It’s a nice day for a white (brown) wedding

Apologies to Billy Idol, but a recent article in the Washington Post about local weddings has me thinking in the abstract (I’m as far from the lavan as I have ever been) about wedding customs and how they change.

The article makes a number of interesting points. It starts by describing how non-desis have discovered the business opportunities involved in brown weddings, such as Sue Harmon who has two white mares specially reserved for baraat duty, or Foxchase Manor which has learned how to handle the havan without setting off all the fire alarms:

“The normal instinct is to blow out the fire when you’re done … But that creates this huge puff of smoke that’s actually much bigger than when the fire is lit. So the key is to keep the fire in a portable container, and then when you’re done, you carry it outside and close all the doors before blowing it out.” With an average of 80 South Asian weddings a year, the staff has had ample opportunity to perfect the technique, he added. [Link]

Still more interesting to me was a story of how other “ethnic” couples have adapted some aspects of desi ceremonies:

Why wear white?

South Asian vendors, meanwhile, are increasingly hearing from non-South Asian couples who want to borrow their customs. Caucasian couples who came across photos of Sood’s creations … have asked her to decorate their weddings in the same shades of maroon and gold. She’s even draped a mandap — the wedding canopy — with kente cloth for an African couple… [Link]

But the bit that really caught my attention was about how ABDs are wanting to have hybrid wedding ceremonies that incorporate aspects of the white weddings they grew up watching on television:

Perhaps most radical, however, is the growing use of whites and ivories in the decorations. “In Indian culture, white signifies mourning,” she said. “It used to be such a taboo for weddings. But now so many brides are demanding it.”

Priti Loungani-Malhotra, 32, a dressmaker based in Arlington County, has even designed a white version of the classic Indian wedding gown, with a mermaid-shaped lengha, or skirt, that would do Vera Wang proud. [Link]

I always thought precisely those two aspects of western weddings – the procession down the isle and the white dress / black tux were boring and dull compared to the circumambulation of holy objects (at least in some desi weddings) and bright red wedding garments. I know I’m a guy, and the long walk down the isle brings attention to the bride, but I just never liked it. For one thing, I don’t like the parts of either culture that view a woman as something to be given from one man (the father) to another (the husband).

How many of you would (or did) seize control of your wedding from your parents and create a wedding ceremony that incorporated aspects of both cultures? Are you all more enamoured of white wedding customs than I am?

Continue reading

We Know Maths, Medicine AND Brows!

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Like all lal-blooded desi girls, I’m mildly obsessed with eyebrows.

Like all lal-blooded GIRLS, I’m mildly obsessed with celeb gossip.

Occasionally, the two, they meet.

It is possible that many of you saw photographs of Sienna Miller on the red carpet (there she is! on the right!), doing her damnedest to bring dark and furry back. Well, ABC News was inspired by her “caterpillars”; they have an entire article about what brows signify and the expert whom they quote is none other than Vaishaly Patel, “London’s eyebrow shaper to the stars”.

Vaishaly’s opinion on Sienna’s dark statement?

“Personally I think they look hideous…When you’ve got blond hair the number one rule is not to have black eyebrows. I think they’re a lovely shape but just on the wrong person.”
So, there is a right person.

Take heart, my brown sisters– YOU are that right person!

Bushy is back as far as eyebrows are concerned. So, poor Sienna was just trying to follow fashion. It’s just that not every fashion suits everyone.

Ah, for once, we (and by we, I mean you) win.

For this apparently lowbrow issue, there’s some highbrow analysis. Eyebrows tell a story of cultures, eras and politics. For example, in Iran “un-groomed” is a sign of virginity. The Mexican artist Frida Kahlo sported a unibrow. It became her signature, an expression of independence and feminist strength.

No comment on what brows meant to Bert, and that’s unfortunate.

There is plenty of history-lite, however, including an exploration of whether certain decades inspired severe arches or fierce tufts. Here’s a summary:

1940s-50s: Eyebrows are shaved off completely, lest a girl seem “masculine”. Owwww.

1960s: Girls who are boys, who like boys to be girls, who do boys like they’re girls, who do girls like they’re boys– always should be someone you reeeeally love. Free love = furriness.

1980s: Yuppies are mean and therefore, women over-tweeze. The end.

Today: Sensitive and enlightened are we. Pluck we do not.

There’s a backlash against the over-plucked brow, according to Jaimineey Patel, manager of a Blink Eyebrow Bar in London. Patel and a phalanx of eyebrow “threaders” are in the trenches, persuading clients to grow back their brows before they gently shape them with twisted thread held between their teeth.
We always do a thorough consultation,” explained Patel. “We ask them what they want out of their eyebrows.” What can you want from an eyebrow? More than function, apparently. More than a sponge effect to keep sweat out of your eyes.

We want to be as pretty as can be, DUH.

Apparently they frame your face. “To be honest,” confided Patel. “A lot of clients feel they’ve had a facelift because it opens your eyes out.”

I don’t know about a facelift, but I saw someone get their brows done for the first time this weekend, and suddenly, I was aware of the rare color of their irises AND their ridonkulous lashes. Yowza. Best $25 they ever spent, yindeed.

Eyebrows are the new window on the soul. So be careful Sienna, those caterpillars may reveal more than you want us to know.

New?! Not. Desis have known that truth all along. As for Sienna’s caterpillars, like Madonna and Gwen before her, the girl just wants to be down with the brown, obviously. Continue reading

Feeling Sorry for the Sari [UPDATED]

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A few months ago, Shashi Tharoor wrote an essay which contained a “casual observation” about how less and less women in India were wearing saris. Upon hearing about his thoughts, desi women all over the world gifted Shashi with a new orifice, via email, blog, essay, and voodoo doll. A few women, my curmudgeonly mother included, agreed with Tharoor’s lament; like him, they were saddened by the ascent of the Salwar Kameez.

[I do think that Malayalees who are my Mom’s/Shashi’s age are extra vexed by how the sartorial times, they are a-changin’, since they so strongly identify saris as part of the Mallu identity, but more on that later. Or not.]

Tharoor wrote a follow-up piece recently, which I discovered via the news tab. I’ve excerpted the yummier parts for your digestion.

On how graceful and pretty saris are:

For centuries, if not millennia, the alluring garment, all five or six or nine yards of it, has been the defining drape of Indian womanhood. Cotton or silk, Banarasi or Pochampalli, shimmering Kanjeevaram or multi-coloured bandhani, with the pallav draped front-to-back over the left shoulder or in the Gujarati style back-to-front over the right, the sari has stood the test of time, climate and body shape.
Of all the garments yet invented by man (or, not to be too sexist about it, mankind) the sari did most to flatter the wearer. Unlike every other female dress on the planet, the sari could be worn with elegance by women of any age, size or shape: you could never be too fat, too short or too ungainly to look good in a sari. Indeed, if you were stout, or bowlegged, or thick-waisted, nothing concealed those handicaps of nature better than the sari. Women looked good in a sari who could never have got away with appearing in public in a skirt.

Tharoor is less caustic and more rational than my elderly Aunts are, about how much the North is to blame:

So why has this masterpiece of feminine attire begun fading from our streets? On recent visits home to India I have begun to notice fewer and fewer saris in our public places, and practically none in the workplace. The salwar kameez, the trouser and even the Western dress-suit have begun to supplant it everywhere. And this is not just a northern phenomenon, the result of the increasing dominance of our culture by Punjabi-ised folk who think nothing of giving masculine names to their daughters.
At a recent Press conference I addressed in Trivandrum, there were perhaps a dozen women journalists present. Only one was wearing a sari: the rest, all Keralites without exception, were in salwar-kameezes. And when I was crass enough to ask why none of the “young ladies” present wore saris, the one who did modestly suggested that she was no longer very young.

Actually, it’s the youths! And the feminists!

Youth clearly has something to do with it; very few of today’s under-30 women seem to have the patience for draping a sari, and few of them seem to think it suitable for the speed with which they scurry through their lives. (“Try rushing to catch a bus in a sari,” one young lady pointedly remarked, “and you’ll switch to jeans the next day.”)
But there’s also something less utilitarian about their rejection of the sari for daily wear. Today’s younger generation of Indian women seem to associate the garment with an earlier era, a more traditional time when women did not compete on equal terms in a man’s world. Putting on pants, or a Western woman’s suit, or even desi leggings in the former of a salwar, strikes them as more modern.
Freeing their legs to move more briskly than the sari permits is, it seems, a form of liberation; it removes a self-imposed handicap, releasing the wearer from all the cultural assumptions associated with the traditional attire.

I’ve noticed this about brown people, too. We are the last ones to keep it old skool in our “costumes” (Blech. I hate that word. As if I’d wear Kanjeevaram on October 31. Meh.):

I think this is actually a great pity. One of the remarkable aspects of Indian modernity has always been its unwillingness to disown the past; from our nationalists and reformers onwards, we have always asserted that Indians can be modern in ancient garb. Political ideas derived from nineteenth and twentieth-century thinkers have been articulated by men in mundus and dhotis that have not essentially changed since they were first worn two or three thousand years ago. (Statuary from the days of the Indus Valley Civilisation more than four thousand years ago show men draped in waistcloths that Mr Karunanidhi would still be happy to don.)
Gandhiji demonstrated that one did not have to put on a Western suit to challenge the British empire; when criticised by the British Press for calling upon the King in his simple loincloth, the Mahatma mildly observed, “His Majesty was wearing enough clothes for the two of us”. Where a Kemal Ataturk in Turkey banned his menfolk’s traditional fez as a symbol of backwardness and insisted that his compatriots don Western hats, India’s nationalist leaders not only retained their customary headgear, they added the defiantly desi “Gandhi cap” (oddly named, since Gandhiji himself never wore one). Our clothing has always been part of our sense of authenticity.
I REMEMBER being struck, on my first visit to Japan some fifteen years ago, by the ubiquitousness of Western clothing in that Asian country. Every Japanese man and woman in the street, on the subway or in the offices I visited wore suits and skirts and dresses; the kimono and its male equivalent were preserved at home, and brought out only for ceremonial occasions…
What will happen once the generation of women who grew up routinely wearing a sari every day dies out? The warning signs are all around us now. It would be sad indeed if, like the Japanese kimono, the sari becomes a rare and exotic garment in its own land, worn only to temples and weddings.

Find the rest of his essay here. Thoughts? Continue reading

Anand Jon: Now With Less Hair, More Victims

A few of you have sent in tips about Anand Jon’s latest legal issues. Here are some blockquotes about the dirty and disgraced designer, which I ganked from Reuters:

A celebrity fashion designer already accused of raping or sexually assaulting 12 women and girls who came to him as aspiring models was charged on Tuesday with attacks on six additional victims.
Los Angeles prosecutors have now charged Anand Jon, an Indian-born designer who has appeared on the popular television show “America’s Next Top Model,” with a total of 46 counts involving 18 victims, all with ties to the fashion industry and between the ages of 14 and 27.

Anand Jon Alexander, who was notorious for being a douche to our girl Julie Titus during season 3, is out on bail.

The charges against Jon include forcible rape, sexual battery, sexual penetration by a foreign object, sodomy by use of force, forcible oral copulation, false imprisonment by violence, assault with the intent to commit a felony, lewd act on a child, contributing to the delinquency of a minor and sexual exploitation of a child.

Oh, and as for the title of this post…Jon cut his “trademark” flowing tresses. Seventy percent of you had no idea he even had long hair, and I applaud you for your ignorance. Sepia Mutiny: we read TMZ so you don’t have to. Continue reading

Benetton Takes on Bruises – UPDATED

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Just got back home from the long weekend to see the Benetton advert above. It was in my inbox, posted at SAJA’s ad-savvy blog and mais oui, on our news tab, via an Anonymous Tipster who wrote:

Benetton’s Colors of Domestic Violence campaign features desi survivor? On the one hand, nice effort. On the other: color-coordinating the bruises with the sweaters? Tasteless.

I don’t know if the woman is a DV survivor or a model, but I think the image is opinion-provoking. I want to know how many of you agree with the nameless mutineer who had mixed feelings about the execution of a very important public service announcement. As a DV witness and survivor, I think anything which draws pain out in to the light where it can be confronted is a good thing.

Domestic violence is a concept in constant rotation on this blog; I can grimly recall how many of you have come forward to reveal in our comments section how you have experienced DV yourselves, either directly or indirectly. That’s not to say that this is a horror we brown have a monopoly on by any means; to that end, Benetton does have ads with other “bruised” women of various ethnicities, which you can see here.

::

On a less serious tangent: how does this make you feel about Benetton? Positive, negative, no change? Is this just more un(desi)red P.R. stunting?

I’ve worn and loved them since back in the day (16 years!) so I’m a bit biased, especially since they make my current favorite little black dress (worn to the infamous man-harem meetup, no less), but I think that even if I didn’t already sweat those United Colors, I’d be positively disposed towards a brand which tried to address DV in such an unflinching fashion. What about you?

::

THIS IS NOT A BENETTON AD CAMPAIGN! Not only did one of you direct us to a Salon blurb about this intriguing development, the original link submitted to our news tab had the following statement in its comments section:

Dear All,
this is NOT a United Colors of Benetton advertising campaign. Please don’t be deceived, see the official Benetton Group website www.benettongroup.com

Best regards,
Federico Sartor
Direttore Stampa e Comunicazione Istituzionale
Benetton Group
Tel. 39 0422 519036
Fax 39 0422 519930
www.benettongroup.com/press
www.benettonpress.mobi

Curiouser and curiouser… Continue reading

“The Over-Accesorized Label Lover” – UPDATED

The LV which is unfortunately fug.JPG

Sometimes, you mutineers will see a story which you practically demand we post. After New York Magazine’s “The Look Book” slyly dissed and dismissed a brownie who works in Private Equity who emphasized,

“I love to consume. Consuming is my specialty.”

…some of you started screeching louder than the Howler monkeys in the bunker—and that’s saying a LOT.

Natasha Mitra (r) was interviewed by Amy Larocca and though I was also left smirking at the catty aftermath, I immediately heard the diminutive angel on my shoulder remind me that we don’t know how many questions were asked and then not included, whether Mitra’s words were edited to paint her a certain way, etc.

Having typed that, if my little sister sounded like this, I’d beat her with my red Ferragamo loafer. Not that there’s anything wrong with…sounding…like…this. 😉

Such big accessories!
My bag was a really special purchase. I work with this woman at Louis Vuitton—she picks things out for me, sends pictures, and tells me to pick what I like. She called one day and was like, “I picked a bag for you, and I’m sending it to your house because I know you’re going to love it.” I think it’s called the Stratus.
How old are you?
I’m 26.
Was the bag expensive?
Yes—about $3,500. I guess a lot of craftsmanship goes into it. Accessories for me are the key. I have about twenty bags, and I don’t know how many shoes. But they’re Vuitton, they’re Versace, they’re Gucci, and they’re Dior.
And your sunglasses?
They’re D&G. I was really excited to find them. They’re wild and crazy and different.
What do you do for a living?
I work in private equity. I love the sector that I work in, which is the consumer and retail group. It’s an area that I’m passionate about. I love to consume. Consuming is my specialty.
You picked the right career.
I’m going to Harvard Business School in September. Moving is definitely going to be the most difficult part of the experience.

Thoughts? After reading some of your emails, I’m tempted to respond with a “Tell us what you REALLY think”, but I’m certain you will already do that. I also look forward to the inevitable, “I know her, and, and–” which will appear below at some point. TWO DEGREES of separation, people. The fact that we couldn’t prove it with two random desi models doesn’t mean the theory is invalid, aight? Continue reading

Paging Mango Pickle…I Need Mango Pickle.

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[NB: Men, small children and intellectuals- pretend to look elsewhere and feign a lack of interest, even though I know you’re going to read every esoteric word.]

Well-maintained humans, I have a problem.

I hate my tweezers.

I have every right to, they came in one of those awful pre-filled manicure kits that no one deserves to receive for Chrismukkah, no matter how evil they’ve been. I have been able to “get by” because I only used them once in a while. That’s why I never really noticed how worthless they are. How is this possible, you wonder incredulously? I have a shameful secret which is so hideous, none dare to believe it once it is revealed.

I have no eyebrows.

No, I didn’t over-tweeze like we all did when we were eleven. I didn’t lose them in an unfortunate smelting accident, nor did I singe them off while learning how to use that stove thingy with the…fire…and stuff. Uh-huh, I was born with no eyebrows, courtesy of my dear Father’s genetics, though considering everything else he gave me, I guess I’d be an ungrateful little shit if I dwell on this for too long.

My father had sparse eyebrows but he also started to grey at 30, so by the time I could even notice his brows, he was in his early 40s. Bare as they were, white hair on dark brown skin is ultra-obvious, so he wasn’t affected by his browlessness. I on the other hand, have had my chin grabbed and my face ruthlessly examined by Auntie after Auntie, who if I’m lucky, muttered something about how I once looked a bit like Hema Malini before I got all black and if I’m REALLY lucky…well, they declare something about how a face is useless unless the eyes are beautiful and the eyes, they are the worthless as the Manolo would say, without the brows. “Sho! Kashtam. No wonder you aren’t married.”

So I haven’t had to use tweezers all that much and whenever I did, I’d just borrow my Mom’s because hers worked. But now…I don’t know if mine have gone dull or if my hand-eye coordination is poo; they don’t grip a thing. I just can’t see the point of getting my brows “done”, not when they barely grow in the first place. In the picture you see above, which was taken during the only trip to Devon Avenue I’ve ever made, I got threaded.

Why? I was caught up in the brownosity of it all; Devon Avenue seemed way more desi than University Avenue, though it wasn’t quite Jackson Heights. After buying a new sari and bangles, eating fantastic chaat and drinking far too much good stuff, I wanted to experience the only part of the street I hadn’t thus far– the beauty parlors. Much like the first time my awe-stricken kundi trudged through Queens, I was amazed at the fact that there were salons that were staffed with and served just desis; as a righteous and deprived thenga, I found such a concept inconceivable.

So, in I went and when I requested getting my brows threaded, the woman pointedly asked, “Why?”. “Please,” I implored “I have to go to an engagement in two hours!” and she shrugged. After all, an idiot and her rupees are soon threaded. And a few seconds after this shot was taken, she stood back and announced, “done!”

I had felt a little something and noticed no discernable difference, but I was tickled anyway. Threaded! I got threaded! I finally, fleetingly felt at one with the South Asian “experience”.

So, unless it’s an adventure in beauty like that was, I’m not getting my brows done and that is why I need new tweezers. Now quit holding out on me– what do YOU use? Share your wisdom, so that other clueless fur balls will find it when they google this embarrassing topic in the years to come. 😉 Continue reading

Just Say NO to Faux.

Sanjaya. No.

Sanjaya-kutta,

Why?

You make it so hard to cheer you on, when you do ugly things with your pretty, pretty tresses. It’s just not okay. At all. Don’t you care about the greater desi community? How will THEY be affected by your reckless decision to have bad hair? You represent our hopes and assimilative aspirations– be careful out there. We’re counting on you and if you fail, we will never forgive you. Ever. Unless you go to medical school.

Sanjaya Malakar performed “Bath Water.” Randy Jackson said “Listen, the hairdo is definitely interesting. I like the kind of Mohawk look.” Paula Abdul said “To watch it on stage and not go for it, it’s kind of like we’re going ah, come on.“ Simon Cowell said “I presume there was no mirror in your dressing room tonight.” Sanjaya replied “You’re just jealous that you couldn’t pull it off.” Simon said “I couldn’t I agree. Sanjaya, I don’t think it matters anymore what we say, actually. I genuinely don’t. I think you are in your own universe and if people like you, good luck.” [linkosity]

Still, I wish you only the best– I just do so with my eyes closed, until someone tells me it’s safe to open them again.

Sanjaya zindabad,

A K K A Continue reading

Purple Reign

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Shilpa Shetty blah blah racism blah reality show winner blah. 😉

…Shilpa was in London to meet Elizabeth II at Commonweath Day on Monday, celebrated at Westminster Abbey.
The actress delivered a speech on — you guessed it — racism.
Shilpa — reportedly wearing an intricate purple velvet Tarun Tahiliani sherwani — curtseyed before the Queen, and then almost slipped in her high heels. Apparently Prince Philip smilingly told her to be careful about the shoes, averting the fall. [linkypoo]

In other news, yesterday, Pakistan should have stuck with spinners, but decided otherwise. 😉

In other other news, Since I don’t talk cricket walk cricket and laugh cricket, I have no clue what the previous statement involving Pakistan means. I’m just shamelessly flirting with all you cricket-fiends.

Finally, for those of you who might be wondering why on earth I posted this if I was obviously sooo not interested in it, it’s really just because I thought sherwanis were for boys and I wanted to consult my kitchen cabinet. Well? Continue reading

All That Glitters Ain’t (Banarasi) Gold

waterredcarpet.jpgApparently the only surprise about Deepa Mehta’s Water losing out on the Best Foreign Film award last night was that the eventual winner wasn’t Pan’s Labyrinth, the consensus favorite, but rather The Lives of Others, by an impossibly tall German director with an impossibly aristocratic Prussian name. So there’s little gnashing of teeth or rending of garments in the Indian press today, simply matter-of-fact recognition that “India’s Oscar jinx” carries on. It’s also apparently a known fact (I never get to the movies, so I’m just repeating what I read) that the entire field for the foreign-film award was extremely strong. So no injustice here any way you cut it.

However, I am rather exercised at the Monday morning snub from the newspaper round-ups of red carpet fashion, which roundly ignore the gorgeous heirloom gold-threaded Banarasi sari in which Mehta graced the ceremony. Los Angeles Times, New York Times — no one paid the slightest notice, positive or negative, to the passage across the red carpet of the Water crew. Even my mellow Hank Stuever in the Washington Post — political, worldly, and queer as the proverbial three-dollar bill — ignored the desi contingent, his confessed ogling of Ryan Gosling affording John Abraham no residual love.

Oh well. Perhaps it’s all for the best that our peoples passed by under the radar, considering the standard-issue snark that’s become de rigueur in such coverage. Or perhaps coverage was the point — body coverage, that is: with so much exposed bosom and leg to take in — let alone Jack Nicholson’s creepily depilated dome — those who took cover in dignified, discreet outfits necessarily condemned themselves to oblivion in the morning news.

deepatoronto.jpg Deepa could have joined the flesh parade, had she wanted to match up against Meryl Streep and Helen Mirren in the “do they still got it?” division, a bit of a rigged fixture for a director against two actresses. The dresses were there for the wearing, but the sista had a much better plan:

They must have been throwing clothes at Mehta once the nominations were announced.

“Yes, they were,” she admits. “Chanel, Armani, Prada etc. … approached me. `No, thank you. I’m wearing my mother’s sari.’ For one thing, I’ll never wear a dress in my life: I’m more blue jeans and cargo pants. It was just a question of what sari.”

Her mother’s sari was part of her trousseau.

“My paternal grandmother gave it to my mom when she got married,” she recalls. “It’s gold but because it is so old (from the ’40s), it’s burnished. It’s very subtle. The gold thread is a weave not done anymore. It’s gorgeous and it’s personal. It’s Mom’s.

“And Bulgari wanted to do my jewellery. But I’ll wear my antique Indian jewellery because it goes with the sari.”

Read the full, friendly feature from the Toronto Star here. As for the Oscars, if you’re feeling the pain of desi exclusion, the Economic Times offers you here a kind of consolation. Continue reading