Shashwati tells a railroad tale:

The last time I was on a train in India was a few years ago, traveling from Baroda to New Delhi, in an unreserved “Ladies” compartment. It was terribly crowded, and I had to share my berth with a rather plump housewife from Karol Bagh…  It turned out she came from a family of fruit merchants, and told us proudly, “My son has married into Apples, my daughter has gone to the Bananas, and we are thinking of a Guava family for the youngest son.”

… Squashed in a corner was a skinny, quiet woman… The woman came from a village in Karnataka… and had been abandoned by her only son and daughter in law. She was going to Delhi in the hope of… perhaps working as a domestic.

The next morning, the plump fruit merchant’s wife, after loudly cursing the world… gave the woman a generous amount of money so that she could fend for herself till she got on her feet. Then the merchants wife farted loudly and left with the youngest son (promised to the Guava family)…

I actually do know a desi fellow who ‘married’ into a family of Apples.

This is just downright brilliant –

‘ApprenticeÂ’ cruise to set sail …An eight-night cruise with the theme of the hit NBC show will sail from New York to the Caribbean on Sept. 26, after a bon voyage party in Manhattan with a send-off from Donald Trump. Cast members from the show — including Bill Rancic, the first Apprentice, and Stacie Jones Upchurch, Jennifer Crisafulli and Raj Bhakta from the second season — will be on board. The trip will take place on the Carnival Legend cruise ship.

A ship full of women, most of whom have seen you on TV – methinks Raj will be thoroughly entertained. Stay tuned for the “Cruise with the cast of Sepia Mutiny.”

On a much more light-hearted note, Sepia Mutiny is now on Friendster!

Whether you just want to seem more popular by having loads of friends (cough! guilty!) or you want another way to access our RSS feed, add us. When controversies like the Power99 outrage go down, we can use the Bulletin Board feature to alert you or disseminate information, if appropriate. SM is starting to feel like a little community and this development is a natural extension of that.

Uf-oh. Enough with the serious merits of such a maneuver…just add us already. All the other cool kids are doing it. Besides, you know you can never have enough fake relationships on social networking programs… 😉

Georgia’s Khabar Magazine features what I found to be a humorous little account by KALPITA C. SARKAR, of what happened when a group of South Asian women (some visiting from India), who are perhaps a little too old to be going to da clubs, let their hair down in an American one:

As someone visiting from India, I had done all the routine stuff. Gorged myself at exotic restaurants, danced all night at private parties, even splurged on some expensive clothes and accessories at the Mall of Georgia. It should have made anyone deliriously happy. But I felt like doing something different. Something bold?something I had never done before?

Emboldened by the seemingly outgoing gang of friends including my host and sister-in-law Maya, I voiced my adventurous ambitions. I soon discovered that such aspirations were on the minds of the others too ? though no one had voiced it. But it was there ? a nagging, taunting inner voice that said, “You are another year older. You are over the hill, past its fascinating peak. The view from now on is only downhill ? a devastating, frictionless slide that will gather momentum as you hit the bottom?”

We were eight women; all over thirty, some over forty. Married, with kids, and coming from fairly conservative, middle class backgrounds. Each working, with decent jobs. University lecturers, software engineers, legal secretaries and a physiotherapist. And we were all Indians. The only difference was that the others lived in Atlanta while I was visiting.

So what happens once they finally get to the club?

Five dollars per head ? no tickets ? just a stamp; we coyly put our wrists forward. You can get it stamped anywhere on your bare skin, I hear. IÂ’m reminded of the Kaanta laga video where the girl gets it on her breast. A big guy asks for our licenses. I cringe. Do we look like we are below eighteen? Take it as a compliment, winks Prema.

Inside, at least fifty people are dancing shoulder to shoulder in an elevated, lighted dance floor that is barricaded by a sort of railing. All around folks are standing and watching. A bar on the right is doing brisk business. Skimpily clad waitresses are doing the rounds with drink trays balanced in their hands. The roof is high with funny cages hanging from above. I even see a few people dancing in the cages. The place instantly gives me the creeps.

All of us stand for a moment wondering what to do. Heads were turning and we begin to see why. We look like a group out on a school picnic rather than one at a nightclub. Naiveté and curiosity are writ large on our faces. It is warm inside and we have all these bulky jackets and big purses with us. We realize suddenly that we couldn’t dance carrying them. We keep the jackets in a chair. “What if someone pinches them?” I ask suspiciously. “Don’t be a FOB. No one pinches clothes here!” I get rebuked.

We hold on to our purses though. “Girls, let’s not waste time twiddling our thumbs, come on,” Shelley leads us to the dance floor. The rest of us squeeze in gingerly. The whole crowd is doing a synchronized number ? two to the right, two to the left, shake it all about ? something to that effect.

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