Category Archives: Musings

Security Perversity in Chicago

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p>I have a big deadline right now, but I feel compelled to respond to this bulletin from the Chicago Police that asks people to “immediately report any or all … suspect activity” including note taking, camera usage, video usage and map usage. [via BoingBoing, link to flyer image].

Before 9/11 I would have said that this sort of thing makes me want to explode, but I’ve expurgated such language in the same way that I no longer say hello to friends named Jack at the airport. I’ll simply say that the bulletin makes me sad and upset. You know exactly whose photo taking will be reported as suspicious and whose wont; Chicago has the third largest South Asian American population in the country, there are plenty of browns to drop a dime about.

I’ve been on the receiving end of this myself. Once I took a pad and pen to the courtyard behind my office to try to figure out how to craft a memo for work and was interrupted by the police who said that there had been a report of “suspicious activity” namely somebody “suspicious” “taking notes”.

I showed them my note pad and explained my behavior (which wasn’t unusual for that area at all), but that wasn’t enough for them. They wanted my ID and then they followed me back to my office so that they could verify that I actually did “belong” there. All for sitting around on a nice spring day and writing on a pad. And this was in a liberal town where they actually decided to follow procedures rather than detain first and ask questions later.

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Let’s Arrange a Marriage, Shall We?

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What the huck.JPG I recently posted about a man in Tamil Nadu named P. Selvakumar who was advised by his astrologer to marry a dog to atone for his past cruelty; when he was younger, he had stoned a pair of mating dogs and then hung them from a tree, to die. After his deplorable act, he apparently lost his hearing and became paralyzed.

If only he had been the son of a powerful politician in Amreeka. Then he would have blessed enough to get away with it, grow up and continue to display very disturbing behavior!

You see, once upon a time mutineers, in a state far, far away…okay, it was Arkansas, but still, there was a teen who was wicked. His name was David Huckabee and while he was leading a boy scout camp in 1998, he murdered a defenseless dog.

Do you see where I’m going with this? Of course you do, clever readers. Because while some of you impugned my decision to post about P. Selvakumar’s wedding to Selvi the canine as an “about-as-veiled-as-that-one-belly-dancer-at-Prince-Cafe” dig at Hinduism, most of you realized that what haunted me was how the whole thing occurred because two dogs had been stoned and then strung from a tree. I love dogs. I’ve had three, all of whom sadly are gone. Out of an overwhelming sense of loss, I now stop and pet every pup who will have me; that is how much I love dogs. They are fiercely loving, ever adoring, loyal, fuzzy angels with paws.

Once, when I was a senior in college and considerably angst-ridden (for very good reason), I put “Strangeways Here We Come” on my turntable, dropped the needle and then dropped myself down on the lush, odd red carpet we were infamous for having installed in our ENTIRE Home. It was time for some emotional bloodletting, though I didn’t have any Johnette nearby.

When Morrissey started keening, I went still, except for the unceasing crying, of course. A few songs in to the album, I was vaguely aware of a strange noise but I was too morose to move. My eyes were closed. I was despondent. I really didn’t care.

But my wolf-German shepherd hybrid did. He had broke through the once-sturdy patio screen door in his haste and worry to get to me. I opened my eyes because of the oddest sensation–a very concerned puppy was licking all the NaCl off my face. Torn between being utterly grossed out (it was my first pet!) and utterly in love with such love (it was my first pet!), I chose the latter and sat up, as my dog visibly relaxed at my not-being-dead.

That’s what kind of sweetness dogs contain.

And maybe, just perhaps, the dog that David Huckabee executed had licked away some other kid’s tears. Even if it hadn’t, I’m sure it would have been inclined to, if it hadn’t been hung from a tree and left to choke to death by the son of a Preacher man. Continue reading →

Walking a Mile in Someone Else’s Chappals

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I’m waiting in line at the “secret” coffee place I mentioned in a post once, on the phone with one of my closest friends.

“How are you? How’s the ankle?”, he asks.

“Blue and mediocre.”

“Wait, WHAT?”

“Well, I’m wearing a blue dress and it still hurts. Actually, I officially sound like an Ammachi/Naniji now, because my hip hurts constantly. Apparently, three months of limping will do that to you!”

“Smartypants, here I was worried you were ‘blue’ as in sad.”

“Tiny bit. Always am around the holidays.”

“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

“No. Mom’s traveling, no one’s there.”

“What timing for a trip!”

“Well…we never really celebrated the holiday. My parents had that typical snarky comeback, you know, ‘only Americans would need a special day to be thankful for everything. Hmmph! We’re thankful daily!’…like that. So it was just a regular day at our house…with slightly different TV programs.”

“So you have not had this…tofurkey you sent me, on Facebook?”

“No. I don’t eat tofu.”

“You sound sad.”

“I guess I am, a little bit. Everyone’s rushing off with a suitcase and while I don’t really want to travel THIS week, it reminds me that they’re going to be with their family, and that does make me miss home. This is my first Thanksgiving when I’m not going anywhere. It’s a little depressing.”

“Well, now you know what a FOB feels like.” Continue reading →

And all she got was a bun.

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Wow, more weird India news! Yay!.jpg

Allow me to preempt someone from asking why I chose to write this story. No, really, let’s get it out of the way, this nimisham:

• Did this really have to be blogged?

• Slow news day?

• Aren’t X,Y and Q more important?

• And furthermore, doesn’t your lack of blogging X,Y and Q indicate that you are a heartless bitch who doesn’t care about Pakistan/the Nuke Deal/the environment/immigration??

Yes,

maybe,

perhaps and

refer to my finger, for that last one. It’s an extra-challenging week at work, so I can’t write anything dazzling, not that the performances which I usually phone in are sublime. I don’t have much time, but when something’s on my mind, it’s easier (read: cathartic) to type, so a “Musings” post it shall be.

Unless you were the last person to be found during hide and seek yesterday, you have heard the cringe-inducing-on-so-many-levels news about an Indian man “marrying” a dog (thanks, Aggiebabe). It is somewhat like the whole “Aish weds trees…twice”-fiasco…except in TMBWITW’s case, she was doing it to compensate for her apparently unfortunate nakshatram and not because she had killed two trees.

An Indian man has “married” a female dog, hoping the move will help atone for stoning two other dogs to death.
P Selvakumar, 33, said he had been cursed since the killings, suffering paralysis and a loss of hearing.
The wedding took place at a Hindu temple in Tamil Nadu state. The “bride” wore an orange sari with a flower garland and was fed a bun to celebrate.
Superstitious people in rural India sometimes organise weddings to animals in the hope of warding off curses.[BBC]

Buried among the hundreds of jokes which punsters are giddily guffawing over (enjoy your free pass to bitch about how the bride is a bitch…but more on that later) is to me the most appalling aspect of this story; this man killed two innocent, defenseless creatures.

I didn’t know how he killed them until I settled in to my seat on the subway this morning and found out that he had stoned them. That detail bothered me so much, because my imagination doesn’t need any assistance in recreating actual events. Have you ever seen an animal cowering in front of a human? Yelping and whimpering out of fear and pain? It’s heartbreaking, but that’s what this so-called man saw, as he brutally stoned two dogs. I remember the way our late German Shepherds looked terrified and anxious, when they were merely being scolded…and that was after they had committed capital offenses, like uprooting our only curry leaf plant. Continue reading →

In defense of a dictator

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I love the ACLU. I believe that a person shouldn’t be allowed to run for President of the United States unless they are a card-carrying member (as opposed to our current system where you have to be a member of the NRA). Likewise, I think that Human Rights Watch rocks and that any government that questions their findings or calls them inaccurate are doing so mostly because they are annoyed at being caught doing something pretty heinous. However, unlike some of my co-bloggers, I also think I support Musharraf’s intention to stay in power and am willing to forgive his autocratic moves for the time being. Why? Because countries like Iraq (and a few others I can think of) have taught the world a very important lesson in recent years. Insisting that they quickly transition to a democracy because its what we (sitting in our stable homes) are fortunate enough to enjoy, doesn’t always result in the best outcome for them or us. History has repeatedly shown that a weak central government is sometimes much worse for everyone than a dictator who, despite curtailing personal freedoms, provides stability for the vast majority. The key is that a path to an eventual transition or succession be clearly defined. The fact that Musharraf has not developed and cultivated a method for succession while he has been busy helping the U.S. fight its war in Afghanistan and Iraq is what has gotten him into trouble.

What was it that went wrong in Iraq? We foolishly believed (and by we I really mean those Neocons) that a community of exiled intellectuals could pick up where a brutal strongman (Hussein) left off. We learned the hard way that exiled intellectuals (like Bhutto and Sharif in the case of Pakistan) are out of touch with the needs of the masses and will end up fighting amongst themselves while emptying the state coffers. Hussein, just like Hitler and Kim Jong Il, was a very bad man responsible for the death of thousands of his own people. That isn’t why we invaded Iraq or decided that they needed to be democratized though. We invaded Iraq in the expectation that we’d bring about greater long-term stability for us (and for them as a secondary benefit). Nobody would suggest that Musharraf is anywhere near as bad as Hussein and the stability he has been providing is not bad, all things considered. And let’s not forget the reason he seized power in the first place and has been popular in Pakistan for most of his tenure:

Nawaz Sharif was also involved in corruption at the highest level during his tenure which brought further mistrust of the people towards his government. The Nawaz government launched a scheme called “Karz utaro, Mulk savaro” whose intent was to pay off debt of the nation through the Pakistani people’s pockets. Pakistanis took part aggressively and emotionally to help Pakistan pay off the debt. Many Pakistanis living abroad took part in this scheme extensively and sent millions (maybe billions) to help pay off the debt. Even the poor living in the country helped, to the extent that women sold their jewellery to help the cause, but to no avail. As of this date, it is not known what happened to the funds and the national debt never decreased. It is widely believed that the scheme was to benefit Nawaz Sharif & family, and not to pay off the country’s debt. [Link]

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In search of the great Indian-American gangster flick

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I was at this bar on Friday night and as I ordered my drink I noticed that American Gangster (which came out on Friday) was playing on every television in the joint, including the one behind the bartender. Is video piracy really this rampant? Anyways, the rest of the night I tried to not watch so I could see it in its entirety next weekend. Flash forward to Saturday morning. I was sitting on my couch scratching myself and all of a sudden I thought, “What happened to that smokin’ Piper Perabo from the movie Coyote Ugly? I mean, come on! There has got to be a way to get her back into some film. So I looked her up on IMDB and noted that she will be co-starring in a movie called Ashes which comes out next year. And THAT is where this rambling story finally finds its desi angle:

ASHES follows the story of two brothers from the inner city whose lives are unraveling. As one plummets deeper into mental illness, the other, Ashes, copes by throwing himself into the dangerous New York underworld. Ashes is torn between the family he is responsible for, and the community that consumes him. [Link]

Sepia Mutiny is currently trying to determine if the above drug use was prescribed by Doc 420

Click on the above image for the trailer. The film is directed by and stars Ajay Naidu of Office Space fame as the title character. All I can say is that it is about time there is an Indian American Gangsta film. I mean, the Cubans had Scarface, the Italians had The Godfather, African American’s have Denzel in American Gangter mentioned above. Why the hell has it taken THIS long for a story about the Indian American gangster experience that most of our readers have had at least minor brushes with? I know some of our readers will point to Maqbool as good Indian Gangter film but I ask you, if The Godfather had been only about Don Corleone’s time in Sicily would it be as relevant to Italian Americans? I didn’t think so. And so I eagerly await Naidu’s Ashes. It might finally take the “model” out of our minority. Plus Piper Perabo will be in it.

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Why won’t desis go All-in?

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The always interesting Freakonomics Blog, hosted on the New York Times website, asked its readers a very critical question Wednesday (one I’ve laid awake many a night thinking about as I carefully weighed my career options): Why aren’t there more Indian American Professional Poker Players?

Whenever I see a poker tournament on TV or wander through a casino, I am always struck by a particular absence: there seem to be very few Indian-Americans playing poker. Considering that there are so many Indians of poker age in this country who thrive in finance, computer science, engineering, and other fields that incorporate math, probability, risk, etc. — i.e., the kind of fields that produce a lot of amateur and pro poker players — why should this be so?

I guess there are two separate questions:

1. Am I right in my perception that Indians are underrepresented?

2. If so, why is that the case?… [Link]

The author of the post, Stephen J. Dubner, first asks three people, including two “notable” Indians, to break it down for the audience:

Rafe Furst, our poker-playing friend, truth-seeker, and all-around smart guy; Sudhir Venkatesh, our sociologist friend who isn’t a big gambler (as far as I know), but is an Indian immigrant and perceptive observer; and Shubhodeep Pal, an 18-year-old from Dehradun, India, now studying at Singapore Management University (and who just happened to recently send in an interesting question by e-mail, having nothing to do with the topic of gambling). [Link]

Unfortunately, both Venkatesh and Pal give the obvious-half-of-the-answer without digging below the immediate surface. Also, from Pal’s answer it is clear that he is thinking like an Indian (which he is) and not an Indian American, a critical difference to this particular query that I hope is not lost on Dubner or his readers. Here are their responses: Continue reading →

Who Ya Gonna call?

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CIAterrorlogo.jpg

Oh my god. I’m speechless, have no words, and my brain just froze. So pardon my terrible blogger protocol in just copying over from Wonkette.com:

The CIA has inexplicably come up with a logo for the “Terrorist Buster,” some sort of imaginary Christian cheerleader representing the DCI Counterterrorist Center. Take a better look at the logo, realize that this is actually happening, and then continue reading. We’ll wait for you. [Pause]. Ready?

THIS IS AN OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT LOGO?!

This is not a joke. I can’t believe this is not a joke. The CIA really did create a logo for a “Terrorist Buster” (who the hell would that be anyway? Is this related to those “If you see something, say something” campaigns? Does a counterterrorist center really need a logo? If yes, then THAT?!) and unveiled the logo on the official CIA website. Go see for yourself at www.cia.gov

As Wonkette goes on to point out, the logo looks like some mad, racist twisted version of the logo (after the jump) from the Ghostbusters movie. Goddamn. What would Peter Venkman say??

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On Feeling *Extra* Brown This Afternoon

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After finally deciphering and then completing the most challenging assignment I’ve had yet, I grabbed my badge and headed out. I wanted to take a little walk…I deserved to…I was done two hours before I expected to be and I felt a tiny sense of “Victory is mine!” because of it. Since I had skipped lunch, now was the perfect time to get some fresh air (and look for turning leaves). Once outside, I realized that today was the the day for our weekly Farmer’s Market. This made me mindful of how there were a finite number of Thursdays left before the weather would end the charming gathering of, oh, all of a dozen artisans and farmers, and that made me determined to appreciate everything even more. Excessive positivity (and the relief which blissfully arrives after meeting a deadline) inspired my lame ankle to try for whatever spring in my step I could muster. This was going to be nice.he gets my love jones for the cookie.jpg

I wasn’t looking for groceries, I was in search of a treat. I immediately recognized one when I saw a baker and his assistant arranging a decadent array of breads, scones, brownies, muffins and best of all…cookies. If I could list “home-made cookies” under my interests, I would. “C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me”, indeed. I spotted apple cinnamon, oatmeal raisin…then a few dozen peanut butter appeared…and then something which I couldn’t visually place, it was darker than the PB and didn’t have nuts dotting its smooth surface like so many allergy-inducing polka dots. Chocolate chip, my favorite hadn’t been unloaded yet. I smiled at the three women who were crowding the stand, impatient for the official start of the market. Oh yes, I’m not joking– you cannot sell anything until it is exactly 3pm and a bell has been rung. It’s a fair and thus lovely thing, apparently.

While the three, a duo and a single milled between me and those delectable baked petit morts, I observed the women as they observed the baker. Two were old enough to be my grandmother, and one of them had beautiful skin, bright reddish-orange lipstick and very pretty hair. She was so arresting, I couldn’t even look at the other two. I was fascinated, thinking silly AnnaThoughts like “I wonder what moisturizer she uses” and “I bet she wears lots of hats”. I was so transfixed, I almost missed what was occurring directly in front of us. Almost. Thanks to being perpetually high-strung, even things in my peripheral vision cause me to swivel and investigate, so that’s what commenced my micro-Monk-like-adventure: the gesture I saw, which I wish I hadn’t, while I was looking elsewhere. Continue reading →

“…given up hiding and started to fight”

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October 31, 1984

“Mummy, Daddy can I dress up for Halloween this year?”

“No.  You are not allowed to participate in this ritual begging for candy.”

“Daddy, I meant for school…we’re supposed to…”

He eyed me suspiciously.  “I thought fifth grade would mean the end of such nonsense, but if you are supposed to…what do you need to wear”

I had thought about this.  Based on what the popular girls were last year, I decided…“I want to be a cheerleader!”

“Absolutely not.  Those skirts are indecent.”

“Caroline Auntie was a cheerleader!”

“In college.  When you’re in college, I’ll forbid you then, too.”

Nine-year old me promptly burst in to tears.  Later, my mother came to my room and helped me match a v-neck sweater from my old Catholic school uniform with a pleated skirt I usually wore to church—i.e. one which went to the middle of my knee.  She unpacked a box in my closet and wordlessly handed me my toy pom-poms.  My six-year old sister glared at her indignantly, so Mom rolled her eyes and did the same for her.  I was so excited.  Finally, a “cool” costume, one which didn’t involve an uncomfortable, weird-looking plastic mask to secure with an elastic band, from a pre-packaged ensemble.  I went to sleep feeling giddy.

The next morning, for the first time ever, I was tardy for school.  I don’t remember why, but I was.  When I walked in to class just before recess, everyone froze and stared at me.  The hopeful smile on my face dissolved; this year, the popular girls were all babies in cutesy pajamas with pacifiers around their necks.  I thought the weirdness in the air was due to my lame costume, but within a few minutes I discovered it was caused by something else entirely. 

The moment the bell rang, my desk was surrounded.  This couldn’t be good.  Was I going to get locked in a closet or a bathroom again? 

“Why are you here?”
“Yeah, we thought you weren’t coming.”
“Shouldn’t you be at home crying?”
“Mrs.  Doyle said you wouldn’t come in today.”

The questions assaulted me one after the other.  I was baffled. 

"Why…would…Mrs. Doyle say that?” I stammered.

“DUH, because Gandhi’s daughter got killed.”
“Isn’t she like your queen or something?  Or a Hindu God?”
“No you buttheads, she’s like the president of her country.”

At the end of the last sentence, the boy speaking gestured towards me.  When did they get so enlightened?  Last week, they asked if I was Cherokee and said “How” whenever I walked by, or pantomimed yowling war cries with their hands and mouth.

“She’s not the president of my country.  I’m…I’m from this country.  My president is Ronald Reagan.”

They got impatient and vaguely hostile.

“No, you’re Indian.  Mrs. Doyle said you were in mourning.”
“Did you not like her or something, is that why you don’t care?”
“I heard they dip her in milk before they burn her up.”
“Duh…that’s because they worship cows.”

I put my head down on my desk, as if we were playing “heads up, seven up”.   

“See?  She’s crying now…she is Indian.”

And with that they walked off, to do whatever it was that popular fifth-graders did.

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