Cultural Assimilation or the Quiet Theft of Culture

I am still exploring the layers of my cultural identity, yet the feeling this recent performance on an Indian TV show evoked was too real to ignore. In a recent episode of a show I was watching, a group of performers showcased a specific art form. Although I do not live in Nepal, I closely identify with its culture, so I became very excited when I saw the performance—the attire looked familiar, the same type worn back home during the Lakhe dance.

The introduction began with the group presenting themselves as people from Sikkim—a place that was once a part of Nepal (referring to the Greater Nepal map), before political restructuring and British-era treaties reshaped the region into its present form. I watched the entire performance and listened carefully. The language, the dance form and everything about the act was Nepali, or at least very closely related to Nepali identity. The entire segment deeply impressed me, and I found myself cheering them on. They even received a golden buzzer. Yet there I was on the other side of the screen, impatiently waiting for my culture to be identified as Nepali or at least acknowledged.

Now, do not get me wrong. Culture has no boundaries and should be a medium for sharing, learning and celebration across the world. But when a culture is not given its correct identification, it steals the voices of the people it belongs to. It ends up disappointing and hurting them. As the act concluded, I thought, “Maybe they forgot,” until I heard the words, “Ye hai humare desh ka culture” (“This is the culture of our country”), said proudly from the screen.

I felt my face flush red. As a Nepali child who often struggled to identify as Nepali because I rarely lived there—yet whose heart still beat for it—my heart was crushed. Humiliation swept over me, mixed with teenage emotions running wild in my mind. I tried to rationalise it: “Culture has no boundaries… look at Indonesia and Malaysia…” or even “Maybe they forgot.” But my mind pushed back: “Why is Portuguese influence always clearly labelled as ‘Portuguese influence’, yet Nepali influence is absorbed as simply ‘part of the country’s culture’?”

And that is not all.

Even food like jhol momo, widely recognised in credible culinary and cultural accounts as Nepali, is often treated as though it belongs to the broader Himalayan region. Historical documentation shows that while dumpling traditions came through Tibet, the momo we know today—including jhol momo—was adapted, spiced and popularised in the Kathmandu Valley, primarily by the Newar community, before becoming a national Nepali dish.

I remember being constantly teased in school. My nickname was “Momo”. And when global leaders—like those of Russia—are served this very dish, yet it receives little recognition online, it feels dismissive to those of us who carry Nepali identity in our bones. Why is a Mughlai dish labelled a “Mughlai dish”, but a Nepali dish is reduced to simply “part of the culture”?

It does not end there.

Look at the outrage sparked over the so-called “Scandinavian scarf”, which closely resembles Indian dupatta patterns that have existed for centuries across South Asia. The same happened with the Kolhapuri chappal, once copied, renamed and sold by global luxury brands as if they had invented it. These incidents do not just frustrate people; they reveal a larger global pattern where cultures from the Global South are absorbed, “aestheticised”, and economically exploited without credit. And when these designs finally reach global platforms, they are celebrated under new labels that erase the communities that created them.

This is why recognition matters. Cultures have always been linked through migration, trade, intermarriage, music, food and shared histories. Geography does not always bind or define us because culture travels—through people, memory and ancestry. It evolves, blends and adapts. But evolution does not justify erasure. This is not Darwin’s natural selection. The respectful—and necessary—thing to do is to acknowledge where something came from, who shaped it and who carried it forward.

Because culture is not just a fabric you drape, a dish you enjoy or a dance you watch. It is a collective archive of people’s memories, stories and rhythms that have survived conquest, migration, colonisation and, in today’s world, globalisation. Culture is identity, built slowly over generations. Culture is dignity, carved into existence by people who often had nothing else to preserve but their art, their food, their stories and their rituals.

So, when recognition is denied—when origin is blurred, renamed or claimed by someone else—it is not merely a factual error. It is a quiet form of cultural dispossession. It tells a child watching from another country that their heritage is visible enough to be copied but not valuable enough to be named. And that is why accurate identification is not pettiness; it is preservation. It is the right of every community to see their culture acknowledged, respected and spoken for with honesty.