was a reluctance to actually consider a reality different from the ones we had created in our mind.

Don't get me wrong — not all Indians thought this way. There were those classmates who would pull up their friends for joking about such things and shout at them in raised voices. But for the most part, we would remain silent, because it didn't really matter as long as it was all in the name of humor.

But it wasn't just humor — it was a fallacious reality we had so often come to fool around about, that it became difficult to separate the jokes from the truth. It became dangerous when we didn't just superficially perpetuate the stereotypes but began buying into them.

Therefore, coming to the U.S. my freshman year, to my surprise, I found that:

It was easy to tell the difference between my Korean, Chinese and Japanese friends.

Some of my friends from Nigeria and Kenya did come from extremely wealthy families.

Students from Europe are some of the smartest people in my classes.

Being lesbian was more than just about the sex, and being gay was entirely normal.

Americans were not either hot or obese, there was a spectrum of grey in between.

To those reading this, I may sound like a jerk for lending any credence to these untruths in the first place, and even more for believing in the slightest that it was okay for my classmates to spread these stereotypes. But I want to share my own thoughts, no matter how absurd they may be, because I can't just keep blaming all those around me, when I too, am part of the problem.

While we Indians stand here hoping for a better image of our country, by re-enforcing to the world that badminton champ PV Sindhu was one of us, and cheering when Indians make it to the Forbes' Richest list, we forget to give others the chance to do the same — to show us their true selves, devoid of mass labels and categorizations.

So this is to my fellow classmates, family members, and all those who have judged all too easily, but never stopped for a second before judging others — don't bite unless you're ready to get bitten.

This is also to all those who may still not be convinced by this article, and on whom these words are lost; I hope one day something angers you enough to understand what I've said. Till then, you can live in your ignorance, but don't complain when the stereotypes come crashing down on you.