The Dark Mark

No, not the kind Voldemort spreads in the sky in eerie green only to have it dissipate without a trace. We are discussing the kind that sticks ugly in people’s minds and in history. Can-do Canada’s past is no stranger to such impressions, no stranger to xenophobia. In the early part of the last century the Canadian government imposed a head tax on all Chinese immigrants that began at $50 in 1885 and increased to $500 by 1903. Out of the around 80, 000 Chinese in Canada who paid that tax, 15, 000 were working to build the Canadian Pacific Railway and around 4000 of them died during construction. The head tax kept families apart for decades, sometimes for good, and kept them in a state of economic depression while they made it possible for goods to travel across Canada’s enormous land mass.

In April, the Chinese Canadian National Council’s mission to gain a formal apology and remuneration for the estates of Chinese-Canadians who paid the tax came closer to status ‘accomplished’. At the end of Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s throne speech there was mention of an agenda item concerning a formal apology for Chinese Canadians. This type of dialog has prompted hope among many in the Indo-Canadian community of a similar apology, with possibility of redress, with regard to the Komagata Maru incident:

The Conservative government should issue an apology and compensation to Indo-Canadians over the Komagata Maru incident if it is going to give both to Chinese-Canadians over the head tax paid by Chinese immigrants in the early 20th century, B.C. Liberal MP Sukh Dhaliwal said… “If the government is going to apologize to one group of Canadians, they should also have a similar line for other groups of Canadians who have suffered discrimination” [Link]

Harper is said to be “looking into the matter”.

The Komagata Maru was carrying passengers who were Sikh by a large majority but the “white, please” immigration policies of the Canadian government at the time saw only brown. Passengers were not allowed to disembark, were left on board for two months in miserable conditions and were ultimately forced to return to India where they were persecuted by the British as participants in the Independence Movement. All because the Canadian government was afraid of some hardworking brown folk. This episode is as much a part of our history as Indian-Canadians as it is a part of Sikh history. Early immigrants to Canada were largely Sikh but they came here as Indians and they were discriminated against as Indians. Continue reading

Voices Carry

Last week, I took a train from North Podunksburg (where I live and work) to Metropolis (the nearest large conurbation) to attend several days of business meetings there. I was riding with some of my colleagues, and after the conversation had died down and people were looking out the windows, I turned on my mp3 player and zoned out.

You know that moment when you wake from a reverie and you remember where you are, when you realize that you are in one place and not in another? Well, I had a post 9/11 moment, a quick reminder that I wear a turban, “sport” a beard, am graced by almond skin … and that these things mean something different now than they once used to.

I was humming along under my breath, then mouthing the lyrics, then singing along quietly. A Billy Bragg song was on, and these were the words I heard in my ears:

Revenge will bring cold comfort in this darkest hour
As the juke box says ‘It’s All Over Now’
And he stands and he screams
What have I done wrong
I’ve fallen in love with a little time bomb [Link] [Audio: wmv, real]

I had sung, softly and under my breath, but perhaps audible “I’ve fallen in love with a little …” and then I tried hard to swallow the next few words, but I ended up mouthing “… time bomb.” It was my own personal Clash moment, except that the song I was singing had lyrics far worse than “…war is declared and battle come down…”

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I Just Play One On TV

Gone are the days where brown skinned actors are typecasted to play the thick accented T-Mobile kid. These days, if you are brown, Hollywood is looking for you to play the role of a terrorist. United 93, the movie about the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania on 9/11, hits the big screens today and The LA Times did a great article on the men that play the terrorists.

As filmmakers tell a number of stories about Sept. 11 and other attacks both real and fictionalized — a rapidly growing list that includes “Munich,” “Syriana,” “Paradise Now” and Friday’s “United 93” — there’s increased demand for young Middle Eastern actors. But directors and their casting agents must convince those actors that their cinematic cause is more noble than that of directors a generation ago, who routinely depicted Arabs as cartoonish, fanatical madmen.

Mazhar Munir from Syriana

When writer-director Stephen Gaghan was casting “Syriana,” his ensemble drama about the political and personal costs of America’s dependence on foreign oil, he struggled to find a young actor of Pakistani descent to play a suicide bomber… “I had found a couple of terrific young actors who simply weren’t allowed by their families to take the part,” Gaghan said. “One young man’s family said he would be cut out of the family” if he accepted the role. He held casting sessions in Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Damascus, Bahrain, Dubai and Karachi without success before he finally found Mazhar Munir in London.[link]

I haven’t watched ‘Syriana’ yet, and personally, have absolutely no desire to watch ‘United 93’- just watching the trailer makes me queasy. I can only imagine the conflict that these actors feel, especially when it comes to starring in a film about the events around 9/11, a day that impacted so many people in so many ways around the world.

[T]he actors say they are thankful to be rid of the clichéd Middle Eastern villains of the late 1980s and early 1990s (in films such as “Delta Force,” “Navy Seals,” “Iron Eagle”), who were far more likely to be bearded, wear kaffiyehs and shout Arabic insults than resemble a real person. It was precisely those clichéd depictions that made Abdalla so nervous about trying out for “United 93.”

“The reputation of representing Arabs by Hollywood is a stereotype, and it’s an incredibly hurtful stereotype,” says Abdalla, who was born in Scotland to Egyptian parents… “The idea was to put all of those people on the plane and try as best as we can to tell that story,” Abdalla said of his meeting with the filmmaker. “[United 93] wasn’t to be a film about stereotypes.”

#1 Mutineer Crush

[link]

Though playing a terrorist these days tremors actors with trepidation, the role of playing an Iraqi terrorist ex-Republican Guard soldier Lost on an island was one that Naveen Andrews picked. It has served him well as it has now landed him as one of the World’s Most Beautiful People in 2006.

“I feel a sense of responsibility to the Iraqi community and to the Arab world,” Andrews told us…. “I was concerned that the way Sayid was going to be perceived would not be negative or peripheral in any way. The audience is reaching out to the so-called enemy in a way that the government and the media won’t allow them to do.”[link]

If I thought airport security was too constraining for me, I can’t imagine what it must be like for these actors when they go through security. “I’m sorry, officer. But I’m really not a terrorist, I just play one on T.V.”

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My Super (Simple) Sweet 16

For my 16th birthday, we had a sheet cake from Sam’s Club, and maybe a couple of balloons. It was small with just family, and a few of my school friends. It wasn’t elaborate, but in those days, we didn’t have MTV to show us how ‘the others’ celebrate their Sweet 16. Maybe that’s why I have a sick, sick obsession with watching MTV’s reality TV show Sweet 16, where in the span of a half an hour segment you see thousands and thousands of dollars being thrown down for a measly birthday. From the SM news tab, we’ve now learned desi teen girls haven’t missed the wrath of this reality TV show either.

…Dr. Srinivasa Rao Kothapalli, a prominent cardiologist in Beaumont, Tex., is more than willing to relinquish his checkbook. His daughter Priya turned 16 earlier this month, and she is in the throes of planning a joint birthday-graduation party with her elder sister, Divya, 18. “If you can afford to have a grand celebration, then why not,” said Dr. Kothapalli, who immigrated to the United States from India in the mid-1980’s. “It’s the American way. You work hard and you play hard.”

Their Bollywood-themed party for 500 guests will be held in the family’s backyard — all 4Å“ acres, behind the 10,000-square-foot house. The Format, their favorite band, will perform. And they will make their grand entrance on litters, during an elaborate procession led by elephants…”We both want to lose three pounds,” said Priya, who received a Mercedes convertible and an assortment of diamond jewelry for her birthday. Her sister’s graduation gift package included a Bentley, diamonds and two homes in India. [link]

Can you believe this ridiculous consumption? Elephants, diamonds, Bentleys and homes? If this is what they got for their Sweet 16/18, can you imagine the weddings? I can’t wait till the show airs, which unfortunately, has no links up yet on MTV-but I’m sure the mutineers will keep us posted. So let’s see, there were first those two desi girls that secretly partied, Kaavya gets half a million to write a ‘plagiarized’ book before turning 17, and now, we have these girls. Sigh. Such a contrast from the girls, girls, girls earlier this month.

Priya added, “It’s pathetic when people suck up.” Still, dealing with sycophantic classmates and a bit of teasing is a small price to pay for the spotlight. “We both love attention–that’s one of our main motives for having the party,” Divya said. “The more attention the better.” [link]

At least I have something in common with the girls from Sweet 16…I’m kidding. KIDDING.

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This Charming Man

This morning I awoke to find my cell roommate, Rajni, sleeping on my leg. Monkeys can be heavy. Monkeys can also be strong. “Rajni, man, I’m late making breakfast for the masters, eek!”, I gave her a shove. She single-handedly flipped me off my hammock and onto the floor, face first. Monkeys = 1:Neha = 0. THIS. After spending all night coughing because she insists on smoking cigars before bedtime. All those cute gibbons and gorillas about and I get stuck with a smoking lemur.

Anyway, I crawled around looking for some type of wake up/make up music, something less aggressive than my usual fare of German synths, big bass, and synthetic hand claps (just like garba!). Something combining bittersweet melodies, energetic drums and clever lyrics. Something to make Rajni like me better so we can just chill, sing along and bond over heartbreak, instead of all this fighting-biting. Good thing I took my indie-loving friend Bird’s advice and brought along some most suitable fare…

voxtrot.jpg

Last December, Spin mag profiled a then under-the-underground band called Voxtrot and made it their ‘Band of the Day’:

The Austin, Texas quintet’s debut EP, Raised by Wolves, is a stunning mini-collection of John Hughes-heyday paeans, twitchy pop, and surging, Strokes-y dancefloor fillers. [link]

Had I been keeping open to the possibility of jangly guitars bringing me to my knees then news of lead singer, Ramesh Srivastava, would have hit SM tip boxes way sooner:

When Srivastava moved to Glasgow at the age of 19, he’d already written the tracks that would comprise the Raised By Wolves EP, songs with deft arrangments and charming melodies that evoke Belle & Sebastian, Morrissey, and the Lucksmiths, but with jagged, rumbling guitars remindful of early Cure and, sometimes, Joy Division. [Link]

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Kaavya is Innocent, Until Proven Otherwise

Dear Kaavya,

This is your Akka writing. The fact that you have never met me is immaterial; we are brown and we don’t live in the land our parents were born in—that alone means that you probably have relatives you’ve never met, just like I do, so Akka it easily is.

Paavum Kaavya (letÂ’s call you PK for short), there is something I want you to know, but before I disclose that, I have to admit a fault of which I am rather ashamed, a fault which I hope youÂ’ll forgive your imperfect Akka for.

I was jealous of you.

Just a bissel, but it was enough to make me loathe myself for a few minutes. Green looks fabulous on me, but envy surely does not flatter. Wait, don’t frown—I promise that once I was aware that I was being a twat, I earnestly called myself out on it and owned my jealousy. Long before I admitted that my “unlikely-fantasy-if-wishes-came-true” job was acting, I cherished what to me seemed an even more far-fetched aspiration: to write. Getting a book deal seemed like the greatest thing which could possibly happen to someone. To get paid to write? Wow. And that you did, with a stunning advance, which everyone bandies about ad nauseum, since it makes your “fall” all the more violent.

Sigh. How I wished that my parents had been savvy enough to enroll me in an Ivy-League-Prep-Camp-Thing. Where my counselor, who just happened to be a published author, would discover me as if I were some naïve starlet in a ‘40s era soda shop and then pluck me out of the sweaty, freaked-out ranks of cloned overachievers and marvel at my genuine uniqueness. My parents made me turn down Columbia for U.C. Davis. My parents are SO not your parents. Your parents gave you everything, including an inadvertent star-making opp that made me want to howl. You’re nearly half my age. It’s like watching your little sister get married before you do. It’s a little humiliating to endure, in this obsessed with chronological-milestones culture we share.

So, whenever this group blog of mine did a post about you, I’d look down and notice that my skin suddenly looked wayyy more olive than usual. Then I’d take a deep breath and tell myself that you deserved it. That you had hustled for it, working on your writing when in comparison, 17-year old me probably would’ve been brooding over which Smiths or Ultravox LP to spin next. My skin would go back to the shade my mother calls “irrantharam” and I’d exhale with relief. It felt good to be silently proud of you.

Here’s the thing my little PK: I still am. And I’m a little appalled at how many people are crowing elatedly about your alleged toppling. The first thing I thought of when I read the “Crimson” writing on the blog was that tragically accurate, snarktastic story about the pet shop with international crabs. You’re looking at me blankly. I’m sure you haven’t slept. Tut-tut. That won’t do. You know brown girls are predisposed to developing those nasty under eye circles. Take a benadryl, bachi. Your skin and, well, everything will thank you. Hell, take a nap right now. I’ll dispel your probably non-existent curiosity about crabs for you, like a wee bedtime story.

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How Kaavya Viswanathan got rich, got caught, and got ruined

Many of you have already picked up on the story broken by the Harvard Crimson on Sunday. It appears VERY likely that young author Kaavya Viswanathan is a cheat. Her newly released novel, part of a lucrative two-book deal, has several passages that are almost identical to a 2001 novel that examined similar adolescent themes:

A recently-published novel by Harvard undergraduate Kaavya Viswanathan ’08, “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life,” contains several passages that are strikingly similar to two books by Megan F. McCafferty–the 2001 novel “Sloppy Firsts” and the 2003 novel “Second Helpings.”

At one point, “Opal Mehta” contains a 14-word passage that appears verbatim in McCafferty’s book “Sloppy Firsts.”

Reached on her cell phone Saturday night, Viswanathan said, “No comment. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

McCafferty, the author of three novels and a former editor at the magazine Cosmopolitan, wrote in an e-mail to The Crimson Saturday night: “I’m already aware of this situation, and so is my publisher…” [Link]

Normally I would be skeptical until I heard more about this, but the Crimson has just broken it down to the point where you know how this is all going to end. Her literary career is over. If I were her I would think about falling back on medical school or something real quick. I was thrilled to see a teenage girl that could still write and didn’t use “u” instead of “you,” or “r” instead of “are.” My hopes for the next generation are now completely dashed. Here are just two of the numerous examples of apparent plagiarism cited by the Crimson:

From page 217 of McCafferty’s first novel: “But then he tapped me on the shoulder, and said something so random that I was afraid he was back on the junk.”

From page 142 of Viswanathan’s novel: “…he tapped me on the shoulder and said something so random I worried that he needed more expert counseling than I could provide…”

From page 237 of McCafferty’s first novel: “Finally, four major department stores and 170 specialty shops later, we were done.”

From page 51 of Viswanathan’s novel: “Five department stores, and 170 specialty shops later, I was sick of listening to her hum along to Alicia Keys……” [Link]

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Two thumbs WAY down

J, Rohit, and I went to the Indian Film Festival of Los Angeles last night. This is my fourth year in a row attending. The film directors usually show up after the movie for a little Q&A as an extra bonus. The first movie I ever saw at the festival was Everybody Says I’m Fine. The main character in that film (a mind-reading hair dresser) really “spoke to me.” I have returned every year to sample some desi cinema that, thankfully, isn’t Bollywood. I had purchased us some tickets to the movie Parzania starring Naseeruddin Shah and…Corin Nemec. Let me tell you folks that Parker Lewis CAN lose, but we will get to that later.

J was having a good time before the movie because she swears she saw either Tia or Tamara. She wasn’t sure which one but does it honestly matter? The word on the street is that the night before at the premiere, the likes of Reggie Miller, Chad Lowe (looking sad sans Hilary Swank), and Sheetal Sheth had all been spotted. I was in the mood for a good film because I have had a very unlucky month. First I had a bad cold for two weeks, then last Sunday I got a painful root canal infection that is requiring me to take antibiotics (which sucks because I’m running a relay marathon on Sunday). I’ve just been feeling very unsexy of late. On top of that I spilled my Thai-takeout all over my kitchen floor while rushing to make it to the festival to meet J. Would some cinema magic be able to numb all of my pain and put an uplifting bounce back into my step?

So here is the synopsis of the film Parzania:

Parzania is the breathtaking untold story of an event that changed the country and the world forever.

Cynical. Intelligent. Hilarious. Drunk. An American man by the name of Allan Webbings arrives in Ahmedabad city. For the longest time, Allan has been searching for answers, praying to find both internal peace and understanding of the horrors that religious differences can create. Allan has chosen India as his playground, and Gandhi as his subject. It’s here that he meets Cyrus, the local projectionist who brings the young and troubled intellectual into his beautiful family. Cyrus is a Parsi, a follower of a rarely practiced religion that is both small in numbers and neutral to religious politics. He has a beautiful wife named Shernaz, a practical woman who after eleven years still can’t resist his charisma and charm; two children- Parzan an imaginative ten year old that has developed his own world, the world of Parzania, where the buildings are made of chocolate and the mountains of ice cream. Parzan, in his mind, has created the perfect world, a world that only his eight year old little sister Dilshad truly understands.

Through Cyrus’s family, Allan finds his peace, right before the rest of the country loses its sanity. One morning, the beauty and peace that India is so famous for, is rocked beyond measure, as a bomb explodes in a train killing Hindus.

Within 24 hours, thousands of Muslims are slaughtered, making that day one of the largest acts of communal violence the country has ever seen. And in the midst of the terror and violence, Parzan comes up missing.

While Cyrus fights for his own sanity and searches for his child, Alan battles to uncover the truth behind the riots.
Parzania is inspired by a true story. [Link]

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The Barmaid’s Tale

Every once in awhile, introducing a writer demands that you not pen something funny, embarrassing or insightful, that you get out of the way and simply quote the fabulosity. This is one of those times: rollin’ down D.C., sippin’ on Love and Haterade.

On the relationship between eyefucking and classical dance:

… fifteen years of Indian dance classes have made me ridiculously good at eyefuckingFifteen years of Indian dance classes have made me ridiculously good at eyefucking. Like, I think I’m better at eyefucking than some people are in bed. [Link]

On Indian parents and parallel parking:

Lester and Sally [parents] never taught either of us how to parallel park with actual cars… We often wonder what that might have looked like to unsuspecting suburban passerby… Two orange cones in an empty parking lot, a middle-aged balding Indian man explaining the art of parallel parking with charts and math and interpretive dance, and a disgruntled hyphenated-American teenager standing by the sidelines watching the scene unfold with amusement and shame, longing for the day she would have a license to drive away from it all. [Link]

On the masonry cock-block:

The building had unbelievable restrictions about overnight guests… they were truly outrageous: forms needed to be filled out at least 24 hours in advanced, signed by all your suite-mates, then approved by the building… I almost felt bad for the kids because it made an outside random hookup absolutely impossible… the building itself was perhaps the greatest cock block of all time

Katrina (whose hair, if I haven’t mentioned it, was totally JBF): Well, it’s just that…

[The author]: Katrina? Unless he’s dying and sleeping with you was the antidote to that death, I assure you — he’s ok… I promise you, Katrina, in my 26 years on this earth, I’ve never seen anyone die as a result of unfulfilled desire.

And with that, Katrina fled the building and followed her Michael Fink into the dark night. [Link]

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Love Affair With Vik’s

I love Vik’s. Every time I go to the Bay area, I always make it a point to visit Vik’s. And as I go through my life here in Los Angeles, I pray for the day that Vik’s will show up in my neighborhood. Chances are if you are even minutely familiar with the Bay area, you know exactly where I’m talking about. The SF Chronicle just did a piece trying to figure out what makes Vik’s so great (thanks, maisnon).

Dhokla

From its beginnings in 1989 as a bare counter with just a few chairs at the front of the store, Vik’s Chaat Corner now fills an entire warehouse, and on a typical Saturday will serve more than 1,200 customers.”Our food is craving food for Indians,” says Amod Chopra, Vinod and Indira’s 35-year-old son, who helps run the business. “You don’t crave naan or tandoori chicken. You want to eat the zippy, zesty food.”

Chaat combine various textures and flavors — crunchy, crisp and soft, spicy, tangy, fresh and sour. Crackers and dumplings, made from lentils, chickpeas or potatoes, act as vessels for a stunning variety of chutneys — mint, cilantro, coconut and tamarind… Chaat means “to lick” in HindiChaat means “to lick” in Hindi, a result of the fact that chaat originally were served on banana leaves, leaving customers to lick each leaf clean. Nowadays in India, people go out for chaat like Americans do for coffee.[link]

I remember growing up what a sucker I was for the pani puri. When I was visiting Bangladesh, I was told that my sensitive stomach would not be able to withstand the water and spices of the chaat stand. Of course I would sneak out and have some anyways, and suffer through the tummy pains after. Now, you can buy all the chaat ingredients in bags and boxes at your local Indian grocery store. But let me tell you, eating pani puri at your kitchen table is simply not the same as eating it on a street corner with sticky fingers. Vik’s, though not a street corner, has the same chaat house style appeal.

As if thinking about how yummy chaat is doesn’t make your mouth water enough, check out Vik’s online menu. Dahi Papdi Chaar, Sev Puri, and Pav Bhaji, they have it all. Continue reading