By Sreedhar Potarazu
There is something almost poetic about the quiet way Indian Americans have woven themselves into the fabric of this nation — not with force, not through noise, but with grace. Is this what Gandhi envisioned behind his wheel? It is a movement that has unfolded softly, through decades of hard work, quiet endurance, and the belief that dignity and contribution will ultimately outlast prejudice and indifference.
The recent election of Zohran Mamdani as Mayor of New York — the first Indian Muslim to hold this position — is not a political statement. It is a moral one. It represents the flowering of roots planted long before any of us could imagine this moment. It is not about party or ideology; it is about the virtue of where we came from and the triumph of those who paved the way in silence. Another remarkable milestone underscores this point: Ghazala Hashmi’s election as lieutenant governor of Virginia marks the first time an Indian American and Muslim has secured statewide office in that commonwealth. Her win is another quiet yet powerful chapter in this ever-growing story of belonging and contribution.
My parents were among those pioneers. They came to America in the late 1950s, long before “diversity” was a word on anyone’s lips. They arrived with little more than hope and faith. They lived in a small studio apartment in the Bronx, cooking every meal on a single heater. There were no Indian grocery stores, no temples, and no enclaves where they could find comfort in the familiar. The only place Indian women across the country could gather was a small shop on Canal Street called Popular Fabrics, where they bought nylon sarees and traded stories from home. That tiny corner of New York was their first Jackson Heights — their first community, their first fragile connection to who we were and who we hoped to become.
READ: Faith is a personal journey — Not a political debate (
It’s from that quiet struggle that today’s success has emerged. Indian Americans now make up only 1.5% of the U.S. population, yet they contribute an estimated 5 to 6 percent of all federal income taxes — nearly $300 billion a year. They lead sixteen Fortune 500 companies, employing more than two and a half million Americans and generating close to a trillion dollars in revenue. They have co-founded seventy-two of America’s most successful start-ups, creating tens of thousands of jobs and nearly $200 billion in value. Their median household income — more than $150,000 — is among the highest in the country, a reflection not of privilege but of perseverance.
But statistics alone cannot capture the heart of this story. What defines the Indian American journey is not the scale of its success, but the spirit of its striving. Ours is a community that does not arrive demanding recognition; it earns it. We rise not by shouting louder, but by standing steadier. We build quietly, believing that success without arrogance is its own form of greatness.
This is why the stories of Zohran Mamdani and Ghazala Hashmi resonate so deeply. Their ascent is not about politics but about legacy. Mamdani’s mother, the acclaimed filmmaker Mira Nair, came to the United States from Rourkela, India — a young woman with a camera and a conviction that stories could connect the world. Her celebrated film The Namesake captured the very struggle of Indians adapting and thriving in America. Her mother, Parveen Nair, was a social worker whose compassion touched countless lives. That lineage — of service, empathy, and storytelling — is the soil from which Zohran’s victory has grown. It is the continuity of generations who believed that one can belong to two worlds without losing either one.
Indian Americans have now touched every corner of American life — from Silicon Valley to the courts, from the operating room to the Oval Office. Vice President Kamala Harris carries the heritage of an Indian mother. Maryland’s Lieutenant Governor, Aruna Miller, represents another milestone in representation. And across the corporate landscape — from Google and Microsoft to Adobe and IBM — Indian Americans have become synonymous with leadership and innovation.
Yet what is most extraordinary about this rise is how quietly it has unfolded. There has been no march demanding acknowledgment, no slogan insisting on space. Instead, it has been built through study, discipline, and an unshakable sense of gratitude — an understanding that contribution is the purest form of citizenship.
READ: Is the ‘Ramayana’ relevant for our children? The gap in Indian American parenting (
When my parents arrived, they were not thinking about power. They were thinking about survival. When they saved a few dollars to send back home, they were not thinking about legacy. They were thinking about responsibility. Yet through those humble acts — those quiet, unrecorded moments — they helped shape the destiny of a generation.
Today, when an Indian American wins an election, runs a company, or breaks new ground, it is not just the victory of that individual. It is the silent victory of every parent who worked double shifts so their children could dream, of every mother who learned to make roti in a cramped apartment far from home, of every child who translated between two languages at the dinner table and between two worlds in their hearts. That resilience also resonates in our circumstances of failure, when we reflect on how they endured struggles with grace and fortitude.
These victories are not a story of arrival — they are the blossoming of seeds planted decades ago. It is the journey of a people who came with nothing and gave everything, who learned to balance two identities and, in doing so, enriched the soul of both.
Indian Americans have become one of the most powerful economic and intellectual forces in the nation, but their true contribution is something more profound: the reminder that greatness need not be loud, that success need not be brash, and that the deepest change often begins with grace.
The victory of Zohran Mamdani, the artistry of Mira Nair, the endurance of parents who came before us — these are all verses in the same poem, one written in patience, sacrifice, and quiet triumph.
Eighty years after the first few Indian families arrived in America — often unacknowledged and unseen — their children now help lead this nation. That is not just success; it is grace fulfilled. It is the story of America at its best — a nation that, despite its flaws and stumbles, still allows roots planted in foreign soil to bloom into something beautiful. Regardless of political affiliation or ideology, Indian Americans are becoming an important thread in the loom of American society.
(Sreedhar Potarazu, MD, MBA, is an ophthalmologist, healthcare entrepreneur, and author with more than two decades of experience at the intersection of medicine, business, and technology)