Ravi Chand, melon eater

Following up on Abhi’s post on PETA’s sexiest vegetarian: Ravi Chand, one of the contestants, is exhibit A in why the de facto draft of military reservists is a bad idea. What happens when you take a pacifist from the liberal enclave of UC Santa Cruz and send him to Iraq? Snake eaters turning vegan and naked kissing in the streets, that’s what. Chand makes love and war:

Chand served as a corporal on the crew of an Amtrack amphibious tank. His unit came under direct fire when it was ambushed in the southern Iraqi city of Nasiriyah, he said… Chand said six Marines went vegetarian and one went vegan. [Santa Cruz Sentinel]

Chand, a vegan U.S. Marine, claims vegetarians are sexier and slimmer because they don’t clog their arteries by eating saturated fat. “There’s nothing sexy about gnawing on the corpse of a dead animal,” Chand said. [New Haven Advocate]

Before going vegan, Ravi did only nominally on… a grueling test in which only the top 1% of the Marine Corps are physically equipped to score perfect on. However, just weeks after going vegan, he noticed huge endurance and strength gains… he scored perfect on the test. He ran the 3 mile run at an avg of 5 min 40 second miles, did 30 pullups, and aced the situp portion. [Animal Voices]

Chand, now a triathlete, is involved in a typical PETA stunt in which he gets paid to make out with a rotating selection of models (ok, I’m slightly jealous):

A crowd gathered… to watch a partially clothed man and woman on a mattress as part of PETA’s 10-city “Live Make-out Tour.” [Lansing City Pulse]

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Tribal ‘justice’

With every prison blown to dust,
My enemies walk free…
[Sting]

Mukhtaran Bibi’s rapists, who received approval to gang-rape from a village panchayat, were set free by judges in Multan today. In some ways this outcome is hard to believe, in other ways all too easy:

The victim of Pakistan’s most notorious rape case wept bitterly after a court in the southern city of Multan overturned the verdict against three of the four alleged rapists and two tribal elders, and quashed the death sentence against the sixth… five of the men prepared to walk free…

… she has maintained the 24-hour police guard at the gate of her remote farmhouse after several death threats. She believed the threats stemmed from her refusal to entertain repeated clemency pleas from the Mastoi, who still live just 100 metres away…

… the panchayat system… has no legal standing but is still prevalent in many rural towns. Last week elders in another Punjabi village ordered that a two-year-old girl be married to a man 33 years her senior. The betrothal was in compensation for an adulterous affair committed by her uncle. [Guardian]

The wisdom of the elders indeed. Previous post here.

Update: In the herky-jerky, stop-start fashion of a desi criminal justice system, the rapists have been re-arrested (thanks, SD).

Seven chutney squishies, make it quick

Desipina is again hosting its low-rent, highwire theater collection Seven.11 in Manhattan, and Anuvab Pal is contributing a new piece called Paris. The schtick is that playwrights of all colors contribute seven tales of 11 minutes each, all set in convenience stores. It sounds much like 11.9.01: September 11, a collection of short films 11 minutes, nine seconds and one frame long by filmmakers including Mira Nair, Sean Penn, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Amores Perros), Samira Makhmalbaf and Youssef Chahine.

As far as creative gimmicks go, this is a good one: even the Manhattan Project found creative benefit in time constraints, although nuclear incineration has been known to be motivating. This is the third year of Seven.11, so it’s clearly a successful franchise. The quick-witted Lethia Nall, who was so good in Alter Ego’s production of Tom Stoppard’s Indian Ink, appears in both Paris and Soonderella.

Anuvab Pal’s PARIS: Paris is a play about an 11 minute conversation without consequence on a lazy Paris afternoon…

Samrat Chakrabarti/Sanjiv Jhaveri’s new musical SOONDERELLA: a fairy tale of a different colour… The only way to follow up with last year’s wildly successful A Very Desi Christmas, a pop musical adaptation of Scrooge, is with another 11-minute musical set in the convenience store…

It’s also a clear demarcation between Right and Left Coast desi stereotypes; the Left Coast analogue would be 80 tales of 86 engineers, but who’d go see it? Bugaboo and nerdcore call my bluff.

Seven.11, 4/1-4/18/05, Thurs-Sat & Mon at 8pm, Sun at 3pm; The Tenement Theatre, 97 Orchard St. (bet. Delancey/Broome), Manhattan; $15 General, $11 Students/Seniors; 800-965-4827 or TicketWeb (keyword:SEVEN.11)

Racial dis-parody

What happens when a radio station ignorantly insults Chinese people over something that happened in India, Sri Lanka and Thailand (wha?): public rallies (thanks, Saurav), dis tracks, government officials baying for blood:

 

“If the FCC was able to fine CBS $550,000 for a wardrobe malfunction, then it can certainly penalize WQHT-FM radio for the really sick stuff coming out of the mouths of their shock jocks,” stated [NYC] Council Member John Liu… “WQHT-FM Radio and Emmis Communications need to terminate Miss Jones and Todd Lynn… Emmis fostered an atmosphere that aided and abetted these individuals in their deplorable conduct, and we intend to hold the corporation accountable.” [Vibe]

What happens when a radio station calls up desis at their workplace and insults them directly:

(crickets chirping)

It’s another law of large numbers. So get out there and procreate! This message brought to you by Humpin’ for a Browner America.

Anti-racism rally vs. Hot 97, Union Square, Manhattan, Friday 3/4, 3-6pm; Hot 97 rolls with a rough crowd

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Velvet rope burns

As y’all know, someone guessed the password reset hint to Paris Hilton’s T-Mobile account and posted her possible social networking profile (via Defamer). In the friends list is a woman by the name of Rohini. Could it be Rohini Reiss?
 
Los Angeles magazine did a gabby cover story in 2001 about Reiss, a twentysomething velvet-rope butterfly whose father is Indian:

Rohini grew up in Northridge, where she lived with her dad–who is Indian and worked for Boeing–and her mom, who is British, until the couple’s marriage difficulties overwhelmed them and Rohini followed her mother at 16 to a small apartment in Sherman Oaks…

… They were amazed at this gift who wore no makeup, who could smoke massive amounts of pot and still beat them on Super Mario or Zelda…

… in L.A. a woman so inclined can arrive out of nowhere… and insinuate herself into the highest echelons… They are fresh arrivals like Christie Prody, who left Minnesota to stand outside O.J. Simpson’s gate until he came down off the Exercycle to take her number… Rohini and Jessica were over the rope, smiling past the paparazzi who shouted, “Who are you? Let us take your picture!” and into the club…

The anthropology of dating inside the L.A. Scene, on the other hand, is as complicated as a structuralist’s interpretation of a Balinese cockfight. As Rohini explained it once over lunch, there are four major motifs: (1) Men (and some women) are always attempting to have sex with as many partners as possible; (2) No one wants anyone else to know who they are sleeping with; which leads to (3) Couples passing as single people in clubs to avoid detection; and finally (4) The Slut/Angel/Slut typology…

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‘Love’-ing and leaving

I went to the the first South Asian American art exhibit at a major museum that I’ve ever heard of:

I saw a queer Rani of Jhansi, she of the Mutiny, lying dead in snow. I saw a six-yard sari made of Coca-Cola bottlecaps, silver with an orange border. I saw a wall of crimson medicine bottles called ‘Blame’: blame a minority, you’ll feel better in the morning…

I saw a book of memory by a Malayalee daughter, Annu Matthew, who must’ve loved her daddy like Anna loved hers. Her father had died young of smoking. She collaged her childhood snaps into new photos, painting her own Pygmalion paternis. Then she surrounded her false memories with tobacco strewn on cigarette paper like ashes…

I ran into Kal Penn and asked him how he’ll play a super-henchman. ‘Dude, I haven’t even seen the script yet,’ he said. But he remembered the Harold hungama. Boy, did he ever. He was in celeb-out-for-groceries attire, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes; he’s taller and thinner than he looks on screen…

Outside the museum, Shea Stadium and the World’s Fair site were wintry carcasses. The Unisphere, its fountains drained, hung without an Atlas. I stood below the Indian plate, staring up at the stainless-steel underbelly of America.

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Previous post here.

Posted in Art

Hey, hey, ho, ho, oregano has got to go

Earlier we told you about the piping hot pizzas-for-visas scandal in Kannada, that frozen tundra up north which supplies the U.S. with totally non-white-bread talent like Sarah McLachlan and Matthew Perry. Ok, and Shania, I’ll give you that. A desi had publicly accused a Canadian minister of expediting immigration in exchange for free campaign pizza. That’s revenge served cold, eh.

Well, some riotgrrls up in the Great White North held a pro-immigrant protest addressed to the replacement minister. In an astonishingly clever innovation, they raised protest turnout by combining the two things grad students love most in the whole wide world:

  1. Stickin’ it to the Man, and
  2. Pizza

As Hominder would say, ‘Mmm… pizza.’

The ‘No Justice, No Pizza’ protest came just in thyme, but its salty language was peppered with cheesy slogans that left a bad taste in your mouth. We’d rather be nuked and quartered than stoop to unsavories just to satiate the pun-dits. And that’s my $3.25 on the subject.

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Nelly Furtado’s desi connection

The Record, a music mag out of Bombay, ran an interesting interview with Nelly Furtado:

My daughter Nevis [with her DJ, Lil Jazz] is actually a quarter East Indian so I have family there now…

… I grew up with a lot of Asian and Indian friends speaking Punjabi and Hindi. And I grew up watching a lot of bhangra, Bollywood, religious music and we even had it on television on Saturdays. Actually sometimes while I would clean hotel rooms… my friends invited me to sing at their Indian cultural festival when I was about 18 years old, and my friend’s father said I should sing in Hindi, and I really liked it. I learnt Kabhi Kabhi and I really like Lata Mangeshkar and of course Asha Bhosle who I did a little collaboration with…

I’ve already done Indian remixes in the past. In particular I had an ‘I’m Like A Bird’ remix… And Josh (the Indian band who did the remix), are Canadian — they’re from Montreal actually… It has a lot of hip hop energy to it.

Heck, with that surname she could’ve been Goan 🙂 Here’s a previous post on the Josh remix of ‘Powerless’ (thanks, Sajit).

Feeling testy

Yes, Azim Premji will ring the closing bell at the New York Stock Exchange today (via SAJA). Yes, he’s the world’s second-richest desi and the chairman of Wipro, India’s third-largest software outsourcing firm.

But will he succumb to Street superstition and pull an Aladdin on the bull’s magic lamps? There’s a reason why they’re so shiny, ya know.

I can’t imagine that fondling a water buffalo’s stocking stuffers would be an Indian billionaire’s favorite activity. It would be better for business if he provided the same service to a highly-placed government babu.

Smashing icons

Spiderman isn’t the only heeero taking a Bombay local to browntown. Two veteran comic book artists have launched a new comic called Vimanarama about a British Muslim from the tinderbox formerly known as Bradford (via Desi Flavor).

The fashionably-tousled Ali is slouching toward his inevitable arranged marriage, but his retro-hip persona perks up considerably when he finds that bride-to-be Sofia is a babe. Meanwhile, toddler Imran accidentally unleashes the Forces of Darkness, and not just in his diaper; it’s up to jolly Ali to save the world. It’s all very soapy, if not so very Lollywood.

Never letting cultural accuracy get in the way of the almighty pound, the artists are watering down the Muslim angle:

Although his research into the religion was extensive, the author says this won’t be evident in the comic, as all concepts have been translated to be accessible by all audiences. So ‘Allah’ is referred to in the text as God and ‘Hajj’ as pilgrimage… “Islam frowns on representational art and I’d imagine that for some sects comics are possibly the most blasphemous art form imaginable”, the Glaswegian told Newsarama.

Translation: I’ll take one hit comic, hold the hitman — make my just desserts fatwa-free. The comic fuses religions with a title from Hindu mythology and a lotus-and-multiple-arms motif on the first issue’s cover. The arms evoke Doc Oc, The Matrix and Japanese tentacle porn (or so I’m told), and the beetle-browed protagonist has a Gorillaz scowl. It’s a masala comic — they’ve outdone Lahore.

Previous posts: 1, 2, 3, 45, 6; and let’s not forget the comic book-inspired, unintentionally hilarious Lollywood effort International Gorillay.