Category Archives: Kids

Mama’s Saris

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Did you grow up combing your Barbie’s blinding blond locks? Rooting around a Crayola box for the “Burnt Umber” or “Ochre” since “Flesh” looked nothing like your own? Ahh…those self-conscious days are over (for the most part) since that crayon is now “peach,” Bratz dolls come in all shades of colors (and flavors of sluttiness), and there’s even a magazine for young South Asian kids (Kahani) that’s as awesome as Highlights! (OK, fine. Kahani‘s a lot smarter. If IQ=DQ aka “desi quotient,” I wouldn’t be writing in this space, mmkay?)

mama's saris small.jpg

Anyway, adding to this glorious list for sepia kids – longtime Sepia commenter, meetup regular, and all-around lit-star Pooja Makhijani just published another book! Mama’s Saris is a beautifully illustrated children’s book about a young girl mesmerized by her mother’s luscious sari collection, yearning to play dress-up, to grow up to be like just like her mother.

Pooja is already well-known as the editor of the sensitive essay collection Under Her Skin: How Girls Experience Race in America and has written for many youth/teen magazines. Most remarkably, she writes about universal childhood themes (such as wanting to wear your mother’s clothes to feel grown up) in a South Asian context, with very specific desi details.

While most of us look back on our childhoods with adult eyes, Pooja somehow retained the uncanny ability to delve into the past and write about it with a childlike sensibility intact.

Reading this book, I remembered my mother helplessly shooing me away as I tried to catch the gold lights in her party saris with my grubby hands…and the time we went shopping for the first sari I could call my very own…

I think I’m going to buy another copy as a gift for Mother’s Day. I’m keeping this one for a daughter I may have someday. Continue reading →

Can’t buy me love?

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All over the greater diaspora, Aunties bemoan that desi children are picky. How will they ever be satisfied? How will they ever settle down and start popping out the requisite grandkids?

Aunties can sleep better at night now that SCIENCE is on the job. Examining peoples’ behavior in online dating settings (which is equivalent to looking at biodata), they’ve noticed a few clear patterns:

Men are easy – they are generally interested in hotness above all.

Women are choosier, but it turns out their preferences are fungible. This is good news for aunties because it gives them a metric with which to translate different suitor’s attributes to a common scale, allowing them to rank apples and oranges. They can tell, for example, whether an average woman (in this study) is likely to prefer the not quite as handsome, shorter i-banker or the more gorgeous, slightly taller, high school English teacher.

What is this common scale? Money. According to these researchers, women will forgive men’s flaws if (gasp) they earn more.

Consider looks. A guy can compensate for ordinary looks with more moola, which tells us what he has to reveal in his biodata if he wants to be a playa:

Suppose you’re an ordinary-looking guy whose online picture is ranked around the median in attractiveness… And suppose you’d like to be as successful with women as a guy whose picture is ranked in the top tenth. Then you’d need to make $143,000 more than him. If your picture is ranked in the bottom tenth, you’d need to make $186,000 more than him. [Link]

Cash also acts like elevator shoes for our shorter brothers:

… a 5-foot-0 guy would need to make $325,000 more than a 6-foot-0 man to be as successful in the online dating market. [Link]

Continue reading →

Merry Christmas to All, and to All, “Show Some Pride!”

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3670482_a31914cae1.jpg One of my dearest friends has an Op-Ed in today’s Washington Post (page A29). Nitya, I’d be proud of you even if “Longing to Join in Christmas” hadn’t been published, but now that it has, Akka loves you even more, because obviously, like all good South Asian elders, my affection for you is directly tied to your achievements. 😉 I can’t think of a more perfect post for today (so let me get out of the way):

Christmas is the season when you are most likely to find yourself on a street of beautiful homes with twinkling lights, warm fireplaces and happy families outfitted in festive holiday sweaters, only to be filled with a yearning to possess not just the house but the lifestyle inside.

For my whole Indian American childhood in the early 1980s, I wanted a Christmas tree that way. And it wasn’t for the presents. It was for the lifestyle.

I wanted the Santa Claus, I wanted the holly wreath and I wanted the jolly elves who toiled in a workshop all year long. I wanted the sleigh bell-wearing reindeer on my roof. I wanted the colorful stockings hung by the chimney. And I wanted the jolly fat man to wiggle down our (nonexistent) chimney before he ho-ho-hoed his way across the night sky in a triumphant journey back to the North Pole.

From the warmth of my Hindu home, I always longed for that good old Christian magic — and not a holiday like Christmas but Christmas itself. I wanted to belong to the classroom party hosted by homeroom mothers in Santa hats, to know the words to the holiday songs that everyone knew, to feel the evergreen anticipation that never faded or fell from branches needle by needle.

My immigrant father, who’d recently come to America as a University of California grad student, was a man of little sympathy and extra principle when it came to the wants and woes of my childhood.

Continue reading →

Thrust into Greatness

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The reason why no ideology has ever created, let alone sustained, the world it envisioned, is that by definition it could not account for unintended consequences. The same is true of more modest ventures. A war meant to be short and sweet turns out anything but. A campaign meant to steamroll the opposition clears the field of all rivals but one, the most dangerous and unexpected. Observing something alters its nature; naming it alters its meaning. If you’ve ever planned anything – a career, a vacation, a party – you know this already.

And so, when things happen – interesting things, significant things, things that surprise us and thus lead us to feel – they result only partly from deliberate action, and as much from the gremlins of serendipity, who can inhabit any of us for any period of time. Thrust into greatness, we signify; the moment passes, the world changes, we fade to obscurity.

salonsidarth.jpgAre you having a macaca moment yet? In 2006, desis were thrust into greatness in the person of S. R. Sidarth. Senator AllenÂ’s view of SidarthÂ’s ethnic happenstance differed so radically from that of a majority of Virginia voters, that the (near-) accident of the brother being there set in motion events leading, it is argued, to the change of power in Congress.

Macaca was about revealed perception. The perception was AllenÂ’s; but the revelation stems from Sidarth. Without Sidarth, the perception would not have been revealed. The tree might have fallen in the forest, but no one would have heard.

This is old news to us; in this community at least, weÂ’ve followed the macaca story from the start and have no disagreement as to its significance. Where we differ is in what we make of it for ourselves, the extent to which we identify with Sidarth or the fate we wish on the word macaca itself.

timecover.jpgOld news, yes. But this weekend Sidarth was made to reappear, once more in his capacity as the embodiment of macaca, as two news outlets produced their round-up of people who mattered in 2006. Salon names Sidarth its Person of the Year. Time’s Person of the Year is You – you, the diffuse and disparate emanators of content, the users who generate that which is user-generated – and Sidarth is one of the Yous the magazine profiles.

ItÂ’s interesting to compare the interpretations that each of these outlets apply to Original Macaca. Salon, the established survivor of first-generation Web journalism, sees in him less the agent of a brave new world of representation than an embodiment of an America undergoing demographic and attitudinal change. Time, a behemoth of a pre-Internet era when The Press told The Public what to know and believe, now celebrates Sidarth as one of a non-organized army of little people upending the plans and certitudes of the great.

Both treatments have in common, however, that ultimately they are not about Sidarth – not the “real” Sidarth, biologically and spiritually unique, but what he seems through various filters. It was the year of You perceived and revealed, by your own doing and by that of others. That trend will continue, as attested by the fact that you read this blog, perhaps comment, perhaps have established an identity here and elsewhere on the Web.

We are learning that representation matters. We manage our identities lest others manage them for us; in a way the two processes are dialectically the same. What remains is spirit: mercurial, contradictory, and if we will it, potentially free. Continue reading →

Who’s your daddy? Say it! (corrected)

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The son also rises

Desi families like to provide well for their children. Parents give their kids money, cars, businesses … and now it seems that some even help procure girls for their darling little boys. That’s right – having Salman Rushdie as your father helps you score chicks. While this isn’t a huge surprise (Duh!), I was made a bit queasy by the way the famous family discussed the matter.

First there is Rushdie, fils, talking about his dad:

Zafar Rushdie, 27, often accompanies his father on nights out because the pair are usually swamped by attractive girls keen to impress the literary genius. He says, “Most people who go to a party with their parents try to run away from them. Not me. If I want to meet girls, I just stand near him. “All the beautiful women want to talk to Dad, so I stand close and bask in the sunlight. Beauty loves brains…” [Link]

Then there is Rushdie, pere, engaging in mutual admiration:

“Every time I see a picture of him in the paper, he has four girls around him, so I think he’s not doing badly,” the author tells the paper. “He’s absurdly charming – lethally, disgustingly charming. He has it like a weapon…” [Link]

A weapon, huh? Really, we don’t need to hear about your son’s Louisville Slugger. Just tell the researchers and leave us out of it.

Lastly, step-mom and fourth wife Padma also agrees that Zafar, a mere 9 years younger, is a stud:

… actress Padma Lakshmi, 36, is equally complimentary of Zafar, talking him up as a red-hot ladies man who can’t be resisted. [Link]

In addition, Salman says, his son is a “red-hot ladies man who can’t be resisted.” [Link]

I know the family that pimps together stays together, but can’t the Rushdies save the meddling in their Zafar’s sex life until he’s ready to get married, like decent people? Or is this just a further extension of the same principle – they’ll help puttarRushdie find his wife, his girlfriends, and even his short term flings.

Please understand that my reaction isn’t one of pure prudishness – we are firmly pro-groupie here are Sepia Mutiny. We just believe that groupies should be earned, not inherited. Continue reading →

Puppets deployed against landmines

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Witness the following horrific string of events:

I know it isn’t pretty and I hope that I haven’t ruined anyone’s lunch hour. The Christian Science Monitor has an article about the puppets of “No Strings,” and that organization’s mission to teach the children of Afghanistan about the dangers of landmines:

“Bang!” The little puppet boy steps on a mine, and now he only has one leg. The Afghan children watching the video at a school on a Kabul hillside gasp.

Puppets have long been used to entertain and to teach children basic lessons such as how to count and the letters of the alphabet

“The Story of the Little Carpet Boy,” loosely based on Pinocchio, is the brainchild of No Strings International, a British charity set up to reach children in war-torn areas and teach them vital life lessons through puppetry.

“It’s hard to get a crowd of children to listen to an adult, but the minute you bring a puppet out, kids just light up,” says Johnie McGlade, founder of No Strings.

Mr. McGlade worked for more than a year with two of Muppet-creator Jim Henson’s original team, Kathy Mullen and Michael Frith, to create a culturally sensitive film using characters from Afghan folklore to teach children about the dangers of minefields.

About 60 Afghans a month are killed or injured by mines and unexploded ordnance around the country, and almost half of them are under 18 years old, according the United Nations Mine Action Center for Afghanistan (UNMACA). [Link]

Continue reading →

A bride for Budhia

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I want to start by saying that I DO NOT condone child marriages. In this case however, for the good of Mother India, I think we should all consider the merits of such an arrangement. In the past we have blogged about young (4 year old) Budhia Singh who was running upwards of 30 miles on an average non-competition day. Some overly cautious adults banned him from running marathons in the state of Orissa and charged his coaches/handlers with abuse. Officials said that they didn’t want him to be exploited but I’ll bet it was to protect the other runners (who may have had friends in the government) from embarrassment. Now we get word of another young runner. Meet the hard charging Anastasia Barla:

A 10-year-old tribal girl from a remote village in Sundargarh district ran 72 km in eight hours on Monday but failed to break Budhia Singh’s record.

Five-year-old Budhia had run 65 km non-stop on May 2 in his bid to enter the Limca Book of Records, while Anastasia took a five-minute break after running 58 kms.

Anastasia Barla’s target was to cover 105 km. She began her marathon run from Sundargarh stadium at exactly 5 am amid cheers from a large crowd.

But she stopped at Rambahal near Rajgangpur at around 1 pm, after covering 72 km.

Her coach Dominque Lakra said Anastasia could not achieve the target today as she had ran on hard surface. “The girl is comfortable on soil which is soft…” [Link]

Look, if India wants to get serious about competing athletically on a global stage then they need to start making some tough decisions now. Even if Budhia and Anastasia are held back by the corrupt Indian system, at least their offspring might have a chance to be the great brown hopes. Can you imagine the running abilities of their kids given the genetic stock of Budhia and Anastasia? An arranged marriage seems to this blogger to be the most reasonable course of action. Damn any caste differences if they exist. A modern India calls for pragmatic solutions.

Continue reading →

Welcome Grandmaster P!

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We at Sepia Mutiny would like to extend a very snarky hearty welcome to the newest Sepia Macaca: Puran Singh. That’s right – Deep is a daddy! [Mothers everywhere want to know what the rest of us are waiting for]

Puran Singh (“Master P,” as my brother is already calling him) was born yesterday at 8pm. He’s 8 pounds, 2 ounces (3.7 Kg), and both he and his mother are doing well. We have lots of family around helping us out and giving support (thanks, everyone), and the hospital experience has been pretty good, though the final stage of labor was difficult (I guess it always is).

The name means “fulfillment,” “completion,” or “perfection.” No one in our family has been named “Puran,” but there are a couple of famous people who have had this name: including Bhagat Puran Singh and also a famous Punjabi poet. In the Sikh tradition, the first letter of a baby’s name is usually chosen by opening the Guru Granth Sahib at random, and taking a “Vakh.” The first letter of the page opened is supposed to be the first letter of the baby’s name. In our case, we got “P,” and I immediately thought of “Puran…” [Link]

P is for Perfection

Continue reading →

An Adopting Mother Confronts the Complexion Gap

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A few weeks ago we discussed a new kind of camp for Indian children adopted by white American parents. Today, via a tip on the news tab, I came across an article on Alternet by a Jewish New Yorker who adopted an Indian baby as a single mother, and was somewhat taken aback by the darkness of her child’s skin:

The first photo I received of [Redacted] showed her with fair skin. I was surprised, because from what my adoption agency told me, the child assigned to me would be much darker. After I got over that surprise, I had another: I felt relief. Suddenly — guiltily — it was a comfort to know that she would not look so different from me, and even more important, that her light skin would save her from a lifetime of prejudice. But ah, the magic of flashbulbs. A few months later I received several more photos and gaped at them in shock. The baby was much, much darker. (link)

[Redacted] has, initially, a lot of anxiety to deal with about the gap between her skin tone and that of her adopted daughter (read the whole article for examples: the kicker is the diaper change). She gets over it, but is still often surprised by the fact that no one in her social circle — including her Indian and Black friends — is as dark as her daughter:

Very soon, my daughter will have a lot to process. She’s adopted, she’s the child of a single mother, she’s an Indian Jew by conversion. We spent the summer with my father in upstate New York, and she was nearly always the darkest child in music class, gymnastics and day care. In New York City, even Blacks and Indians in [Redacted]’s and my social circle are lighter than she. Over and over I see how light skin equals privilege. Now that I have become [Redacted]’s mother, I realize: We need darker friends. (link)

I’m sure there will be some folks who will be offended that [Redacted] is publicly stating some of these things she says in this article. I personally am not: she’s expressing the shock she felt along with her embarrassment about that shock, and describing how she got past it. Yes, her initial reaction to her baby’s skin tone betrays “racism,” but it looks to me like she’s recognized and dealt with it.

Still, I wonder what people think about the solution she outlines: “We need darker friends.” Is it really damaging to a child (the baby has grown up some now) not to be around anyone who physically resembles her? And wouldn’t it be slightly strange to seek out “friends” on this basis?

[Oh, and one more thing: the Times recently had an interesting article on the growing number of cross-racial adoptions in the U.S.] Continue reading →