Category Archives: Arts and Entertainment

Synthesis In Surinam

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Glancing away from the usual topics in Amrika, Britain, Canada and the Subcontinent–long before Microsoft was filling out H1-B forms, and even before Sputnik inspired the 1965 Immigration and Nationalization Act*, indentured laborers were crossing from South Asia to South America. At the age of 24 Munshi Raman Khan brought with him a love of all things Indian,  particularly the Ramayan, on which he lectured the children of his Hindu brethren. Why do I have a feeling this guy could have had a great blog if he was around today?

At age 24, Rehman M. Khan (1874-1972), a young Pathan arrived in Suriname in 1898 on the steamship Avon.  . . .this young Khan knew the Qur’an as well as the Ramayana very well. He soon became popular in his plantation and among the surrounding Indians of the other plantations as a Ramayan specialist. He started propagating the Ramayana ideology and taught Hindi to the children of the Indian community. . . .there are many manuscripts available which he wrote in Suriname dealing with the Muslim problems in Suriname, the language issues and his own biography in four volumes. Coming from a middle class Pathan family, Khan was very educated. His knowledge of Urdu and Hindi helped his literary prose. He was also a poet and could compose poetry in standard Hindi “with a flavour of Braj”. . .He used his knowledge to educate the Hindu and Muslim community and to reconstruct the “Indian identity”. Khan kept in touch with India constantly and was also craving for news from his homeland. (Link.)

Khan wrote an autobiography, apparently in Hindi or a related dialect, that was previously only translated into Dutch. (According to one review in The Hindu,  he was even knighted by the Dutch Queen Juliana for his merits.) A translation into English has been popping up in reviews in The Hindu, IndoLINK, and The Tribune. The Autobiography of an Indian Indentured Laborer, by Munshi Rahman Khan, looks to be a fairly new release and seems available for purchase in dollars from Bagchee. 

*Of which we sadly missed the 40th anniversary.

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Zerobridge

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Check out Zerobridge, a qawwali-influenced alt-rock band from Brooklyn. Mubashir Din plays guitar, Mohsin’s on drums and Greg Eckelman rocks the bass. The Din brothers trace their roots to Kashmir. Listen here and here.

I’m diggin’ the clean guitar melody on ‘Out in the Distance.’ The instrumental ‘Bleed‘ samples ‘Chalte Chalte’ from Pakeezah and evokes the wall of sound from Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘Cherub Rock.’ ‘Refugee Citizen‘ reminds me of the Velvet Underground.

The group explains its name:

Zerobridge is an actual bridge in Kashmir’s capital, Srinagar. The story goes that as they were building bridges to connect the suburbs to the city center, they would name them by numbers, 1 Bridge, 2 Bridge, etc. The only bridge that was there before construction didn’t have a name, and so they called it Zerobridge. [Link]

Over the summer, they rocked my building’s roof (photos) as well as a smaller party (photos).

I think on our record we released in September (2003), being in Kashmir was definitely an influence. We were there just after the Indian parliament bombing after 9/11…

South Asian artists such as the the Sabri Brothers and Hindi film composers like A.R. Rahman and Ismail Darbar are an influence as well. [Link]

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Scenes from a suicide bombing

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Aizaz Akram, half of the NYC DJ duo Mixer Assassin, has posted some wildly contrasting photos from a trip to Pakistan.

The scene of a mosque suicide bombing in Sialkot, Pakistan which tragically hit his own family:

The suicide bomber packed the briefcase with tiny ball bearings. The force of the explosion sent the ball bearings through this door frame… Adjacent to the front pillar is where my Uncle Ghazanfar was seated, reading his prayers… He suffered cranial fractures and has had 14 pieces of his skull removed…

The row directly in front of the crater is where a few of my cousins were sitting. They were shredded instantly…

Clubbing at a socialite’s haveli in Heera Mandi, Lahore:

A view of Yousuf [Salahuddin’s] (or Sallu for short) Haveli (mansion) in Heera Mandi, Lahore, Pakistan. This entire building is his. There are at least 50 rooms. At least that I SAW. It’s practically a castle…

The man himself… the Hugh Hefner of Lahore, and possibly even Pakistan, Mr. Yousuf [Salahuddin], complete with bling-bling white hair. Yup. Bottles of liquor everywhere.

Admission? 6,000 rupees for an invite, or $100 dollars… The party was also protected by policemen outside. Unbelieveable.

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Serendipity

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Like an incestuous college dorm, this alternadesi hothouse of a ‘hood keeps yielding interesting hookups.

This past summer, I wandered home late one Friday night, sharing the building elevator with a gaggle of desis heading to the roof. I dumped my stuff in my room, walked upstairs and stumbled into a large yet strangely chill party: an indie rock band, a DJ rig, beer, Christmas lights, extension cords and lots of people dancing, drinking and enjoying the NYC skyline. That party nearly got the entire building banned from the roof (much respect), but I didn’t know whose party it was.

A few months later, I went shopping for my first Mac in years to build a fruit-friendly version of the blog editor we use. The font of all things Mac here is the Apple temple in SoHo. Because it abuts all manner of modeling agencies, it’s usually packed with offhandedly striking women, those for whom beauty is merely a Mendelian byproduct. Like the Nano, they’re shiny, costly and impossibly thin.

I got to talking with a random sales guy in a hoodie. Here’s what turned up:

  • He spins house music and is an amateur photographer
  • He was in my loft building that same morning
  • He was visiting two DJ friends who live right downstairs from me
  • The DJs and the rockers were the very same guys who threw the mother of all parties on our roof
  • And, they’re all desi

The next couple of posts came from this serendipitous connection…

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Is The SSF Gonna Rock You?

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Mephistopheles1981, eagle-eyed observer of the Sri Lankan diaspora, writes in with a tip on L.A.-based rock band The Slow Signal Fade.  The quartet features Sri Lankan-born Marguerite Olivelle as its lead singer, and a bunch of other people that I don’t care about because they’re not Sri Lankan.  (Just kidding, Ron Ulicny, Chris Walters, and Christy Greenwood!  You guys seem nice, too.)  According to a cached Google page from their website-in-progress, the band “formed in fall of 2002 through an array of failed alliances, random acquaintances, circumstance and numerous ads in the LA based classified paper The Recycler.”  They went on to record a five-song E.P. called the “Kindling E.P.,” setting some sort of land-speed record in the process:

Their first demo turned into their first album, “Kindling E.P.,” and was recorded in only eight hours.

“We had to pay studio time and didn’t have enough time to listen to the CD before we released it,” Walters said. 

I don’t know that I would necessarily want to advertise that aspect of my debut album, but fair enough.  This year they released a second E.P. called Through the Opaque Air.  So what does The Slow Signal Fade sound like?  Lots of stuff, apparently:

Armed with a vast collection of esoteric and sometimes conflicting influences, they have crafted a unique sound….a delicate blend of power and intimacy that sits comfortably and transcends genre.

Their musical influences vary from the likes of classic rock bands including Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors….through early post-punk and pop like The Cure, New Order, The Police, and U2…..to the modern sonics of Mogwai, Tool, Sunny Day Real Estate, and Fugazi. The SSF’s evocative style, colorful melodies, and engaging percussions provide the foundation for the beautiful, timeless and ethereal vocals that draw inspiration from singing legends ranging from Sarah Vaughan and Dinah Washington, to Chrissie Hynde, Sinead O’Connor and Cat Power. This band provides a musical journey that leaves an indelible mark on the listener, a refreshing balance of musicianship and candor. [Link]

And what do people who aren’t in the band think they sound like?  From Popmatters:

It’s Disintegration-era The Cure as done by The Cranberries, all epic slow tempos and one-note guitar lines fronted by Marguerite Olivelle’s lovely, pitch-perfect, urgent vocals. It’s a combination that shouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable as it is, but the wall of sound on display is exotic, acid-washed, and somehow really accessible. [Link]

A quick listen to a few of their songs, especially “Push Pull Push,” leads me to think the Cranberries comparison is particularly apt.  However, as the great LeVar Burton once said, “You don’t have to take my word for it!” since free MP3s are available at their website.

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All Hail Toral

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We introduced Toral to mutineers with a gentle reminder to her that “all glory is fleeting” and my oh my how true it was. On Thursday, October 13, her Apprentice star was extinguished in dramatic fashion after a run of just 4 episodes. While probably not an ideal role model, we can answer Desi media critics and say that this week at least 1 TV show was truly led by a desi characterThis week at least 1 TV show was truly led by a desi character.

The episode’s story arc traced Toral’s fall starting with her perilous escape from last week’s boardroom – something Trump pointed out was her high point in words almost fitting a Greek Oracle – “Enjoy the view, Toral“.

The subsequent verdict from the flock of Cassandras was immediate and fierce –

“Not bringing Toral into the boardroom isn’t loyalty, it’s stupidity”

And in Waiting to Exhale fashion, a caucus was called where her teammates admonished her to step up the plate and run like she hadn’t run before. The die was cast as her teammate’s demands were diametrically opposed to Toral’s master plan –

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Posted in TV

No torus for you

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A video clip of Toral Mehta’s firing on The Apprentice has been posted. She’s not just the new Omarosa, she’s the new Narinder Kaur, the definitive chavette from the UK’s Big Brother:

Narinder has been married for seven years but the 28-year-old Geordie says she was “looking for a snog” when she went into the Big Brother House… [she] erupted in a torrent of abuse about her housemates [in] a four-letter tirade… [and] had a string of bust-ups with fellow contestants… [Link]

There was a lot of racism in the part of Newcastle where we lived and it didn’t help being the only brown face in my school. I got bullied a lot. On the way to school I’d read ‘Narinder Paki’ scribbled on the bus stop and when I got there, I’d get picked on and the teachers would do nothing. Most people didn’t even know my name – ‘that Paki girl’ was enough…

I was showing British people that modern Indian girls could get drunk and have a laugh and still say their prayers… I remember drunkenly telling my husband I was going to be famous. He was like, alright, all I want to do is get your kit off… So why do I keep sticking my tits and neck out and go to so many premieres, you ask. Why the hell shouldn’t I?… [Link]

Mehta spazzed out in the boardroom, was punted to the curb and gave her teammates the back of the hand on cab-cam. Squirrel-hair called her ‘divisive,’ a nicer way of putting it.

Watch the video. Here’s the official site for the self-proclaimed ‘unforgettable business genius.’ Previous posts: one, two.

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I Can’t Drive 55…

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…but I can write it. So can all of you, apparently.

Dear, excessively creative readers writers, since we commenced our sweet Friday festival of nanofiction fun, it feels like someone put a chip and new exhaust system in that vehicle called time. Those around me will attest that I can often be found muttering, “Where do the hours go?” several times a day; thanks to this delightful ritual, I’m even more incredulous. It’s Friday? AGAIN? Didn’t I just write this post? Yowza. It’s like Groundblog’s day.

In any case, indulge me in my disbelief, that it is already time to write an uber-short story and leave it or a link to it in the comments section below.

If you’re just tuning in, you might want to read this and then this, so you learn what I’m going on about, as well as how you can join in the chant. That second link established yet another tradition I’m sticking to– I like the idea of selecting the three short-shorts that made me swoon. Without further blathering, here they be:

When Jai Singh said, “I guess I may as well kick this off….” he wasn’t playing, y’all. The following gem left me daydreaming with a wistful smile on my face, as I concomitantly recalled my fond days in History 196A AND a certain battle scene from LOTR. Suh-wooooooon.

60,000 Rajputs waited in the crisp dawn, armour glinting in the sunlight, horses battle-ready. The track down the mountainside twisted ahead, the green flags of the approaching legion already visible.
With a thundering evocation to the Almighty, they raised their curved swords skywards in unison. The black smoke from the pyres billowed above the fortress.

Jay’s 55 was adroit; it captivated all of us, as we attempted to solve the ingenious riddle he posed:

Ice broke under the ankle. In a hospital room they conspired friendship. Set to work, she fumbled at the remote clumsily. In the boardroom she spat venom as they cornered her – then unbelievably granted reprieve. From the loft she saw the little woman walking towards the cab. She knew that it should have been her.

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‘Divas and Dusham! Dusham!’

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The folks behind Desilicious (the erotic anthology, not the pride party) are at it again with a call for submissions for Divas and Dusham! Dusham! Mmm, onomatopoetic irregularity.

The anthology will collect both scholarly and literary works inspired by Bollywood, and the deadline is Jan. 31. Methinks a certain per’fessor could submit.

The Politics: How have characters, narratives, or cinematic techniques sustained or subverted hegemonies? How do we identify and engage progressive and reactionary strains in Bombay cinema? What is the relationship between filmmaking and national/transnational politics? Why are Bollywood actresses all fair? Why do the movies tell stories especially of young people? Why are they mostly upper-caste (and Punjabi based)? …

Literary Adaptations: Submissions could include subversive alternate endings to famous Bollywood films… stories in which the central character is modeled after a distinctly filmi character; or screenplays (story-length or excerpts) attempting contemporary Hollywood remakes of Bollywood classics… [Link]

My favorite category:

Explorations of Villainy: Bombay Cinema is the only cinema that grants major film awards for “Best Performance in a Villainous Role…” Bollywood villains who can drop a line as menacing as, “is ko liquid oxygen mem duba do. Liquid ise jine nahin dega aur oxygen ise marne nahin dega” (Drop him in liquid oxygen… the liquid will not let him live and the oxygen will not let him die) make Darth Vader look like a kitty. [Link]

I, for one, welcome our new erotic villainy overlords.

Submit to submissions@masalatrois.com or: Masala Trois Collective, 71 McCaul Street, #113, Toronto, ON M5T 2X1, Canada Continue reading →

“There was confusion everywhere…”

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I had to bring this to your attention: a five-year-old Kashmiri girl named Lishba who lived in one of the areas that was most affected by the quake spoke to the BBC about her memories of the tragedy and what she felt during and after it. I wish there were a picture of her; even without one, she’s captivated me. I don’t remember being this eloquent when i was five…

Where she was when the quake hit:

I was at home watching television and my sister was playing outside, my parents were in at home as well.
I felt the house shake and I got scared and ran to my father.
My sister was playing outside and at first we couldn’t find her, then my father went and got her home and all of us came out into the garden.
At first both my father and I thought the painter doing up my room must have broken something since the house shook, but then my father said this was an earthquake.
After the earthquake everybody was out of their houses and there was confusion everywhere.

Lishba, like so many others, is now homeless:

My house is completely broken all over.
We are now living in a field near my grandfather’s house.
When it rains, we all take shelter in the balcony of my grandfather’s house. It’s all broken and there are cracks everywhere but we all sit there.

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