I am a very patient man. Still, even I sometimes get tired of explaining to people who I am, what I am, where I come from, and what I am not. I found this on flickr, and think it would be perfect for those days when I just don’t want to go through the song and dance. It would make a great t-shirt:
A new off-Broadway play about a desi student’s loss of innocence is running off-Broadway through Feb. 25. Huck & Holden refers, of course, to two iconic characters in American lit (thanks, SD).
Here’s a positive review:
Navin’s story begins deceptively, as a collegiate, slapstick coming-to-America tale about a young man just arrived from Calcutta, who’s as clueless about American literature as he is about sex. But as Navin (Nick Choksi) begins exploring his newfound independence, and his burgeoning feelings for the pretty young librarian Michelle (Cherise Boothe), the story transforms into one of unexpected soul and depth…And, of course, there’s Kali, fancifully realized here as the embodiment of chaos working to establish order, and dazzlingly portrayed by Nilaja Sun. Her careful steps, strenuously stylized hand gestures, and ugly-meets-beautiful dance to cover Navin and Torry’s fisticuffs make her a hilarious and horrifying joy to watch. [Link]
And one more faint:After discovering Navin with a porn mag called Brown Honey, Torry teaches him how to wax a girl’s @ss
Navin’s introduction to the American way of life is explored almost solely through sex, particularly as embodied in the person of Michelle (Boothe), an African-American library worker who befriends Navin while undergoing a breakup with her tough-guy boyfriend Torry (McClain). There is obvious comic potential in this particular culture clash, but the action coasts entirely on the undignified level of racial burlesque, replete with a contrived scenario in which Torry, after discovering Navin with a porn mag called Brown Honey, proceeds to give the naïve Indian a tutorial in how to wax a girl’s ass…Michelle receives visitations from the Hindu goddess Kali (Nilaja Sun), incarnated here as a trash-talkin’ mama whose caricature, if borderline offensive, at least breathes some life onto the stage. Still, if you’re not fond of stereotypes, do yourself a favor and read some Twain and Salinger instead. [Link]
‘What’s your name, Basanti?’: 
Rang De Basanti is a commercial blockbuster in the guise of protest cinema. While City of God rose from the barrios, Basanti rose from Juhu Beach. Yes, it’s an earnest critique of corruption and apathy. But it’s also Aamir Khan’s second Lagaan clone: same English love interest, same chest-pounding nationalism, same period costume drama. Our Peter Pan in high-waisted pants is calculating and relentless.
Basanti hangs on an interesting gimmick: an English filmmaker persuades a group of Delhi University students to act in her documentary. As they reenact the Indian independence struggle, they evolve from cynical partiers into hardcore patriots. But after real life (or intermission) intrudes, the plot goes medieval on your ass.
Aamir Khan leans on the same regional rube routine he’s used since Rangeela, only he’s Punjabi Sikh, not Marathi. The real stars are Saif Ali’s über-cute sister Soha Ali Khan, the handsome Kunal Kapoor (no relation to Shashi Kapoor’s son) and A.R. Rahman’s romantic ditty ‘Tu Bin Bataye.’
The movie begins a wastrel yuuuth flick like Dil Chahta Hai and Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak. There’s lots of cheesy ’80s rock guitar, very Karate Kid. Cool, yaar, stop pressurizing me, let’s freak out. At least the cheese is set off with slick music vid cuts. Then it mashes the patriotism button hard with fighter jets streaming the colors of the tiranga. It’s Top Guna for those still in the crib when Goose was in the sod.
The movie smothers its best idea in Bollywood-style subtlety, which is to say none. Like in Africa, corrupt politicians have replaced European colonists as the Man who’s Keepin’ You Down. It’s a neat transposition, but for the mentally slow, the director dissolves the Butcher of Jallianwalla Bagh directly into a corrupt government minister. It’s like admiring someone from afar until they leer at you and grab their crotch.
On the other hand, the blonde isn’t fetishized here, nor is she the babe; that falls to Soha Ali Khan. Alice Patten delivers her lines in the best phonetic Hindi I’ve heard from a Brit actor yet. And it’s always fun watching photogenic desi jocks — those are not the types let into the U.S. on brains. It’s a reasonably original script, not a lift of Oldboy, The Game or Fight Club (thanks, GC). It’s a current issues film, which in the U.S. is considered death at the box office. And it touched me, I let the manipulation in.
This is one of the three-to-four Bollywood movies a year truly worth seeing. I dislike the showy, force-fed patriotism, and the motorcycle/electric guitar factor is tacky and lame, but the issues it tackles are extremely topical: India’s rising self-confidence, the end of the brain drain and a newfound determination to throw the bums out.
WARNING: Plot summary and spoilers below.
Bombay Dreams the musical is going on a seven-month North American tour, including Toronto, and dholbanger Dave Sharma is going with it. First stop: Costa Mesa, California, on Feb. 21.
 |
|
Sachin Bhatt plays Akaash |
Sachin Bhatt will star as Akaash with Sandra Allen as Rani and Reshma Shetty as Priya in the upcoming tour.. The cast will also feature Deep Katdare as Vikram, Aneesh Sheth as Sweetie, Suresh John as Madan and Christine Toy Johnson as Kitty DeSousa.
The Bombay Dreams ensemble comprises Enrique Acevedo, Tia Altinay, Nita Baxani, Shane Bland, Wendy Calio, Sujana Chand, Tiffany Michelle Cooper, Aaron Coulson, Diane Angela Fong, Monica Kapoor, Namita Kapoor, Stephanie Crain Klemons, Jeremy Leiner, Garrick Macatangay, Kenneth Maharaj, Anil Margsahayam, Skie Ocasio, Desmond Osborne, Christopher Quiban, Kristian Richards, Rommy Sandhu and Marie Kelly. [Link]
Sachin Bhatt… of St. Louis, MO received his B.S. in Vocal Performance with an outside field in Theatre from Indiana University… Sachin will be playing the role of Chino in the upcoming Asian/European Tour of West Side Story… [Link]
Fortunately, the star attraction will be there with them:
The fountain will be featured in the tour… the costumes are from the Broadway production. [Link]Continue reading
So it was only when I moved to the US (from France) at age 18 that everyone started calling me Sidd, following that American mania of shortening all names to one syllable. I accepted it without thinking, and eventually began using it to introduce myself. At least it spared me the Hermann Hesse questions. But I never felt like a Sidd.
It took me years to accept that the nickname was really bothering me; years more to realize I could do something about it. One day five years ago I sent an email to all my friends asking them to call me any nickname they liked, just not Sidd. It was a profoundly liberating moment. So much so that when I’m called Sidd now, which happens from time to time, it barely bothers me anymore.
But now comes this, and I’m starting to have ugly flashbacks:
SIDD, a new musical based on the novel “Siddhartha” by Hermann Hesse, will begin performances at Dodger Stages 5 (340 West 50th Street) on Thursday, February 23 @ 8:00 PM. With music & lyrics by Doug Silver and direction, book & additional lyrics by Andrew Frank, SIDD will have its official opening on Wednesday, March 22 @ 8:00 PM.
Oh boy. Here we go:
SIDD chronicles the extraordinary journey of a manÂ’s life from his youthful wanderings in his home village, through his many years living amidst the glamour jazz and corruption of the city, his encounter with Buddha and ultimately, his enlightenment that follows. SIDD features a diverse cast of seven accompanied onstage by piano, cello and percussion trio. The musicalÂ’s eclectic score draws on various influences from Richard Rodgers to reggae.
I’m going to let you in on a terrible vice of mine. It’s a habit that just may turn me into a pauper: photo surfing. Give me pretty women, aerial photography or Friendster, and I can blow hours just clicking through.
If you too are gluttinous in your vision, stay away from the photos of mutineer Preston Merchant. A documentary photog, Merchant apparently goes to every desi event and destination you’ve ever wanted to see:
Some of the photos that caught my eye:
Look, buddy, I’ve got Desai photos too… from, uh, outside the Rubin Museum (it was sold out 
).
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.
Another young Indo-Canadian bride was allegedly killed two weeks ago by her in-laws in Punjab:
 |
|
Rani Sandhu |
… [Rani] Sandhu, 22, died Jan. 24 while visiting her husband’s relatives [in Arayanwala, a village in Punjab]… Sandhu’s family was also told she died of a heart attack after throwing up following a bad reaction to an apple. Hours prior to her death, Sandhu called her mother and sister in Winnipeg to say she was throwing up but her husband’s family wouldn’t let her drink any water. Each time the phone call was terminated by her husband. [Link]Brar and her family believe Rani was killed for the gold jewelry she took on her visit to introduce her daughter to her grandparents. The family believes Rani was beaten to death and cremated quickly to cover up the murder… “I was shocked to see the number of bruises on her neck and shoulders,” Bindar Brar told the Sun. “There was a large bump on her forehead and a big cut on her lip, just like she’d been beaten… The Sandhus are well-connected politically, so the police are not investigating.” [Link]
V.S. Naipaul parodied these repulsive attitudes nearly 50 years ago. Has anything changed?
Leela continued to cry and Ganesh loosened his leather belt and beat her… It was their first beating, a formal affair done without anger on Ganesh’s part or resentment on Leela’s; and although it formed no part of the marriage ceremony itself, it meant much to both of them… Ganesh had become a man; Leela a wife as privileged as any other big woman. Now she too would have tales to tell of her husband’s beatings; and when she went home she would be able to look sad and sullen as every woman should.The moment was precious… There could be no doubt about it now: they were adults. [Link]
— V.S. Naipaul, The Mystic Masseur, 1957
Here at SM headquarters we have quite an intricate system for vetting which stories make it to our website. Most of our stories are unearthed by the army of ex test-monkeys (retired from military, space, and medical research) that we house in our basement. They are the ones who scour the internet all day and feed important stories to our bloggers, while we spend most of our time at our full-time jobs. We also have the tipline, by which dedicated readers send in tips. Later, in our conference room, we ask ourselves three main questions about a prospective post:
The reason you haven’t seen us post on this topic before is because not all of us were convinced that we could answer yes to all three questions. After attending the SAAN Conference this past weekend (which will be summarized in my next post), I have become convinced that we have missed the relevance this issue has to our community, and that the answer to all three questions is yes. I am speaking of course of the controversy surrounding a Danish newspaper’s decision to publish a picture of the Prophet Muhammad with a bomb as his turban.
Arab foreign ministers have condemned the Danish government for failing to act against a newspaper that published cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad.
At the Arab League conference in Cairo, they said they were “surprised and discontented at the response”.
Islam forbids any depiction of Muhammad or of Allah.
The Jyllands-Posten newspaper published a series of 12 cartoons showing Muhammad, in one of which he appeared to have a bomb in his turban. [Link]
I see great irony in this situation that doesn’t seem to have registered in the press (as far as I know). Muslims around the world are protesting this cartoon (often violently) because it is forbidden in Islam to depict the Prophet, especially in such a vulgar manner as this. Muhammad, in his boundless wisdom, wanted to make sure that his image would never be used or treated as an idol, and that men would never worship him as one. In Christianity for example, many most sects now worship Christ as God, instead of seeing him as only a mortal prophet. It was the message of Islam, and not Muhammad the man, that was to better the world. By violently protesting this cartoon, it could be argued that Muslims around the world are acting as if an idol has been desecrated. Using violence to protest this “desecration” legitimizes that which the Prophet cautioned against in the first place. He has become an idol to be defended and avenged in the eyes of many.
Continue reading
Hi there!
 |
|
Fofatlal Popatlal, Esq., at your service |
Three days later a strange transformation came over me. From dawn to dusk I had an uncontrollable urge to spew my thoughts about everything: current events, movies, bowel movements. At first I jotted down my thoughts hurriedly in red and blue, but I soon realized that out of one pen flowed only truth and out of the other only lies. In desperation I downed a fifth of Black Label and passed out drooling on my laptop keyboard. When I awoke I found that I had been typing frantically in my sleep. It was all half-baked gibberish which posted itself on the Internets.
You know what happened next. The Mutineers knew I was a perfect fit. I could no longer fluff Salman’s combover between bouts of obsessive blogging, so he fired me over the phone from South America. Padma left him for me because I had bigger glasses and he was too self-effacing.
One day the earth opened up and swallowed her whole. It all came out in the investigation: the mole-men operating the mole-machines drilling the last big tunnel in New York. In a city of fury, the gods must be appeased. The last instant of her life was captured by a photojournalist who happened by, a stricken Medusa-haired goddess teetering on heels, the pavement rent behind her. That photograph is all I have, a sepia-tinted fame, a palimpsest of privacy, her final words my name:
