Piercings

I had recently gone to a Bengali family party, and was sitting on the floor talking to an older auntie type, when I noticed she had something gold in her nose. I asked her what it was, and with a little pull here and there, she pulled out a punk-rock style gold septum ring. A little shocking, since as a desi girl I was more familiar with the more traditional nose piercings, but not the septum style. She continued by telling the story of how she got it as a girl, and and how the piercing was supposed to bring shanti on her husband- basically (what I garnered from my poor Bengali) anytime she exhaled, she would be bringing good luck on her mate.

Nose piercing was first recorded in the Middle East approximately 4,000 years ago… Nose piercing was bought to India in the 16th Century from the Middle East by the Moghul emperors. In India a stud (Phul) or a ring (Nath) is usually worn in the left nostril, It is sometimes joined to the ear by a chain, and in some places both nostrils are pierced. The left side is the most common to be pierced in India, because that is the spot associated in Ayuvedra (Indian medicine) with the female reproductive organs, the piercing is supposed to make childbirth easier and lessen period pain.[link]

The septum piercing that this auntie had is the second most popular piercing next to ear-piercings and even more popular than the traditional nose piercings.

The piercing is also popular in India, Nepal, and Tibet, a pendant “Bulak” is worn, and some examples are so large as to prevent the person being able to eat, the jewellery has to be lifted up during meals. In Rajasthan in Himachal Pradesh these Bulak are particularly elaborate, and extremely large.[link]

See mom, body piercings are a part of our culture! That line of reasoning didn’t quite fly as well when I presented it to her after I got mine. I personally opted for the chin-piercing better known as the labret back when I turned 22.

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I’m not afraid of Elvis

I was looking at the photos from the recent Bhangra Blowout [thanks Amardeep] and was struck by the non-desi dancers in the photos. What confuses me is why I’m surprised at all.

Growing up, NYC was a giant thali of different cultural practices. Black kids did Kung Fu and Lion Dances, Chinese Americans breakdanced and rapped. Culture wasn’t “apna,” it was for anybody willing to put the time in to learn. I probably did as much Irish and Israeli folk dancing (yes, I’m a dork) as a kid as I did Punjabi folk dancing. I should be no more surprised to see a non-Punjabi, non-desi, dancing Bhangra than I am surprised to see a non-Latino doing Salsa, or a non-Korean doing Tae Kwan Do.

Still, I’m not used to it, and I think that other desis are even less used to it than I am. We tend to snark a lot about white people doing puja or yoga, criticizing their pronunciation, saying that they don’t somehow grok the soul of the practice. Well guess what – it’s not going to stop there and we ABCDs are hypocrites if we’re affronted. Let’s be honest, many of us sit here and learn the words to Hindi songs phonetically, just like the non-desi next to us. We’re cosmopolitan, not essentialist, in all other aspects of our lives.

We’re just scared that if somebody else can do these things, these things that we associate with our homes, cook our food, speak our languages, worship our God(s), dance our dances, sing our songs, as well as we can or better that we’ll lose our distinctiveness. That’s understandable but dumb.

Yes, I’m better at dancing Bhangra than most non-desis, but that doesn’t mean that I have the rhythms of Punjab in my veins, just a bit more practice than some. At the end of the day, it’s about talent and enthusiasm, not ancestry (and I cringe equally when I see most non-Punjabi desis dancing Bhangra). It just takes a little while to get used to the fact that these things are now … public, and open to all.

Related posts: White girls in Brooklyn appropriate Saraswati

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Get Your “Kundis” to the D.C. Meetup, 3/25

“Anyway monay, can I call you right back? I was in the middle of reports…”

“Ma? Please, really quick, ’cause I’m writing something?”

“Vat?”

Does kundi mean “ass” or “anus“?

Sigh. A deep breath is inhaled.

“This is for your website? Kundi is chunthi. Koothi means anus.”

“Let me be painfully careful– kundi and chunthi are like…the butt cheeks?”

“Yes, they are what I would like to kick right now, absolutely.”

“So, like, you could use kundi in the following context: “get your kundi on the dancefloor?'”

Another sigh is sighed.

“YES.”

“I knew it!” Continue reading

Keeping tabs on your clan

I have often wondered where the rest of my kind spread to once they hit the U.S. shores. My branch of our larger clan (which arrived in the mid-60s) started in Illinois and then spread on to California and elsewhere. I recently came upon the website of the Gens Project [via Dexterous Doings]. Plugging in my last name, I was surprised to see that my kind is also numerous (if you count <100 as numerous) in Texas and New York:

It’s just like an outbreak map

The Gens project is born by the initiative and the experience of a team of graduates in Humanities at the University of Genoa – Italy, who have specialized in history, demography, statistics, archive-keeping and librarianship.

Originally it was a research project about the distribution of surnames across Italy, but after the first realization and the first impact with the public, we decided to make it available to others. [Link]

Just for fun, I entered in some other notable last names… Continue reading

Jail Time for Salman Khan?

For those of us in America, high profile hunting continues to be part of the regular news cycle. After all, our Vice President did shoot, by accident of course, his hunting partner Harry Whittington in the face and body just last week (guns don’t kill people right, its people that kill people?).

So it was kind of humorous to see the parallels between bad boy vice president, and our own Bollywood bad boy Salman Khan, who this week (thanks Bong Breaker) was found guilty of killing two blackbucks, a protected species of antelope, in the western state of Rajasthan in 1998, and sentenced to one year imprisonment. (link)

Salman Khan and Fans

Charges against Khan were pressed by the local Bishnoi community in Rajasthan where the killing took place… “The court can hang me. I am tired of such lengthy proceedings,” Khan told the court. The poaching case is not the actor’s first brush with the law. He is also facing trial in Mumbai (Bombay) in a 2002 hit-and-run case. One person was killed and three others injured when Khan allegedly drove into a group of homeless people sleeping on a pavement. Khan faces 10 charges, including causing death by negligent driving which carries two years in prison. He has pleaded not guilty on all counts.

It was unclear if Khan was drinking while he was allegedly poaching blackbuck, but he was I believe, driving under the influence when he allegedly hit and killed the homeless people. As an aside Vice President Cheney when asked if they had been drinking while hunting noted in his interview with Fox News correspondent Brit Hume: “No. You don’t hunt with people who drink. That’s not a good idea.”

In that same interview with Fox News, Cheney did later indicate that he had had a beer with lunch earlier in the day. Maybe I am dumb, but doesn’t that constitute drinking? Hell a few months ago, you could get arrested in Washington DC for drinking and driving after having only one drink.

A BBC correspondent says the actor, who has also been fined 5,000 rupees ($111) has a month’s time to appeal.

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Waiter, there’s a fly …

Whether sanctimoniously single or smugly encoupled, I find that most people suffer from a post-Valentines hangover. I don’t mean a literal hangover, although copious quantities of champagne are commonly consumed, I mean a reaction to the intensely saccharine and unidimensional portrayal of love. As a homemade remedy, I offer the hair of the dog that bit you – a reminder that love takes many forms.

Saheli tipped us off to this article by an American desi who went back to Karnataka to work as a medical volunteer at the “largest Tibetan refugee colony in the world,” an encampment of over 10,000 Tibetans:

I found out quickly that I had entered a place with entirely different notions about life purpose and productivity. Soon after I arrived I pointed out to a monk that a mosquito was sucking his blood. He nodded in acknowledgement and said something brief about the accumulation of merit and allowing another being to nourish itself off your own. (Luckily, we were in a region where the prevalence of malaria is low).

The second day I was there, a monk took me to the local Indian restaurant. A fly fell into my daal. The monk’s reaction took me by surprise. I wrote this poem about it.

There are those who
When a fly drops Plop! into yellow daal
it is not their bowl of food they worry about.
It is the fly and her wings
The ability of fire and spice
To sear wings
And with so much kindness
They place the fly in their palm
Unfold a white creased napkin
Clean the wings and the space
Between the wings
with water rinse away
Any hot yellowness
Place the fly gentle
On the edge of the table
Until
by the end
Of our meal
The fly has flown
made her way
Back into the world. [Link]

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The romantic adventures of Fofatlal

Please forgive me. I had just finished noshing on the goat cheese and was starting in on the arugula canapés. Then my gray-eyed Hades (half-desi) date flashed me the look of You-Could-Be. The dew-not-drop-me. The mooning cow. I will not perjure myself — I was startled. I rose from my seat and tripped backwards in a half-crouch. That, in short, is how my elbow found itself in your gazpacho. A shame, it was such a fine gazpacho.

Try and understand, I had no forewarning. We swapped flirty texts, but she knew I plugged my profile in every port. She was on the same page, that minx. She had a Francophone mother. The French and Indian War raged within her as I spilled myself upon her Valley Forge. After all those unreturned volleys, I gave up hope. This dinner was to be my surrender. Looking at the bill I saw a Magna Carta indeed. And then she gave me The Look.

My wrist. Your polenta. Please excuse.

V-Day means Victory.

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Don’t drop the soap

SM readers that have been with us since the beginning know that I am always inspired to blog about some unique topic after I have gone to get a haircut. In fact, one

The Sepia Redemption

of our readers insisted that I write a post after every visit to my barber. First, a bit of backstory for those of you unfamiliar with what I am talking about. I LOVE my local barbershop. I can honestly say that when I leave here in one year, my barbershop is among the top three things I will miss most about L.A. You see, my whole life, hair “specialists” have messed up my hair which is very thick and very straight. Most novices attack it with a blind fury, just wanting to get it over with while copping the occasional feel and commenting on its softness. The barbers at this shop however, take one whole hour cutting my hair. This is impressive when you consider the fact that I usually get a military-short haircut. But as much as the haircut, I really like the barbers at this shop. Quite a few are ex-southside Latino gang members and they often talk to me about gang culture. They have totally welcomed me with open arms, and even tell me all about the “b*tches” they be working, and describe to me the finer aspects of said “b*tches” anatomies. I listen so as not to be rude. Yesterday my barber and I had a riveting discussion about a topic that I had been thinking about just the day before. For the past two weeks there have been race riots in the California prison system. The Latino inmates and the Black inmates are at war, shanking each other left and right.

Jail officials in Los Angeles County separated black and Hispanic inmates, began transferring troublemakers and brought in clergy to try to restore peace after a week of racially charged brawls that they feared would continue to erupt through the weekend.

“It’s got momentum,” sheriff’s Chief Marc Klugman, who oversees the nation’s largest jail system, said yesterday. “They’re battle-hardened. They’re angry.”

Thousands of Hispanics and blacks clashed Feb. 4, and a black inmate was beaten to death, at the biggest jail at the Pitchess Detention Center, a 6,500-inmate complex outside the city limits. Brawls then broke out during the week at the two smaller jails at Pitchess. About 90 inmates have been injured. [Link]

My barber, who has spent time in the joint, broke it down for me: Latinos and Blacks try to kill each other. Whites usually join the Latinos because they don’t fit with the Blacks. Asian brothers get shanked unless they keep their heads down and stay among themselves. If the Koreans ever do business outside of K-town then they are dead on arrival. Even worse, if you are Latino or Black and don’t want to join in the violence, your own people will shank you for not standing up for your brothers. Now, I know what you are all thinking right now. So I asked for you:

“Ummm. What about the Indian brothers? Where do they fit in this system?”

“You guys? Yo, sorry bro but you guys get your ass passed around. You know what I mean”? Continue reading

Re-cap of the SAAN conference

As mentioned before, this past weekend I was invited to speak at the South Asian Alliance Network conference at the University of Michigan. The conference organizers, in what MUST have been a drug-induced haze, asked me to give the kickoff address for the day. The speaker’s packet that I was sent contained a brief note about what the kickoff speech should include. Here is an excerpt:

Attendees of my workshop (a.k.a victims)

This is a brief overview of what we would like you to discuss in your kickoff address. Please use your own expertise and background when creating this speech. The goal of this speech is to excite the participants for the upcoming day; the points that follow are simply ideas that are intended to guide your thought process.

  • An anecdote to energize/excite participants for the day ahead
  • Inspirational quote/saying

Whoa! As you can imagine I was nervous as all hell. I haven’t had to inspire or excite people since…well, ever I guess. The speech went alright however, and I did not trip getting on OR off the stage. I was then going to Live Blog the conference for the consumption of SM readers, but it was so damn engrossing that I kept my laptop in its case, and decided to selfishly attend the workshops instead. My workshop was titled “Get up, get out, and get moving”:

Authors, comedians, lyricists, poets, painters, and sculptors – the list goes on – are all part of the process to develop society. This workshop explores how these individuals find the inspiration to carry out such enormous tasks and whether these professions well-suited to activism. Learn from the very real stories of these accomplished individuals who have a dynamic role in society.

Obviously I fell into “the list goes on” category . It was a good workshop. I miss being an undergrad. These attendees were all smart as hell and a lot more engaged than I remember being. I think I have come to see the University of Michigan as a Utopian bubble where anything is possible, especially if you are a member of the South Asian community. I am going to make a bold (albeit biased) prediction that 20 years from now there will be many South Asian alumni from Michigan that are running this country. To give you an idea of how special this conference was, there was EVEN Ohio State representation.

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