I grew up in Paris. Many years later, this experience continues to earn me oohs and ahs: It must have been so… exotic! Cool! Parisian! I never know what to say in response. I mean, all I did was grow up. I rode the Metro and went to the movies a lot. I had long school days and lots of homework. After high school I came to the US, and for better or for worse have stayed here ever since.
It seems that by leaving so soon I missed all the fun:
IN “Weekend in Paris” Molly Clearwater, a 21-year-old British secretary with long blond hair and gorgeous breasts, impulsively sheds her dull life in London and heads to Paris, where she finds “a dizzying carousel ride of passion, excitement and self-discovery.”
In “Paris Hangover” Lauren Klein, a 34-year-old New Yorker with long blond hair and gorgeous breasts, abandons her glamorous job as a fashion consultant, gives up her TriBeCa triplex and plunges “into the mysterious world of Gallic men.”
And in “Salaam, Paris,” a Bollywood version of the story, Tayana Shah, a sheltered 19-year-old Indian Muslim with long legs and gorgeous breasts, arrives in Paris to meet the man to whom she is betrothed, becomes a supermodel and finds true love.
Since all these stories are clearly based on common real-life experiences, I am left to conclude that had I stayed in Paris, I too could have become a mysterious Gallic man, my life’s work devoted to the emotional liberation of perfect-chested beauties from multiple continents. I suppose it would have made a worthy career, but hey, so is blogging. Life is about choices.
Still, I wanted to learn more about Miss Shah. Who is the literary mastermind who brought this creature to life? Why, it’s old friend Kavita Daswani, whose prior oeuvre includes The Village Bride of Beverly Hills and For Matrimonial Purposes, of which one SM regular’s concise review follows:
I’ve read For Matrimonial Purposes. (don’t ask)…vomit!
Now I don’t mind a little chick-lit. I unabashedly enjoyed the original Bridget Jones. Salaam, Paris intrigues me, if only to see the treatment of the city of my youth, even if it bears as much relation to the actual Paris as my current ghetto surroundings do to Carrie and Miranda’s New York City.
Desi reviewer Reeta Sinha gives Salaam, Paris the business, however:
Kavita Daswani seems to know a bit about stereotypes. Her first book, For Matrimonial Purposes, was full of them and things havenÂ’t changed much with this, her third and most recent work. If anything, the storyline provides room to expand, adding stereotypes about Muslim women to the usual desi chick-lit mix of arranged marriages, overbearing parents and the promise of glitz, glamour and happiness as soon as you leave India. …
ItÂ’s hard being a virgin, teetotaler supermodel, flitting between New York, the Caribbean and Paris, pretending to be hooked up with a rock star and being mauled by her handlers. ItÂ’s even worse when in between raking in fame and money, all you want to do is see your grandfather. … AllÂ’s well that ends well, of course. A fairy godmother in the form of an aunt helps Tanaya reconcile with her dying (of course), grandfather and Prince Charming does finally show up and they live happily ever after, in Paris (of course). …
Every imaginable cliché about Muslims and western perceptions has been thrown in, sadly, quite casually. So, you have references to RushdieÂ’s fatwa, four wives (Tanaya clarifies that sheÂ’s an Indian Muslim, not an Arab), she explains sheÂ’s not the “terrorist kind” when asked if sheÂ’s Muslim…
In conclusion, Sinha says:
But, then this is a beach-read. A fantasy. No bearing to the real world or real people whatsoever.
Or, as Entertainment Weekly puts it (via Amazon):
The culture-clash dilemmas ring heartbreakingly true.
Or maybe, just maybe, you would have magically sprouted long blonde hair and gorgeous breasts and met a mysterious Gallic man of your own. 😉
Surely your Harlem digs provide ample (pardon the pun) opportunities to engage in emotional liberation, though Afro-Iberian if not Gallic.
spoken like someone truly ignorant.
I suffered “For Matrimonial Purposes” and excused it by telling myself that it was vacation reading and nothing in the book was intended to stimulate my brain. It was simply a bound press timepass, and something to do between sips of fruity tropical cocktails.
“The Village Bride of Beverly Hills” was so godawful, horrid, trite and insulting that I debated throwing the book out the window and asking the neighbor’s dog to piss on it. But I decided to stick it out and read the whole thing, just so I’d know what I was talking about when telling everyone I know that this book isn’t fit for starting a campfire with.
With that said, I’m pretty sure I won’t be spending my time with a third Daswani book. She’s pandering to the culture whores, employing every cheesy stereotype and cliche… and frankly I like my writing a bit more inspiring.
good call on your “a bit more inspiring” book, that’s an all time favorite
Gallic men…yuck.
These sudden splurges of desi female/male authors have no talent in writing whatsoever (yes, some of them do, but for the most part no, all they do is take about how sweet and juicy the mango was in the summer of 76, and blah blah) They get to publish stuff like a hot press just because they write about subjects that are “cultural” and “exotic.” In the meantime, authors like this gal just promote idiotic stereotypes. Man, I hope someone at least starts to write something decent. But hey, I guess there’s always gonna be some infuriating chick lit out there.
I’m so sick of these books. Yes, I think the parental caricatures are funny and some parents are super overbearing, but it’s weird because these authors are informing stereotypes of Indians in America, and it pretty much backfires…a lot.
puerile.
Or, perhaps, the emotional liberation of perfect chests belonging to beauties from multiple continents.
Arre, stop frowning. You know you thought of that joke too.
ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
No more ‘cultural clashes ringing heartbreakingly true’!!! (how the hell would they know anyway?)
NO MORE ARRANGED MARRIAGES!!!!
NO MORE CURRY METAPHORS ABOUT HOW LIFE IS LIKE SPICES AND INDIAN FOOD!!!!!!!
No more no more no more!!!!!
I’m going to put a fatwa on these writers!!
ROFLOL!!
Now that is what I call good literary criticism 😉
BWAHAHAHAHAHHAA. Comedic gold. I’ll borrow that line from you DD.
Or….with a bit more pout, sass and a stringy blonde on your arm, you could have been a present-day Serge Gainsbourg
At this rate, I should write a book. As a lone desi in the middle of nowhere in Benelux, and arranged-
Oh, wait.
Although probably I have more reason to write a biographical novel than these people, since the emigratory history of my family includes WWII prisoner-of-wars, geishas, and Chiang K’ai-Shek.
That junk as described above is terrible though – I’m glad such books aren’t widely published in this country.
of course we would!!!! send us review copies, and we will review! i’ll email you my info and i am sure at least one of my fellow mutineers will do the same.
[DD curtsies to Red Snapper and GujuDude] here’s some more scathing review-baje 🙂
Well DesiDancer I think that it should be put on stickers and guerilla warfare should be declared on this kind of book. Surreptitiously shuffle into Borders and Waterstones and affix over the blurb that says ‘A life affirming mango curry of arranged marriage and culture clash in the diaspora as a woman frees hereself from her cardoman sari!” your all time classic “XXXX was so godawful, horrid, trite and insulting that I debated throwing the book out the window and asking the neighbor’s dog to piss on it”
This an act of mutiny.
Hawa: Count me in as well. Sirshendu, in particular, I might have some insight into. I have read almost all of his major works in Bengali. I will email you my details.
here here, Red Snapper! And all mehndi-mitted book covers with xari borders should be vandalized!
and the mangos! Death to the mangos, and a pox on the heads of heavily-eyelinered cover models looking demurely through their sheer dupattas, clutched in a delicate henna-ed hand, with haldi stains under their fingernails!
LMAO! This book sounds like good chick night material, to be snorted over with fellow desi girls over mango daiquiris.
Gallic men are highly overrated – melodramatic, over the top, penchant for making out in public – ugh.
And what kind of a name is “Tanaya”?
Death to the mangos! Brilliant. A rallying cry if ever I heard one!
It must be done.
DEATH TO THE MANGOS!!!
OK, OK, calm down everyone.
I think trite, poorly written fiction by Indians is a good thing. A literary culture is formed precisely when a wide range of talents and tastes are present in the marketplace of ideas. So, these vapid books are part of a normalization of Indian culture both at home and in the diaspora. In a way, they are anti-exotic.
In any case, Grisham, too, is full of horrid cliches, as is Dan Brown, as is Maeve Binchy. But because they are out there, making their money, writing their dross, the American/European book culture has full spectrum dominance. Bookshops have everything, from the sublime to the ridiculous.
American literature, I think, would be a lot poorer if there were only Cormac McCarthy and Joyce Carol Oates and Ha Jin and their ilk. We also need the crap stuff, partly because it keeps the rest of the market afloat, and partly because it gives us a matrix against which to judge the wonderful stuff. We musn’t fall into the trap of “one culture, one style” that has bedevilled many a generation of anthropologists. As far as I’m concerned, Shobha De is one of the best things that happened to Indian literature.
Hail
MogamboMangoes!Just don’t bring that crap around my house.
kobayashi, you had me until your last line:
that is where we must part ways.
I had you that far?
Lady Shobha was a gift to tabloid writers. “The De of Reckoning,” “That would be the De,” “Not a De too soon,” etc.
brownz-and-boox.
Kobayashi brings in a fair point– at least people are reading, even it it is SHITE books. Better that than wasting hours on X-box, watching Jerry Springer, or pulling the wings off butterflies…
Ya Mr Kobayashi you are right, I can’t in all honesty argue with you, we need manure out of which great orchids will grow. But still, that slogan ‘Death To The Mangos!’
What a battle cry!
And it gives us the chance to be petulant and angry! Against the mangos! Death to them!!
Oh, I absolutely agree. And don’t get me wrong, we are all united in this struggle. Every single one of us. Our immediate strategy is to eliminate mangoes abroad so we do not have to face them here at home.
The theory here is straightforward: Mangoes are less likely to endanger our security if they’re worried about their own security.
When mangoes spend their day struggling to avoid capture or juicing they are less capable of arming and training to commit new attacks.
We will keep the mangoes on the run until they have nowhere left to hide.
In three-and-a-half years, we and our allies have waged a campaign of global scale, from the mountains of Kashmir to the border regions of Pakistan, to the marshes of Bangladesh, to the island of Sri Lanka, to the plains of north-central Uttar Pradesh.
The mango network that attacked our country — it still has leaders, but many of its top commanders have been removed. There are still restaurants that sponsor and harbor mangoes, but their number has declined. There’s still regimes seeking to make lassi, but no longer without attention and without consequence.
We will stay on the offensive against them until the fight is won.
I was wondering if y’all would be interested in reading good English translations of Indian regional-language literature
Yes, Hawa Hawai.
The National Association of Papayas has issued a statement clarifying that while it deplores unjustified attacks on all tropical fruits, it wishes to inform the public that papayas are not mangos. Papayas are a distinct fruit with its own flavor, texture, and cultural heritage. Papayas are proud of their successful assimilation into mainstream fruit salads, and look forward to continued partnership with the apple, pear, and mixed berry communities.
For real DD. The teenagers I used to teach were often caught reading this or that, and while I’d much rather they read “real” books, it was nice to see them reading rather than IMing their friends (so I say as I post a comment on a blog, I know, I know).
I used to read The Babysitters’ Club when I was a kid, and I turned out ok. Although, it’s different when it’s adults.
Kobayashi, don’t forget that we also must fight the mangoes over there with pesticides and parasites so that we don’t have to fight them over here with paring knives and (food) processors.
Papayas that don’t want to be mistaken for mangoes should try to be more like strawberries.
Is it a good situation? No. But that’s the world we live in. I don’t like it any more than you do. You can’t expect the average person to tell a mango from a papaya, it’s just not a reasonable expectation.
Siddhartha, Sorry if this is off topic, but I’ve been in Paris and in France in general for quite some time, and noticed differences in the Indian diaspora here as compared to the US and Canada. Did you notice any difference? I also haven’t yet come across any francophone indian literature except Lokenath Bhattacharya (maybe I’m mistaken – I don’t think he actually writes in French, does he?). Are you aware of any francophone desi literature?
“For Matrimonial Purposes” was truly dreadful. I read bits of it standing in a Borders store- was very curious about the book but didn’t want to buy it. The bits I read were simply awful. Isn’t this the story in which the female protagonist drops every brand name there is- “I got my Starbucks coffee, and grabbed my Gucci bag and got into my BMW blah blah blah”. Where has Anjana Appachana gone? She had a pretty good collection of short stories.
Are you/we also fighting them “over there” so that we dont have to fight them at home?
Exactly. Look at pineapples for example. They have totally made it in our society despite their funny looks. I mean, they even appear as pizza toppings alongside sausage and ham, which is more that some of our regular fruits have achieved. You wouldn’t even know that they were a tropical fruit! All these papayas, mangos and lychees should stop complaining and start working to become pizza toppings or casserole ingredients. This is America, dammit.
Bonjour Delhi,
In the time I was there, the diaspora was minuscule. But this was quite a long time ago — the Seventies and early Eighties. As far as I know it remains quite small, largely for the obvious language reasons. My father was an Indian professional — academic, actually — who ended up in France, and he knows a number of others in the same situation, but I wouldn’t exactly call that a “community.” My sense is that the Bangladeshi community has grown, as it has in Italy, through immigration by low-wage workers. Aside from that, there’s an area in the 10th arrondissement that’s always been the center from desi groceries, etc. — near Chateau d’Eau metro stop. I presume it’s still there. Would love to hear your impressions of desiness in France, since you are there and I am not.
I am not. But I am sure that between the Pondicherry, Mauritius, Réunion, etc. diasporic strands, it must exist. I’ll ask my dad if he’s come across anything, and maybe I’ll do a little research for some future Sepia post. Anyone out there know anything about this topic?
Um, that’s “fruit of tropics” to you, buddy.
Circa late 80s in the deep south of France after my first week of work, i ran into a desi guy at the vending m/c. Of course , i was thrilled. ‘cept the guy spoke only French and Tamil . I spoke neither.
The Papaw Liberation Front would like to disassociate itself from the National Associate of Papayas.
We feel that the NAP has gone too far in appeasing and placating fruitphobes! We are a spliter organization dedicated to preserving our unadulterated, indegenous, deliciousness, and refuse to jump into any old fruit salad just to disguise our tropical lushness amidst sedate apples and pears! To further that goal, our first order of business is to declare “papaya” an anglo butchery of the original Amerindian “papaw” or “pawpaw.” Both of these are acceptable, but “papaya” is not. We sympathize with our mango bretheren in their current plight, as so many call for their demise. Viva las frutas tropicales!!
Responding to recent turmoil in the mango and pawpaw communities, controversial watermelon activist Rev Juicy Slice, said the following at a press conference: “We’ve got nothing against mangoes but, hey, it’s about time someone else other than us got funny looks from the police. Watermelons have been dealing with this shit for years.”
However, the National Association for the Advancement of Watermelons has distanced itself from the statement, saying, “We believe that all fruits should be judged not by the size of their seeds, but by the content of their sucrose.”
You “papaws” are too busy deciding what you want to be called to notice that you’re holding back the whole fruit with your shrill nonsense. You don’t want to be an American fruit like everyone else, but I don’t see you getting yourselves shipped back to your precious tropical islands. You can be anything you want to be in this society: pizza topping, canned cafeteria ration, salad bar item, jam, Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor. We’re making progress from inside the system while you spit your pips and spill your juices on the country that took you in. We’re not going to let you rename us some primitive word like “papaws” when everyone is happy calling us papayas. We have an image to preserve and we’ve come too far to let you ruin it.
As a member of a community which manages to hang around but never seems to have the ability to organize ish, i’d like to say that the bananas would like to stay out of any conflict, and go on about our business of growing up, ripening and listening to bhangra music. Some of us are peeled and some have kept their peels, but we all have a really good taste to be proud of. People are always saying we might not be around in the future. I wish our leaders could get their act together and figure something out, but what the he%% its always been a trip being a banana. brah!
All this talk of unity among tropical fruits is nonsense — the Papaws will crush the evil Mangoes in their efforts to dilute the California cookbooks. We will drain them of their syrup and beat them into a, er, pulp until they turn sour and goopy! And then if that Mango-lover Wendy Doniger wants dessert she can move to Mexico.
Hail Mamao!
The Papaw Liberation Front (hereafter referred to as the PLF_ hereby serves notice to the international community that the National Association of Papaya (NAP)’s scornful tone and squelching tactics cannot be tolerated any longer! Where were they when United Fruit sliced and diced us?! Were they plucked, still green and tender, and forced to endure the pain of imprisonment in cargo shipping containers?! What do they know of the torture that is hot-housing! The burning of pesticides! The way we were tossed to the caimans if we had just a simple blemish!!
Butterflies and fungi in the PLF’s employ have long reported of unbelievable rumors…of cooperation with the CIA. of swiss bank accounts… we may no longer live in the motherland, but we insist on reparations!! We are not so easily seduced by the promise of inclusion among 41 flavors!! You can keep your salad bars and canned toppings! We spit on such foolishness! May you rot in worm-ridden misery like the deformed tree from which you sprang!
41 flavors and salad bars are
AbrahamicAcerolic plots! We will crush the mango-loving United Fruit and the weak-kneed NAP! They will quake in the face of the great Maurice’s saffron tree melons!Hail Mamao etc etc
To put on my serious hat for a moment, all this talk of United Fruit reminds me of something.
In the 1920s, striking workers of the United Fruit Company, protesting atrocious labor laws, were gunned down by the Colombian military. Hundreds were killed. The so-called Banana Massacre went down in legend as a classic example of American corporate hubris.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez later wrote the bitter incident into One Hundred Years of Solitude, weaving it into the history of his fictional Macondo.
Some of the novelistic tactics employed by Uncle Gabo in that scene would later show up in “Midnight’s Children,” when Rushdie wrote about the massacre of Punjabis at Jallianwala Bagh.
Curiously, both Attenborough’s film Gandhi, as well as Rushdie’s depiction of the scene, had British soldiers doing the killing. Unfortunately, the reality was grimmer: the shooters were Indian soldiers.
No doubt some of you remember this thread.