Author Archives: manish

Witless in Seattle (updated)

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Here’s one blogger’s reaction to desi American star Indra Nooyi criticizing Dubya’s foreign policy:

America’s Parasites: Parasites feed on their hosts while providing no discernible good in most cases. I can’t think of any other name for folks who enjoy freedom and self-acualization in the United States then turn their back on us — befuddingly, after significant but remunerative sacrifice and challenge that they were FREE not to take.

Translation: there’s ‘them’ and then there’s ‘us.’ Immigrants are ‘them,’ no matter how long they’ve been in the U.S. (nearly 30 years), no matter how educated (Yale), no matter whether they’re U.S. citizens (yes). Never mind that we need them to plug our skilled labor shortage: we’re doing them a favor by letting them in.

This East Indian-American woman is at the top of her game professionally in a country that celebrates women achievers much UNLIKE her country of origin. BUT she is not satisfied! She must disparage the United States for not doing enough to coddle the corrupt, morally and financially bankrupt ‘international community’. Priceless!!!

Archaic usage of ‘East Indian,’ check. Ignorance of India’s female achievers, check. Multiple exclamation points, check. Assumption that she’s a parasitic economic refugee, check. (Nooyi graduated from IIM-Calcutta and worked at Johnson & Johnson India before ascending to CFO of Pepsi.)

Ignoring the substance of her argument to unleash a personal attack on her nationality and gender, check. Translation: uppity immigrant bitch needs to go back to where she came from.

Would he make the same points if Nooyi were an Englishman in New York? Would he make the same points of fellow conservative Arnold Schwarzenegger?

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Random desi actor sighting

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In the romantic comedy Fever Pitch, a Red Sox fanatic named Mr. Sehgal runs a deli and supplies cold cuts for the other fans. Older and bespectacled, he’s treated well and gets one onomatopoetic line, which he still flubs endearingly in an uncle-like way. He doesn’t seem like a professional actor, but Jimmy Fallon gets his name right.

Fever Pitch has the same problem as Kingdom of Heaven — when did they stop casting men and start casting boys? Pretty though they may be, they can’t carry a movie. But Drew’s leaner Barrymore profile is shaping up like Renee Russo, and she still casts charm like few others. The movie’s flat, with no romantic chemistry between the leads. But it’s surprisingly sweet, probably because Mr. About a Boy wrote the book on which it’s based.

The Red Sox may have won last year, but the Yanks just pinched Manchester United. It’s a feat just as improbable, and probably more relevant to Hornby’s memoir about soccer.

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Possessed by yoga

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Does yoga cause demonic possession? That would explain the The Exorcist, which, little-known fact, features an obscure asana called the ‘spinning wheel.’ Beware that Hindoo voodoo (thanks, RC):

“… [yoga is] aimed at transforming human consciousness to experience the Hindu god, which is a false god.” … She also… instructed her students in astral projection, or “stepping outside” of the body, which Laurette says poses a serious spiritual danger. “If there’s nothing in your mind, you’re open to all kinds of deception… I wondered who–or what–came into my body when I ‘stepped out.’ “

Next up: PraiseFu, drunken master style:

She’s developed a prominent presence on the Internet, largely due to her new exercise program, PraiseMoves, which she calls “a Christian alternative to yoga.”

My name is Laurette and I’m a recovering New Ager. This is like abstinence videos from the 1950s:

… her family never suspected this seemingly innocent exercise would open the door to a New Age lifestyle that would affect Laurette for the next 22 years… As an adult, Laurette immersed herself in every New Age and metaphysical practice she came across: chanting, crystals, tarot cards, psychics, channeling spirits.

Let The Eagle soar:

There’s “The Eagle” stretch, where the arms are pulled back to resemble a bird in flight. While students hold this stretch, Laurette reads Isaiah 40:31: “But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles”…

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Goodness gracious, Peter Sellers is alive

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Here’s a crude parody of Indian TV by Jay Leno’s Tonight Show (air date unknown). This is a purposely lame clip — its sin is its artlessness. Two of the cast members are wearing brownface, and the accents and turbans are all wrong. ‘Sanjay Leno’ isn’t wearing a turban, he’s wearing a helmet from the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa María. The white guy with his ears exposed is wearing Smurfette’s cap, not a patka. Wajid, the actor playing the Kevin Eubanks-like sidekick, isn’t bad, but then he doesn’t have to make a cultural stretch. Watch the clip.

You know what’s happening — some people are nostalgic for Peter Sellers. They prefer the crappy approximation of desi culture they grew up with rather than the real thing. The Americana which relies on mocking India badly (calling Apu Nahasapeemapeemapetilon) has, over time, become comfort food. No wonder the original title of Goodness Gracious Me was Peter Sellers is Dead.

Yeah, yeah, we all love The Simpsons. Does anyone remember when it first came out? Heh, heh… hey, wait, that shopkeeper with the long, fake last name, limited social intelligence and shit-eating grin, that wasn’t cool. Like a cancer survivor missing his tumor, like an East German missing the Wall, every poison, once custom, is remembered with fondness.

… producers were initially concerned about making the character Indian. “We were worried he might be considered an offensive stereotype,” producer Al Jean once said. “But then we did the first read-through, and Hank said, ‘Hello, Mr. Homer,’ with his accent, and it got such a huge laugh; we knew it had to stay.” [Backstage]

You see? It’s ok as long as you can mimic Mr. Birdie Num-Num (or as long as it’s funny: hoisted by our own petard?)

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Mr. Hughes isn’t taking visitors

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The Air Sahara magnate, Subrata Roy, has apparently fallen ill and disappeared from public view:

One [rumor] says that an entire floor of a super deluxe hotel was recently bought by Sahara in Mumbai (Bombay) and converted into a make shift hospital… the blood pressure of the Sahara boss has fluctuated frequently… He said the Sahara chief was now leading a much more disciplined and orderly life – even doing yoga and regular exercises…

Roy has Mughal tendencies:

He has a fleet of private jets and helicopters and one of his mansions is modelled on the White House. Another residence – located in a private city he has built at the cost of tens of millions of dollars – is a replica of Buckingham Palace.

He commands a swarm of worker bees which is almost as large as the standing army of the United States and almost three times as large as IBM:

… [with] 900,000 employees – Sahara is India’s biggest private sector employer…

The rumor mill has reached Jacksonesque proportions with a petition of habeas corpus filed:

A habeas corpus petition, claiming that Sahara group Chairman Subrata Roy had been kept in ‘illegal detention’ by his wife and some other senior officers of the company, was filed with the Lucknow bench of the Allahabad high court on Monday.

Other rumors:

According to Sahara group insiders, Roy was resting in the Sahara group’s Amby Valley – a 10,000-acre resort-style getaway – a few hours drive from Mumbai.

Maybe Roy’s chillin’ with Amby Valley fans Michael Douglas and Christina Aguilera. Billionaire disappears into private valley — could it be Galt’s Gulch?

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Blinkey takes friendly fire

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Blinkey the death tank, the preferred steed of Lt. Neil Prakash, took friendly fire outside Fallujah in November:

A round exploded 50 meters in front of our front slope. “HOLY SHIT! BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP!!!!!. JUST GO GO GO!!!!!” The concussion knocked the air out of my lungs. I felt the soft punch of the air on my face. I didn’t know if more rounds were coming in but the effective kill radius of a 155mm artillery round is 50 meters. And if it was a V/T round (variable time), then it would detonate right above our heads and liquefy us…

The whole back left side of the tank exploded. Grey. Black. Smoke. Dust. Sand. It all happened so fast. I see Langford sitting up on the turret with his legs dangling in the hatch like normal. But against a wall of debris at his back. The image is fleeting. He either fell or got blown forward and down into his hole. Langford and I both fell into our hatches at the same time. My seat went into my back as I looked up at the sky through my hatch…

… where we had just been, my left track was laying out in all of its glory. Broken. With only the right side of track on, the tank could only turn left…like being in a rowboat with just your right oar.

Luckily, Prakash survived to deliver a can of whoop-ass to whomever was calling artillery.

Update: It was an anti-tank mine, not artillery.

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Huffington Toast (updated)

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Dimly sensing through his/her reptilian sub-brain that Greg Gutfeld’s contribution to the Huffington Post wasn’t offensive enough, someone doing a parody of that site took it even further:

Keep the curry and coffee flowing and I’ll get right on it. — Kumar…

“damn i spilled curry in the server…”

Have you withheld curry from them, too?

Because who’s M. Night anyway except another one of those curry-eaters with long last names who all look the same.

As for the original post, Om Malik says, ‘Huffington Post: Now promoting culturally insensitive racist pigs.’

Update: In Saturday’s update, the hilarity keeps coming:

I have no idea how that IED [roadside bomb] ended up in my backpack… — Kumar

Because desis and Arabs are the same, brown people from that-thar region who need to be killed.

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Rocky Horror Le Jayenge

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The earworm-inducing classic Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge just completed its 500th week of showings in India (thanks, Ennis):

Bombay audiences are some of the toughest in the world, and a bad movie can be pulled before the end of opening weekend. Most films bloom for a week or two and disappear. But “Dilwale” has become a Bombay institution, a perfect masala of location, entertainment, and low price. Young men and women, but mostly young men in their untucked white shirts, wait every morning outside the cinema. The box office sells balcony tickets – the choicest seats – for 15 rupees… On busy weekends, the 1,000-seat theater sells out with visiting families… The audience snuggles down in the dark, ready to make jokes, applaud the hero’s arrival, and urge the lovers to “Kiss! Kiss!”

I’m surprised they don’t throw rice. Desi film audiences apparently share a geeky obsessiveness with fans of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Star Wars. It’s not surprising, really. All three genres are high camp.

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