leenawords

2007-01-11T13:03:00.000-08:00

India was lots of fun, full of lots of family, food, shopping, arts, a surprise wedding of my cousin, heat, and dust. The latter two really got to me in the last three weeks, with many distasteful manifestations in my nose, throat, and skin. Luckily, my uncle hooked up an appointment with a really swell skin specialist who prescribed this miracle cream to cure the latter ill. I think my nose and throat will mend themselves over time, since I'm now away from the outsourced pollution.

Random observations, speculations, and recommendations (which might eventually be culled into a more coherent article...) --

-You can find pretty much anything within a few feet of wherever you are in Mumbai, Delhi, or the big cities of Kerala. While sitting in traffic, I've been approached at the window with offers for novels, memory sticks, garlands, toys, nuts, and more. There are dozens of tiny shops lining every street, and dozens of informal stands set up with the most random merchandise. Services are ample from tailors to mechanics to doctors (allopathic and ayurvedic) and ridiculously affordable for anyone traveling from the west.

- Since the last time I was in Mumbai in 1997, I noticed a remarkable increase in women walking on the street -- and the average age is younger, and mode of dress far less conservative than it was then, though still utterly prude by American standards. Still, I didn't really feel unsafe in Mumbai at all; the male gaze was no worse than San Francisco. Delhi is notorious for being leering, but I only found it a little worse than Mumbai. Maybe I wasn't there long enough, or I was in the touristy areas at night.

- I thought our War on Terror was extreme, but Mumbai takes it to new levels. There are metal detectors placed ahead of every shopping mall, movie theater, and temple, and billboards and public service announcements to make "Mumbai Unbreakable." One temple in Kerala which has always required men to wear dhotis but used to allow them to wear them over pants and/or with shirts now only lets them wear a dhoti. (Uh, so much for "modesty" being a gender-neutral cultural concept.)

- People do not believe in leaving space in line!! You have to be all up in the booty of the person in front of you, or someone will surely cut, possibly from a sincere mistake about whether you meant to be in line, given your curiously considerate behavior.

- Probably the most useful Hindi phrase during travel to Hindi-speaking regions: "Nahi chahiye." (= "I don't want [it/them/these/those, etc.]") The street hawkers in all big cities I've been to, and the tour guides, particularly in Delhi, will be all over you trying to persuade you to buy their good or service. Just say this phrase loudly and clearly a few times and your work should be done (assuming you don't want their shit).

- Big temples leave you with a very poor taste in your mouth, incredibly dirty feet, and maybe a few bruises. Seriously, I fucking hate over-zealous temple-going motherfuckers who push, shove, and bribe to get in their worship. Temples are veritable marketplaces, with dozens of people swarming you to buy puja thalis, murtis, mithai, and random crap, or saying you can pay them 300 rupees to get to the front of the line. WTF? I mean, I can't blame the people offering up these goods and services because they're poor and they need money, and when have I ever otherwise been offended by blasphemy -- this would be a good place for it, on the contrary -- but I just can't stand being surrounded by earnestly pious twits.

- Arranged marriage is so weird to me. Maybe it shouldn't be, because my parents have had a successful one, and it has been quite common among the rest of my relatives and in my culture generally -- but the fact that I could never see myself emotionally and physically committing myself to someone just because he meets a certain community-authored checklist makes me further adamant in questioning any dominant paradigm of sexuality and relationships in any cultural context. I find the same problem of self-denial in arranged marriage that I find in heteronormativity or puritanism, and these are so inextricably linked. We need a personal as well as societal sexual revolution in order to acknowledge and affirm any desires or unions that fall outside the purview of heterosexual marriage.

- Somehow, the Punjabi food in India didn't seem that different to me than the Indian food that's available here. Of course, here (East Bay/SF at least) you don't really get Gomantak cuisine and Gujarati thalis and all that, and here the selection of the Punjabi fare is pretty limited and predictable, but the quality and taste is pretty comparable.

- Good places to eat in Mumbai include some really bomb hole-in-the-walls that actually didn't give any of us any stomach problems: Gypsy Corner (Maharashtrian snacks and pizza) in Dadar, Highway Gomantak (Goan cuisine) in Mahim, Gujarati Thali in Worli; and also some trendy, more upscale-ish spots like Olive (Mediterranean) in Bandra, Karma (Italian, Chinese, Indian) at Opera House, Bombay Blue (Chinese, Indian, Italian, Mexican) in Bandra, and Oven Fresh (Chinese, Indian, Italian, Mexican) in Dadar. My mom is the only one who got an upset stomach, and after which restaurant, but the five-star Taj Mahal Intercontinental. Oof!

The Many "Cinematic Adjustments" of Umrao Jaan

2006-11-06T13:04:00.000-08:00

If the earlier cinematic adaptation of Umrao Jan Ada compromised the actual depth of the novel according to this review, the new one obliterates it altogether.

The director really seems to have a flair for fucking up a poignant, feminist (yes, it is feminist, and a 19th-century Urdu male novelist wrote it) message and turning it on its head to fixate obsessively on redeeming the whore by making her have no desire for emotional or financial independence, crave for her emotions and sexuality to be caged and confined by one man, forgive her unremorseful rapist, and at the end of the movie give a present to dude that sold her into a brothel at the beginning of the movie. The latter gesture might make you think she has reconciled something in her perspective to break free of shackles once and for all -- of society, of the brothel, of her unsupportive family, of the mental agony from the many men who have screwed her over -- but think again; it's Ash. She is a complete victim to the end, never finding any place in the narrative for growth or empowerment. To top that, they kept playing a song with the refrain "Agle janam mohe bitiya na dije" = "In my next life don't give me a daughter."

Congratulations, J.P. Dutta, for taking a brilliantly rich commentary on the contrived and inherently oppressive dichotomy between a "respectable woman" and a "whore," and turning it into a four-hour public service announcement for sex selection.

A terrible movie. Two middle fingers up.

Domestic Violence Awareness Month - Let's Start Droppin' Some Knowledge

2006-10-06T13:30:00.000-07:00

You know, I hate doing South Asian domestic violence trainings for a crowd of people from non-immigrant backgrounds, because no matter how many disclaimers you put up saying, "Family violence is not the norm in the culture, but we are explaining some dynamics that can help inform the situation when it does occur," most of them come out saying, "Yeah, that culture's pretty fucked up." And then they describe functional, non-violent South Asian families, and strong South Asian women, as "westernized."

I suppose that's better than those who say, in the name of "liberalism," "That culture imposes such-and-such restrictions on women and punishes those who don't conform, but we should leave them alone because otherwise we'd be imposing our western values on them." (Big ups to S.P. for her paper on this issue.)

Here is the correct way to think about it. Within every culture and religious tradition, there are patriarchal turds who try to control the discourse and dictate what comprises the "culture." They try to freeze and essentialize gender roles -- in the most extreme instances, declaring that certain portions of whatever text justify domestic violence -- and declare homosexuality and divorce as alien to the culture. They try to say some people should have more rights than others, and then try to play it off like it's "different but equal." Find me any culture or major religion where there are not people who do this. And also find me any culture or religion where there are not people -- scholars, "backward caste" farmers, you name it -- who resist the patriarchal interpretation and recognize that culture is continuously evolving, and should evolve to allow dissenting voices.

It does get complicated in immigrant communities because you have the fact of a discrete and insular ethnic community thrown into the mix. A community that does face racism and tries to present itself well and save face by not addressing certain issues. A community that is trying to retain a sense of culture and is wary of intrusion on its practices. Those concerns, coupled with the eagerness of people outside the community to associate the culture itself with its most unhealthy manifestations, illuminates the need for a major wake-up call to all parties -- if the cultural leaders really do want what's best for all their constituents, and mainstream feminists really do want what's best for all women, without patronizing or insulting their cultures.

Patriarchy is fucked up. Racism is fucked up. Cultural or anti-racist justifications for misogyny or homophobia are fucked up. People who use culture or religion as a cloak to oppress other people are fucked up. And that is the end of the fucking story. Don't go around calling me "westernized" (comically, a compliment coming from many white feminists, and an insult coming from South Asian patriarchal traditionalists) just because I reject ass-backward red state, Hindutva, and other fundamentalist values.

dear snidely remarking aunty,

2006-09-22T13:32:00.000-07:00

Just because I've been going to the gym, don't start recommending low-fat and non-fat garbage for me to eat, especially when I'm happily and guiltlessly scarfing down shitloads of barfi and fried food right in front of you as you pretentiously deprive yourself of the same. Do not ASSume that I am a corporate-globalization-brainwashed dipshit vying to be the next size-negative-four, bleached-faced Miss India. I am just trying to be reasonably healthy and have an average body fat percentage. To that effect, I believe in adding healthy and productive items to my behavioral itinerary (more water, more fruit/vegetables, more exercise), but not eliminating any pleasurable ones; if, as a consequence of adding some of the healthy, I have less time/room for the unhealthy and a redistribution naturally occurs, then so be it, but I COME DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO GETTING VIOLENT UPON THE SUGGESTION OF CURTAILING MY GLUTTONY IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM.

2006-09-08T13:33:00.000-07:00

There should be a rag retreat, where you just hulk with a bunch of sweets, get a massage, and ovulate. If this society is going to define us by our reproductive capabilities, we should get at least that much for them.

2006-08-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

Tonight I attempted rollerskating with Don, Hrrang, and Chickon, after about fifteen years. What a workout! Mostly for my right arm, having clutched the railing for the first half hour. I never was able to glide properly. Goddamn, I'm bloody almost 26 years old and all these little rascals are so much better than me. Next time, Hrrang, Chickon, and I plan to film a documentary where we show ourselves skating and then highlight various babies' thoughts and reactions to our ineptitude.

All moved back!

2006-07-31T13:37:00.000-07:00

I'm officially back in the East Bay, with stacks of garbage bags in my bedroom and the garage to prove it (that's how I pack). I didn't do a very good job of cleaning, but hopefully I'll get some of my deposit back. I had meant to clean and even started to -- really! -- but then I accidentally vacuumed a penny and all hell broke loose. Since the vacuum started roaring furiously and emitting foul smells, I resolved to abandon that task, and then thought there was no point in doing anything else either. I'm very logical that way.

Before the Bar, I was weirdly sad to be leaving Davis, but now I am SO over it. I'm fucking done with law school, with an 11 x 17 inch diploma to prove it. Now it's on to bigger and better things, like lazing around in front of the TV for three and a half months, at which time I will head off to India!

No, I do need to find some sort of temp work though. That private loan I rather unnecessarily took out is really going to screw me up the ass, come December.

THE FIRST DAY OF THE MOTHAFUCKIN BAR EXAM IS FINISHED!

2006-07-25T13:39:00.000-07:00

And it wasn't even that bad!

But I'm anticipating tomorrow to be the worse...

--

Oh, before I forget, some tips for the future Bar takers:

1. Screw essay predictions. The predictions were off. People were so sure there would be no Contracts at all, and probably no Torts, and if Torts, then defamation. There was indeed Torts, AND there was a Contracts question for the fifth exam in a row. Just be prepared for anything and everything.

2. Stay in a hotel. I thought it was a little overboard, especially since my apartment is just twenty minutes away, but it does put your mind at ease a little bit to be right around the block. If you take it in Sac, the Vagabond Inn is a good place. It's cheap, has free breakfast, had vacancies even two weeks before surprisingly (that's when I booked), and is literally a block away. I think I'll just walk there tomorrow instead of pay the 7 damn bucks for parking. I could use that for lunch instead. Speaking of which...

3. There isn't a whole lot of time for lunch. By the time the fuckers get done with the announcements, you don't start until almost 9:15, and by the time all the exams get picked up, you don't break for lunch until like 12:40, and then you're supposed to be back in your seat by 1:45. At least tomorrow isn't laptoppage, so there should be more time to go out and grab something... but the parking lot gets crazy with all those peeps.

4. Be prepared for the worst with respect to ExamSoft, if you plan to type. I know a couple of people whose software failed them. I haven't practiced hand-writing the exams at all, but I guess it's a good idea. :X

Pre-Bar Body Check

2006-07-24T13:41:00.000-07:00

Hair - extremely dry, but quantitatively replenishing! May be due to the combination of chlorophyll, the psychosomatic/placebo effects of chlorophyll, and having calm and unstressful study buddies.

Eyes - I haven't worn contacts in about two months. The glasses are getting a little jacked, but I need to stick with them because I can't risk the consequences of adjusting to something new at this point. New eyeliner has been purchased to appease my arbitrary vanity. Eyebrows are a mess.

Nose - I have been wanting to switch my nosering, but can't risk any swelling until after the Bar. Sneezed a little bit last week, but in good shape at present.

Lips - No cold sores, blisters, or other crap, and not too chapped, surprisingly.

Skin - Dry, but surprisingly not as dry and cracked and overall decrepit as it could have been, given the weather. New lotion has been purchased.

Shoulders/Back - Tense. Need to sleep well and avoid excessive hunching over.

Hands - Not too sore; fingers are quite nimble but tend to quiver when anxious. Just cut fingernails.

Tits - Doing just fine. Comfortable bras have been procured.

Belly - Larger than life. Gave me mild problems a couple of days back, but feeling OK now. Need to feed it more vegetables and maybe some salmon.

Pelvic region - At ease. Not due for menses until the beginning of August, and really really hoping the subliminal stress won't induce them earlier.

Legs - Nothing noteworthy.

Feet - Terrible flip fop tan, and very dry. Will lotion them up right now.

---

I really need to stop listening to "Where's the Party Tonight." I have it stuck in my head all the time. There is never a moment when I don't have a song stuck in my head, and I guess this is unusual. I need to listen to something slow and boring so as to keep it in my head during the exam.

2006-07-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

~~Tonight will be my last night in Davis and in my apartment.~~

I'm checking into the hotel early 'cause it's just too fucking hot here. The first thing I packed was my vibrator. I am now packing my leftover alcohol and chasers, having confirmed that there is a refrigerator in the room. I was about to throw in some condoms, but I thought that might be overdoing it.

Yeah, this is for the California Bar Exam.

2006-07-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

I don't think anybody on the face of this planet could ever comprehend how much I hate spiders, except maybe Cyn. But even she cannot empathize with how much I fear and abhor even the tiniest of them.

Do you know how many times I have fled the shower in the past week, arms flailing in the air? It is truly a matter of terror, being half blind in the shower and seeing a faint impression of a spider gliding down from the wall and dangling right above your head. Today took the cake, as it was TWO mini-spiders dangling together from a single thread, and I think one of them was dead. EWWWWW. WHY would they choose to venture on a hang-gliding adventure when water is spraying so close to them? I guess it truly is their version of an extreme sport. Fucking assholes.

And now I keep getting paranoid and thinking my HAIR is a spider!

Craigslist Characters

2006-07-20T13:45:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to sell off all my furniture (if you are reading this, I hereby offer to give you my couch, futon, TV stand, and/or bed for FREE if it has not already been sold as of the time you accept the offer and you haul it out at a mutually agreed upon time prior to July 31), and I put ads on Craigslist indicating as such. A woman named Sherry emailed inquiring after the TV, so I gave her directions and we set a time for her to come by. She called a little while after she was due and said that she was having trouble finding the place, and was facing a Macy's. I asked whether she was in Davis. She was not. I then got to listen to her conversation with her man.

Sherry: She's in Davis!
Man: What? Well you're the one that called and got the directions.
Sherry: You're the one that looked it up on Craigslist and said it was in Sacramento!
Man: Well there's just one for the whole area so I didn't see the city.
Me: Um, would you still like to come by tonight, or do you want to reschedule?
Sherry: Should we still go? You'll be late to work.
Man: Yeah let's go.
Sherry: But there's a lot of traffic now, your work might fire you.
Man: No it shouldn't be too long, we're not far from there.
Sherry: OK, but if you get fired, I'm dumping you!

They came by with their two kids and got the TV. The man was stoked at the good deal he got, and told the woman her mom would have to find another one because he wanted to keep it.

2006-07-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

I have never been a particularly eloquent speaker, but there was a time when I was somewhat skilled at distilling a few sensible thoughts into keystrokes. The only typing I now do involves uncritical, unembellished recitations of the law. My sense of humor, if it ever existed, has now wilted to the point where I delight in any use of the term "substantial" or "compelling" that is outside the context of legal discourse, should I ever find myself in the proximity of such a usage. My social destitution compounds each day.

After taking the Bar, I will promply enroll in a course that teaches me how to interact with other human beings; preferably, it will be online.

a really bad property pick-up poem

2006-06-16T19:14:00.000-07:00

I never gave you permission
To enter my heart
But now you've acquired
A prescriptive easement

You entered actually
Your presence was continuous
The whole world knew
It was open and notorious

Now the statute has run
And I can stop you no longer
'Til you give a clear sign
That you don't belong hurr

I never gave you permission
To enter my heart
But now you've acquired
A prescriptive easement

2006-05-26T23:32:00.000-07:00

It looks like the film "Provoked" starring Ash and based on the real-life story of Kiranjit Ahluwahlia is already finished and was premiered at Cannes. I don't think Ash is the greatest actor, but I'm glad she's using her power to bring light to the issue of domestic violence, and willing to relay her own experience of abuse.

Although, I'm not sure how much power she has anymore, since people are always ready to bring a woman down. People have been less enthusiastic about her since she broke up with Vivek, and making her out to be some sort of cold-hearted breaker of man-hearts. Gimme a break.

Lakireddy v. Kaavya -- Who's the Veritable Brown Villain?

2006-05-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

(This has been cross-posted to Pass the Roti.)

I just typed “Lakireddy Bali Reddy” into Technorati, and it returned a scant twelve posts, several of which are completely unrelated to the case I will discuss shortly.

Then just for the hell of it, I typed in “Kaavya Viswanathan,” and got back three thousand, two hundred and twenty-three posts. And keep in mind many people wouldn’t have spelled her name correctly.

I know it can be fun to trash a young brown sister who almost became a remarkable overnight success, but are we really that much more schadenfreude than we are sincere? Because if our motivation in obsessing over “Kaavyagate” was really to put down the collective axe on bad brown behavior, I think the tale of Reddy and his heinous crimes of power and exploitation — along the lines of gender, age, class, caste, and immigration status — would have made the rounds in a big way starting about six years ago, such that his Defense would have absolutely no case in the hearing that occurred on Monday.

So who is this abominable creep of whom I speak? There is a pretty good factual background on Diana Russell’s web site (note: some of the racial/cultural references on the site may be problematic; feel free to comment on that). Basically, he is an incredibly wealthy landlord based in Berkeley, California (owns several restaurants and other business and residential property), who trafficked in several girls from his village in India over a thirteen-year period to extract cheap labor and sexually abuse them. Although the exact extent of emotional distress caused to some of the victims is unknown and was indeed the matter in dispute today, it is undisputed that one of the victims was pregnant with his child — at age 17 — when she died from carbon monoxide poisoning in the housing he provided for her. Yet, from Russell’s site:

On March 7, 2001, Reddy pleaded guilty to smuggling teenage girls from India for sex (sic) — including one as young as 13 — in a plea deal. In return for this admission, John Kennedy, the Assistant U.S. Prosecuting Attorney, whose job it was to represent Reddy’s victims, recommended that he spend only between 5 and 6 1/2 years in federal prison and pay only two million dollars in restitution (his Berkeley properties alone are worth more than $80 million) to three surviving victims and the parents of the Prattipati sisters. Shockingly, in return for Reddy’s limited admission of guilt, the Alameda District Attorney agreed not to charge Reddy for statutory rape of the girls despite the fact that he had forced sex on them for many years. Kennedy was clearly derelict in his duty to Reddy’s victims when he accepted Reddy’s outrageously minimal admissions of guilt as well as for proposing an equally outrageously minimal sentence for these extremely serious crime.

In the end, all he got was eight years prison time, which started in 2001. And the hearing held on May 22, 2006 was to cut down even that, because of alleged “obstruction of justice” coming from an interpreter involved in the case, who apparently encouraged some of the victims to exaggerate their emotional distress. Luckily, the judge didn’t buy that this “obstruction of justice” exceeded the kind caused by Reddy himself, and retained Reddy’s 97-month sentence. However, what scared me was that the courtroom was packed with supporters of Reddy — at least sixty of them. There were but a handful of people present to stand up for the victims and against the exploitation that this man committed. The press release from ASATA, Maitri, and South Asian Sisters can be found here. These three groups in addition to Berkeley-based Narika have been tracking the case for several years, with ASATA having been formed in 2000 in direct response to the case.

Would the response from the community have been different if the perpetrator were not South Asian? Would it then have been more widely discussed and bemoaned how young South Asian women were victims of this awful exploitation, because it also had a racial element? Is this another case of not wanting to air out our dirty laundry? Do some of us think it is less bad that it was (sort of) intra-community than it would be if the abuse came from someone of a different race, suggesting that there is some sort of entitlement or at least tacit acceptance for gender-based oppression within our community?

Or perhaps some of the reservations on the part of “progressive” brown folks come from the fact that we are against the prison-industrial complex, and the “lock them up and throw away the key” mentality? While I would agree that our criminal justice system has gotten way out of hand, we lock up too many people, we have backward priorities, we should prioritize rehabilitation over retribution, and all that jazz… I just can’t apply that theory to this case, where it is a clear crime of power. I just don’t see progressives running around trying to free skinheads who committed hate crimes from the PIC — nor should we have any sympathy for people who commit gender-based crimes of power, whether inside or outside the community.

In any case, it makes me highly uncomfortable as a brown women to think that if I got caught up some nerdy academic scandal, my brown brethren would be the first to trash me in their sadistic little grapevines, and my name would be blown off the charts in Technorati; but were I to be completely and utterly exploited and violated by a Desi man, his name and good reputation might be left virtually untouched.

John Gibson to White Women: "Breed!"

2006-05-18T10:51:00.000-07:00

Reason #1: the "Hispanics" in the US.

Reason #2: the Muslims in Europe. Oh but he does clarify there that it's not just white women:

I said, fine, but it was also a good idea if people other than Hispanics also got busy and had more babies. Those people would include both blacks and whites. I suppose Asians, too. I said you can't expect Hispanics to do all the work when it comes to supplying our country with babies.

I suppose that would include me! Let's get on with it, then: procreation, not recreation!

2006-05-14T10:53:00.000-07:00

Here's a really good article on Darfur and the way it has been shrugged off as a Zionist-coopted movement. Although the issue of backlash is understandable, I'm always disappointed and outraged when the struggles of the marginalized within the marginalized are undermined to save face of the wider community. If that's a case of ethnic cleansing, we have gender cleansing in India and its US diaspora, and sexual orientation cleansing in Iran. Oh, and how can I forget the Brahmin Samaj of North America -- wtf?!

If people are so concerned that these issues are only brought up by racist people outside our cultures to justify war and imperialism, when will we address them as human rights issues on our own and show the world that our cultures and communities do stand up first and foremost for the rights of our marginalized? I certainly don't endorse misguided western intervention, but I am even more sick of our constant kowtowing to patriarchal brown elites. How many more non-straight-brown-men will we sacrifice while we wait for the backlash to pass? (Not that among women of color we have our shit together either; check out this interview re: the politics of respectability and the Duke rape case. Fucking shit.)

Related: Let's not forget the US mainstream liberal quest to ignore gender and sexual orientation and class AND race, and everybody who is left of Bush should just unite to get him out of office and quit it with the "balkanization." But as Ann Bartow brings up often, the language our liberal friends employ is very problematically gendered; whattup with the Heathers? (I had no idea that metaphor was used so much!)

Bollywood Music Fun Facts!

2006-05-11T10:54:00.000-07:00

I love the song "Kaho Na Kaho" from Murder, and knew off the bat it was ripping off some Middle Eastern song, since by keeping in Arabic lyrics, they haven't even tried to fake the funk. But there's indeed so many versions of this song! Check this out from this page:

Kaho Na Kaho (Amir Jamal)/ Tamally Ma'ak (Amr Diab) You must have seen the promos for a new movie titled 'Murder' ( a rip-off of the Diane Keaton - Richard Gere starrer 'Unfaithful' which came out in 2002 - well, what else do you expect when Mahesh Bhatt is at the helm of affairs!). There's an interesting song, 'Kaho na kaho' that is garnering all attention since it also has Arabic lyrics in between. As far as I understand, Anu Malik is credited with its music (at least in the promos!), but the origins of this song go a long way back!

'Kaho na kaho' is sung by Pakistani singer Amir Jamal and is his composition from his 2003 album by the same name. If you had heard the song, you'd have noticed Arabic lyrics that goes, '...tamally ma'ak'. And there lies the twist! This song was originally composed by Sherif Tag (lyrics by Ahmed Ali Mousa) and sung by Arabic singer Amr Diab under the name (what else?) 'Tamally Ma'ak' in the year 2000 (from the album of the same name). Amir Jamal simply lifted this song and added Hindi lyrics and used it in his album. This song has also found its way in to 'Murder', thanks to the Bhatts! Its one thing to copy a song with no credit whatsoever to its original composer and its completely another thing to use the same title/ lyrics in the copied version! And does 'Tamally Ma'ak' sound similar? It just might...'cos Sanjeev Darshan have already lifted 2 songs from this album for the Anil Kapoor starrer 'Rishthey'! Check out the page on Sanjeev Darshan for details!

Listen to Kaho na kaho [Amir Jamal] | Tamally Ma'ak [Amr Diab]

Another interesting aspect here is that Amir Jamal is not the only person to lift this song. There are, on last count, 6 other versions of this song, besides Amir Jamal's Hindi/ Arabic version! And not even one version is legal - not one was done with permission from Amr Diab or with a credit to him! But this sure shows how popular Amr Diab is across the globe! Here's a list of the other lifts of Tamally Ma'ak...Thanks to information from the website on Amr Diab.
Israel: Artist: Orna & Moshe Datz, Song: You're In My Heart, Year: 2001 [Listen to You're In My Heart]
Bulgaria: Artist: Ivana, Song: Skitam se az, Year: 2002 - [Listen to Skitam se az]
Argentina: Artist: Andrea Del Valle Bela, Song: Te voy a dejar, Year: 2004 - [Listen to Te voy a dejar]
Spain: Artist: Carmona, Song: Te Quiero Ti, Year: 2003 - [Listen to Te Quiero Ti]
Russia: Artist: Avraam Russo, Song: Daleko Daleko, Year: 2002 [Listen to Daleko Daleko]
Japan: Resung in Arabic by the Japanese band 'Warna' and released as a video. Watch the video at this Amr Diab site!

I just thought of something.

2006-05-08T07:48:00.000-07:00

Steve Martin = Vivek Oberoi in 30 years!

Open Letter From Dave Chappelle to White Fans

2006-04-17T17:14:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: I posted this on my MySpace bulletin, and got back a message that says this was not written by Dave himself, but by a fellow named Mark H. Harris (http://www.popmatters.com/columns/harris/060411.shtml). Nonetheless, it seems like Dave did have some sentiments similar to the ones expressed here (http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/living/people/14339056.htm), and it raises some important issues about race and humor.

---

And these are assorted thoughts I have on this:

Humor is so totally political, so I'm glad this letter teases out some of the reasons of why that is, and why sometimes joking can be community-specific and it can be offensive for people who don't have to deal with certain things linked to their identity on a day-to-day basis to appropriate it just for kicks.
You can use humor in more subversive ways than Dave has been using it. I don't really see how playing a crackhead that shits in alleys is politically positive in any context, even if it's just among your community peeps, but that's just me. I'm not saying all humor HAS to be politically subversive -- I do enjoy pointless toilet humor or even Ali G -- but Dave is treating it as an either/or as far as having a white audience or being political. He is talented and funny enough to be conscious of the negative externalities of certain types of humor in some contexts, and still retain his marketability in a white audience. I know he says is not among his goals, but I think maybe it should be, and this wouldn't just be selling out. Which brings me to my next point:
Humor can unite people in unlikely ways, and is a powerful tool in changing people's thinking and broadening their perspectives -- and that's why I would really like to see more diverse faces represented in mainstream comedy. Margaret Cho has plenty of straight, white fans even though she is blatantly queer-positive and sticks it to white people. While I think it's good to have artists cater to their communities, I also think mainstream entertainment should encompass more variety.
Anyway, I do see how it can be annoying to see an epidemic of suburban white boys dressing like you and quoting you and not at all trying to look past the surface to consider your experience and the history behind it. So with that, here's the letter --

Dear White People:

How are you? I am fine. Long time no see! I ran into Gary the other day. Tell him not to worry about that rash; a little penicillin will clear it right up. LOL. Anyway, on to business.

First, I wanna say that I appreciate the support you've given me over the years -- not only during my show, but since Half Baked, too... Although, really, would it have killed you to shell out $8 to see Undercover Brother? Alright, alright, we won't get into that again. After all, I did make you rent Screwed. My bad on that one.

If I may be so bold as to quote the great Lionel Richie: thanks for the times that you've given me. The memories are all in my mind. And now that we've come to the end of our rainbow, there's something I must say out loud...

I think we should see other people.

There are lots of great comedians out there for you. Ant from Last Comic Standing, for instance. That gay bit never gets old! It's nothing against you personally; black people and I have just decided to give it one more shot. I think we can be happy together.

Really, it's not you; it's me.

OK, maybe it's you just a bit. I mean, I like you. I even love you. I just don't trust you. You're kind of like a creepy stepfather. You could be a great dad for years -- taking me to ballgames, playing catch and all -- but if I were to wake up one night to find your nut sack on my chin, I wouldn't be all that shocked.

You may have seen me on Oprah talking about the time I felt that a white guy on my staff was laughing at me rather than with me during a sketch I was doing in blackface. Or when I said that there's a group of people who are "just fans" along for a celebrity worship ride, the type who scream, "I'm Rick James, bitch!" at my concerts. And maybe you saw in Block Party where Questlove from The Roots was talking about how frustrated I was with the "demographic" I attracted after Half Baked. That demographic, white people, was you.

You've gotta admit that you haven't exactly filled me with confidence in your self-control. You've taken slang like "bling", "all good", and "ho cake" and squeezed all of the edge out of them. And when did backwards caps become the official uniform of drunken keg stands? You wanna know why I went to Africa? Because "I'm Rick James, bitch!" was becoming the new "Dy-no-mite!" You already ruined Lil' Jon's career; I don't wanna be next.

I've started to feel like those reggae cats who come to America on tour, spreading Afro-centric messages like "Back to Africa" and "Kill whitey", and the only people who show up to their concerts are 50-year-old hippies and latte-sipping WTO protestors who don't hear anything beyond "one love" and "legalize it".

Please, don't make this harder than it has to be.

It's just that this interracial stuff has me tripping. I can't take you anywhere without wondering what people think of me. I'm even hearing things now. Like, I was walking down the street the other day, and I swear somebody yelled out, "Gumbel!" I turned around, and no one was there. It was a sniper slur. That shit bugged me out!

And how am I supposed to know you're not gonna embarrass me by misinterpreting something I do in a skit? Like, when I play a homeless crackhead shitting in an alley, you might think that all black people do that! Sure, some black people shit in alleys, but some white people watch Laguna Beach. I won't judge y'all if you don't judge us.

It's best if we make a clean break.

Don't call, don't come by my crib, and for God's sake, no more email forwards about 10 ways to annoy people at the computer lab. We graduated, like, a decade ago! Let it go! I know that you like to feel like you have a black friend finally, but can't you get a butler or a lawn jockey or something?

I understand that, as a privileged race, it's hard for you to feel that something is off limits to you, but pencil me in as #2 behind the N-word.

Why must you love me so? I'm tired of being so damn likeable! Chris Rock doesn't have to deal with this clinginess. He's all sociopolitical and "ranty" enough in an angry black male sort of way that he keeps white people at arm's length. Me, I'm the happy-go-lucky drinking buddy. If I talk about anything serious, it's just "drunk talk". It's enough to drive a nigga CRAZY! Just kidding.

But really, do you know what it's like to be a comedian? I can't have a conversation without someone expecting me to come up with some brilliantly funny nugget off the top of my head. And "Get the fuck outta my face" usually doesn't cut it. It's even more complicated when you're a black comedian, and your primary audience is white. That's why I gotta quit you.

Am I paranoid? Maybe a bit, but can you blame me? As I said to Oprah, "Opes" -- I call her "Opes" -- "What is a black man without his paranoia intact?" A Republican, that's what! You might be my best friend for life, but that doesn't mean I might not find a Grand Dragon's robe hanging in your closet one day. I wouldn't even be pissed off about it. It was a calculated risk anyway, like hitting on 17 in blackjack: "Aw, damn... Oh well, it's been fun."

I can't stay in a relationship that's always challenging my dignity and integrity. That's Wayans Brothers territory. But I do realize that I'm partly to blame; skits about piss and venereal disease are just begging for a frat boy following. That's why I'm turning over a new, socially responsible leaf. Block Party was the first step. More conscious material and less fecal material; that's what Dave Chappelle has in store for 2006. (As you can see, I'm trying to hold back on my swearing and shit.)

I know you'll be disappointed in my new stuff; that's why I'm sending this letter to you now. You deserve someone who'll give you what you need.

After all, I just want you to be happy.

Your casual acquaintance,
Dave

PS -- If, in a year or two, it turns out that the only gig black folk have for me is hosting the BET Awards, remember that when I wrote this letter, I was taking Ambien and had a mild head cold.

Fear and Russell Peters

2006-04-16T17:15:00.000-07:00

So I had taken a three-minute-or-so video of Russell Peters from the very back row of the Warfield theater and uploaded it to YouTube a couple of months ago. A few days ago, I got an email from YouTube about a DMCA complaint for copyright infringement that resulted in the deletion of that video.

These are the fears Mr. Peters might have had and my rebuttals to them:

Fear: The clip would give people enough information so that people would no longer have an incentive to see him live or buy the full DVD.

If they like the clip, it will probably make them MORE motivated to check him out live or buy the DVD, seeing as how the clip is hella fuzzy and you can barely even see him.
If they dislike the clip, chances are they 1) didn't know much about him in the first place and would never even think about going to his show, this clip confirming their disinterest; or 2) have heard about him through a friend that said he was good, so they might still want to go, at least as a social activity. And plus, that was a very flattering excerpt of his show! It's not like I chose the crappiest or most out of context segment.

Fear: Now he won't be able to repeat the same jokes.

People love repetition. You know how commercials often show you the funniest parts of a comedy and you're still really excited and giggly when it comes in the actual movie? And have you noticed how Margaret Cho always repeats certain one-liners and has the same set of impersonations that have become her trademark? It's not a bad thing if people have seen some of it before!
If you were banking on repeating the exact same thing word for word in the same manner, that doesn't reflect the greatest imagination. Come on now!

What other fears might he have had?

In any case, I think the clip primarily served the role of free advertising. I had tags like "Indian," "desi," "comedy," "humor," "performance," and "Warfield" in addition to his name, and plus people interested in my other videos might have navigated to that one. I think the placing of his video was free advertising more than anything else and probably gave him exposure to a wider audience. Plus, it was shitty-ass quality! If I were a performer, it would be a dream come true for someone to put up a poor-quality sample of my high-quality work.

2006-04-15T17:15:00.000-07:00

Aamir Khan is one of the few socially conscious members of the Bollywood "film fraternity," as Karan Johar would put it. He has now become active with Bhopal recovery and the Narmada Bachao Andolan. I mean, if you have BJP members burning your effigy, you've gotta be headed on the right track. (I by no means think he's some noble superhuman for doing this; he's just acting like a responsible human being who has enough food on his table to look out for other people, while most other Bollywooders are not. I guess in some ways that makes him more admirable for doing all this despite being a wealthy public figure, although there are tons of broke-ass activists who get no personal recognition for the thankless pursuits they take up against all odds. Well, so it goes.)

But I'm glad people finally called him out about the whole Coke endorsement thang. He's trying to be all diplomatic about looking into the pollution issue, but come on now. You're Aamir Khan. You don't need to be selling out to some water-sucking, tooth-decaying, diabetes-churning multi-national corporation.

OMFG

2006-04-12T17:16:00.000-07:00

Si se puede

2006-04-10T17:17:00.000-07:00

The march this morning was off the hook. The stuff within Sacramento was huge -- like over 10,000 people I'm sure, though pride n' politics as usual rerouted the original plan (one group powerhulked the plan of another and decided to march through the whole city instead of holding the rally at the designated spot, bleh) -- but it was the march from Davis to Sacramento that was even more awesome. I thought maybe twenty people would actually wake up and be willing to trudge eleven miles across the causeway beginning at 7:30 since I had to think a minute before deciding I would do it myself, but there were actually at least 150 people who showed up for that. That only included about twelve law students, lots of undergrads, lots of high school students, and even some junior high students. They had so much energy the whole time and were the most well-behaved demonstrators I've ever seen, walking double-file and staying within the left lane of the causeway, and observing all traffic rules and keeping gaps in driveways throughout the walk within East Sacramento.

The decision to do the causeway was so brilliant because it was perfectly legal (though some cops tried to give us trouble before we even set off but then backed off when Mercy said she was a law student and knew that we could walk without a permit as long as we kept one lane open -- brown people who know their rights; watch out ) and not literally interfering with traffic, but then it totally did interfere because all these rubberneckers were like "." A lot of people honked and gave thumbs up and other enthusiastic gestures, but of course we also had some thumbs down and "Get a Green Card" type comments. A couple of journalists walked or biked the whole causeway with us, mostly in support, I think. Some smirking dick journalists were at the scene before we departed, and one of them asked these two kids who were clearly on the younger end what they thought about people carrying Mexican flags -- and these kids didn't even have Mexican flags.

It will be interesting to see how the media covers the march, since I didn't see a single disorderly or illegal activity take place, and everyone seemed really mature and informed. There were lots of families, and I noticed this one cameraman spend like hell of minutes zooming in on these two young girls with stickers on their faces that were cheering and shit. I'm sure they'll try to make that out to be hell of representative of the march. Also, there were way more American flags than Mexican flags (not that it should fuckin' matter), but I could see them skewing that too.

The cops within Sacramento were actually really helpful and helped clear traffic for us.

"HEAT: Everyone Likes It Hot"

2006-04-09T17:18:00.000-07:00

HEAT was loads of fun. The back-up dancers were truly talented. The men would have looked better without the Ramayan hair and the midriff-baring frilled tops with leather pants and such, but they totally topped all of the actors with their skillz. Celina is totally unremarkable; she was nervous, her expressions were lifeless, and she's a crap dancer. Preity was cute, and poor Saif was still recovering from his surgery, so didn't get in much action. Sushmita is a veritable diva. She totally made the stage her home, and then actually came down and walked through the audience and picked up babies and shit. I'm adding her to my MySpace heroes.

2006-04-02T17:22:00.001-07:00

What the fuck kind of "news" story is this? It's an unfair and overblown societal stereotype that Ivy League white boys are violent rapists? Excuse me, but I don't see anyone locking their doors or clutching their purses when Whitey McWhite-white walks by. I don't see rapists in the media portrayed as powerful, educated white men, except when they're portrayed as falsely accused or helplessly seduced by a ravishing slut, and that's exactly the stereotype that this article is perpetuating, not least because the victims are poor, black single mothers. Hell, I don't even see people who do progressive work around criminal justice acknowledge how much violent and not just white-collar crime is in fact about exerting power and privilege, because then it would come to light that the people whose violent crimes are induced by a cycle of poverty and racism are in fact a miniscule subset of the frat boys and Lakireddys of sexual offenders that go underacknowledged and underpunished, and blanket apologist compassion in the face of such grotesque manifestations of entitlement is the most misdirected policy imaginable.

I find it disgusting that this jackass group of 40-some boys gathered in this little shack to invite a stripper in the first place, and that should already tell something about their sense of entitlement and the role of male peer support in the objectification of the women. And I don't give a fuck to accept that this is normal college boy behavior; fuck the normalization of male bonding over female degradation. This is Peggy Reeves Sanday's research on the gang rape mentality spelled out in eery precision. I think everybody should be required to read these two books before going to college:

Sexual Assault on the College Campus: The Role of Male Peer Support by Martin Schwartz and Walter DeKeseredy
Fraternity Gang Rape: Sex, Brotherhood, and Privilege on Campus by Peggy Reeves Sanday

pornography is a left issue

2006-04-02T17:22:00.000-07:00

This is not a new article or anything, but I just want to paste it here cuz it's the bomb -- one of the most thorough, yet concise statements of why the left's hypocritical, patriarchal ass should take critiques of pornography more seriously. And no, I don't think all sexually explicit material is doomed to anti-feminism; in fact, I would agree that women and pro-feminist men can and should make more affirming and diverse representations of sexuality, while continuing the dialogue of how these representations might be read or misread/misappropriated in a heteronormative context. Hence, I prefer the term "porn-critical" to "anti-porn," and I absolutely despise the term "sex-positive" as a proxy for "porn-uncritical." Anyway, here it is, with my favorite parts bolded:

---

Pornography is a Left Issue
by Gail Dines and Robert Jensen

Anti-pornography feminists get used to insults from the left. Over and over we are told that we�re anti-sex, prudish, simplistic, politically na�ve, diversionary, and narrow-minded. The cruder critics do not hesitate to suggest that the cure for these ailments lies in, how shall we say, a robust sexual experience.

In addition to the slurs, we constantly face a question: Why do we �waste� our time on the pornography issue? Since we are anti-capitalist and anti-empire leftists as well as feminists, shouldn�t we focus on the many political, economic, and ecological crises (war, poverty, global warming, etc.)? Why would we spend part of our intellectual and organizing energies over the past two decades pursuing the feminist critique of pornography and the sexual exploitation industry?

The answer is simple: We are anti-pornography precisely because we are leftists as well as feminists.

As leftists, we reject the sexism and racism that saturates contemporary mass-marketed pornography. As leftists, we reject the capitalist commodification of one of the most basic aspects of our humanity. As leftists, we reject corporate domination of media and culture. Anti-pornography feminists are not asking the left to accept a new way of looking at the world but instead are arguing for consistency in analysis and application of principles.

It has always seemed strange to us that so many on the left consistently refuse to engage in a sustained and thoughtful critique of pornography. All this is particularly unfortunate at a time when the left is flailing to find traction with the public; a critique of pornography, grounded in a radical feminist and left analysis that counters right-wing moralizing, could be part of an effective organizing strategy.

Left media analysis

Leftists examine mass media as one site where the dominant class attempts to create and impose definitions and explanations of the world. We know news is not neutral, that entertainment programs are more than just fun and games. These are places where ideology is reinforced, where the point of view of the powerful is articulated. That process is always a struggle; attempts to define the world by dominant classes can be, and are, resisted. The term �hegemony� is typically used to describe that always-contested process, the way in which the dominant class attempts to secure control over the construction of meaning.

The feminist critique of pornography is consistent with � and, for many of us, grows out of � a widely accepted analysis on the left of ideology, hegemony, and media, leading to the observation that pornography is to patriarchy what commercial television is to capitalism. Yet when pornography is the topic, many on the left seem to forget Gramsci�s theory of hegemony and accept the pornographer�s self-serving argument that pornography is mere fantasy.

Apparently the commonplace left insight that mediated images can be tools for legitimizing inequality holds true for an analysis of CBS or CNN, but evaporates when the image is of a woman having a penis thrust into her throat with such force that she gags. In that case, for unexplained reasons, we aren�t supposed to take pornographic representations seriously or view them as carefully constructed products within a wider system of gender, race, and class inequality. The valuable work conducted by media critics on the politics of production apparently holds no weight for pornography.

Pornography is fantasy, of a sort. Just as television cop shows that assert the inherent nobility of police and prosecutors as protectors of the people are fantasy. Just as the Horatio Alger stories about hard work�s rewards in capitalism are fantasy. Just as films that cast Arabs only as terrorists are fantasy.

All those media products are critiqued by leftists precisely because the fantasy world they create is a distortion of the actual world in which we live. Police and prosecutors do sometimes seek justice, but they also enforce the rule of the powerful. Individuals in capitalism do sometimes prosper as a result of their hard work, but the system does not provide everyone who works hard with a decent living. Some Arabs are terrorists, but that obscures both the terrorism of the powerful in white America and the humanity of the vast majority of Arabs.

Such fantasies also reflect how those in power want subordinated people to feel. Images of happy blacks on the plantations made whites feels more secure and self-righteous in their oppression of slaves. Images of contented workers allay capitalists� fears of revolution. And men deal with their complex feelings about contemporary masculinity�s toxic mix of sex and aggression by seeking images of women who enjoy pain and humiliation.

Why do so many on the left seem to assume that pornographers operate in a different universe than other capitalists? Why would pornography be the only form of representation produced and distributed by corporations that wouldn�t be a vehicle to legitimize inequality? Why would the pornographers be the only media capitalists who are rebels seeking to subvert hegemonic systems?

Why do the pornographers get a free ride from so much of the left?

After years of facing the left�s hostility in public and print, we believe the answer is obvious: Sexual desire can constraint people�s capacity for critical reason � especially in men in patriarchy, where sex is not only about pleasure but about power.

Leftists � especially left men � need to get over the obsession with getting off.

Let�s analyze pornography not as sex, but as media. Where would that lead?

Corporate media

Critiques of the power of commercial corporate media are ubiquitous on the left. Leftists with vastly different political projects can come together to decry conglomerates� control over news and entertainment programming. Because of the structure of the system, it�s a given that these corporations create programming that meets the needs of advertisers and elites, not ordinary people.

Yet when discussing pornography, this analysis flies out the window. Listening to many on the left defend pornography, one would think the material is being made by struggling artists tirelessly working in lonely garrets to help us understand the mysteries of sexuality. Nothing could be further from the truth; the pornography industry is just that � an industry, dominated by the pornography production companies that create the material, with mainstream corporations profiting from its distribution.

It�s easy to listen in on pornographers� conversations � they have a trade magazine, Adult Video News. The discussions there don�t tend to focus on the transgressive potential of pornography or the polysemic nature of sexually explicit texts. It�s about � what a surprise! � profits. The magazine�s stories don�t reflect a critical consciousness about much of anything, especially gender, race, and sex.

Andrew Edmond � president and CEO of Flying Crocodile, a $20 million pornography internet company � put it bluntly: �A lot of people get distracted from the business model by [the sex]. It is just as sophisticated and multilayered as any other market place. We operate just like any Fortune 500 company.�

The production companies � from big players such as Larry Flynt Productions to small fly-by-night operators � act predictably as corporations in capitalism, seeking to maximize market-share and profit. They do not consider the needs of people or the effects of their products, any more than other capitalists. Romanticizing the pornographers makes as much sense as romanticizing the executives at Viacom or Disney.

Increasingly, mainstream media corporations profit as well. Hugh Hefner and Flynt had to fight to gain respectability within the halls of capitalism, but today many of the pornography profiteers are big corporations. Through ownership of cable distribution companies and Internet services, the large companies that distribute pornography also distribute mainstream media. One example is News Corp. owned by Rupert Murdoch.

News Corp. is a major owner of DirecTV, which sells more pornographic films than Flynt. In 2000, the New York Times reported that nearly $200 million a year is spent by the 8.7 million subscribers to DirecTV. Among News Corp.�s other media holdings are the Fox broadcasting and cable TV networks, Twentieth Century Fox, the New York Post, and TV Guide. Welcome to synergy: Murdoch also owns HarperCollins, which published pornography star Jenna Jameson�s best-selling book How To Make Love Like A Porn Star.

When Paul Thomas accepted his best-director award at the pornography industry�s 2005 awards ceremony, he commented on the corporatization of the industry by joking: �I used to get paid in cash by Italians. Now I get paid with a check by a Jew.� Ignoring the crude ethnic references (Thomas works primarily for Vivid, whose head is Jewish), his point was that what was once largely a mob-financed business is now just another corporate enterprise.

How do leftists feel about corporate enterprises? Do we want profit-hungry corporative executives constructing our culture?

Commodification

It�s long been understood on the left that one of the most insidious aspects of capitalism is the commodification of everything. There is nothing that can�t be sold in the capitalist game of endless accumulation.

In pornography, the stakes are even higher; what is being commodified is crucial to our sense of self. Whatever a person�s sexuality or views on sexuality, virtually everyone agrees it is an important aspect of our identity. In pornography, and in the sex industry more generally, sexuality is one more product to be packaged and sold.

When these concerns are raised, pro-pornography leftists often rush to explain that the women in pornography have chosen that work. Although any discussion of choice must take into consideration the conditions under which one chooses, we don�t dispute that women do choose, and as feminists we respect that choice and try to understand it.

But, to the best of our knowledge, no one on the left defends capitalist media � or any other capitalist enterprise � by pointing out workers consented to do their jobs. The people who produce media content, or any other product, consent to work in such enterprises, under varying constraints and opportunities. So what? The critique is not of the workers, but of the owners and structure.

Look at the industry�s biggest star, Jenna Jameson, who appears to control her business life. However in her book she reports that she was raped as a teenager and describes the ways in which men in her life pimped her. Her desperation for money also comes through when she tried to get a job as a stripper but looked too young � she went into a bathroom and pulled off her braces with pliers. She also describes drug abuse and laments the many friends in the industry she lost to drugs. And this is the woman said to have the most power in the pornography industry.

As we understand left analysis, the focus isn�t on individual decisions about how to survive in a system that commodifies everything and takes from us meaningful opportunities to control our lives. It�s about fighting a system.

Racism

As the most blatant and ugly forms of racism have disappeared from mainstream media, leftists have continued to point out that subtler forms of racism endure, and that their constant reproduction through media is a problem. Race matters, and media depictions of race matter.

Pornography is the one media genre in which overt racism is still acceptable. Not subtle, coded racism, but old-fashioned U.S. racism � stereotypical representations of the black male stud, the animalistic black woman, the hot Latina, the demure Asian geisha. Pornography vendors have a special category, �interracial,� which allows consumers to pursue the various combinations of racialized characters and racist scenarios.

The racism of the industry is so pervasive that it goes largely unnoticed. In an interview with the producer of the DVD �Black Bros and Asian Ho�s,� one of us asked if he ever was criticized for the racism of such films. He said, �No, they are very popular.� We repeated the question: Popular, yes, but do people ever criticize the racism? He looked incredulous; the question apparently had never entered his mind.

Yet take a tour of a pornography shop, and it�s clear that racial justice isn�t central to the industry. Typical is the claim of �Black Attack Gang Bang� films: �My mission is to find the cutest white honeys to get Gang Banged by some hard pipe hitting niggas straight outta compton!� It would be interesting to see a pro-pornography leftist argue to a non-white audience that such films are unrelated to the politics of race and white supremacy.

Up-market producers such as Vivid use mainly white women; the official face of pornography is overwhelmingly white. However, alongside this genre there exists more aggressive material in which women of color appear more frequently. As one black woman in the industry told us, �This is a racist business,� from how she is treated by producers to pay differentials to the day-to-day conversations she overhears on the set.

Sexism

Contemporary mass-marketed heterosexual pornography � the bulk of the market for sexually explicit material � is one site where a particular meaning of sex and gender is created and circulated. Pornography�s central ideological message is not hard to discern: Women exist for the sexual pleasure of men, in whatever form men want that pleasure, no matter what the consequences for women. It�s not just that women exist for sex, but that they exist for the sex that men want.

Despite na�ve (or disingenuous) claims about pornography as a vehicle for women�s sexual liberation, the bulk of mass-marketed pornography is incredibly sexist. From the ugly language used to describe women, to the positions of subordination, to the actual sexual practices themselves � pornography is relentlessly misogynistic. As the industry �matures� the most popular genre of films, called �gonzo,� continues to push the limits of degradation of, and cruelty toward, women. Directors acknowledge they aren�t sure where to take it from the current level.

This misogyny is not an idiosyncratic feature of a few fringe films. Based on three studies of the content of mainstream video/DVD pornography over the past decade, we conclude that woman-hating is central to contemporary pornography. Take away every video in which a woman is called a bitch, a cunt, a slut, or a whore, and the shelves would be nearly bare. Take away every DVD in which a woman becomes the target of a man�s contempt, and there wouldn�t be much left. Mass-marketed pornography doesn�t celebrate women and their sexuality, but instead expresses contempt for women and celebrates the charge of expressing that contempt sexually.

Leftists typically reject crude biological explanations for inequality. But the story of gender in pornography is the story of biological determinism. A major theme in pornography is that women are different from men and enjoy pain, humiliation, degradation; they don�t deserve the same humanity as men because they are a different kind of creature. In pornography, it�s not just that women want to get fucked in degrading fashion, but that they need it. Pornography ultimately tells stories about where women belong � underneath men.

Most leftists critique patriarchy and resist the system of male dominance. Gender is one of those arenas of struggle against domination, and hence an arena of ideological struggle. Put an understanding of media together with feminist arguments for sexual equality, and you get the anti-pornography argument.

The need for a consistent analysis of power

Leftists who otherwise pride themselves on analyzing systems and structures of power, can turn into extreme libertarian individualists on the subject of pornography. The sophisticated, critical thinking that underlies the best of left politics can give way to simplistic, politically na�ve, and diversionary analysis that leaves far too many leftists playing cheerleader for an exploitive industry. In those analyses, we aren�t supposed to examine the culture�s ideology and how it shapes people�s perceptions of their choices, and we must ignore the conditions under which people live; it�s all about an individual�s choice.

A critique of pornography doesn�t imply that freedom rooted in an individual�s ability to choose isn�t important, but argues instead that these issues can�t be reduced to that single moment of choice of an individual. Instead, we have to ask: What is meaningful freedom within a capitalist system that is racist and sexist?

Leftists have always challenged the contention of the powerful that freedom comes in accepting one�s place in a hierarchy. Feminists have highlighted that one of the systems of power that constrains us is gender.

We contend that leftists who take feminism seriously must come to see that pornography, along with other forms of sexualized exploitation � primarily of women, girls and boys, by men � in capitalism is inconsistent with a world in which ordinary people can take control of their own destinies.

That is the promise of the left, of feminism, of critical race theory, of radical humanism � of every liberatory movement in modern history.

Gail Dines is a professor of American Studies at Wheelock College in Boston. She can be reached at gdines@wheelock.edu.

Robert Jensen is a professor of journalism at the University of Texas at Austin. He can be reached at rjensen@uts.cc.utexas.edu.

They are co-authors with Ann Russo of Pornography: The Production and Consumption of Inequality. Both also are members of the interim organizing committee of the National Feminist Antipornography Movement. For more information, contact feministantipornographymovement@yahoo.com or go to http://feministantipornographymovement.org/

Good times in Kuala Lumpur

2006-03-23T17:24:00.000-08:00

We hit up the Batu Caves today, Bee having inauspiciously gotten her period just in time for the occasion. I wouldn't otherwise subscribe to the whole "Don't go to the temple while you're on the rag" sexist Hindu fundie bullshit, but I have a good reason this time: monkeys.

We had to trudge up 278 steps to get to the caves, and they were so many cute monkeys along the way, carrying their babies, eating bananas and coconuts, and just playing and being merry. Until we got to the very top, and this one monkey dude starting humping this monkey chick, and then she ran away, and then the monkey dude sat there looking stumped for a minute, until it lunged forward and practically pounced on Bee. Luckily, Bee had an umbrella with which to ward off the motherfucker. It was quite unrelenting and kept specifically running after her in an assaultive frenzy! Perhaps this virile, horny monkey was the manifestation of Hindu patriarchy, warning women not to enter any holy confines while ovulating. To top it off, we found out that the enormous statue in front of the caves was of Kartikeya, and Marathi women, for some reason still unbeknownst to me, are not supposed to look at that sucker.

After the caves, we enjoyed high tea at this really nice resort-type place where all the other guests were stuffy and white, and stared in horror at us as we entered for our audacity as people of color to be patrons of this colonial establishment; they couldn't relive the times to the extent they had hoped, where people of color could only exist to serve them, and where nobody would be able to talk or laugh or do anything that could seem remotely impolite, except perhaps STARE. Anyway, the tea and sandwiches and scones and other sweets were hella good.

In the evening, we checked out the mall at the bottom of the Petronas Towers and watched Date Movie. If you find inherent humor in people being fat, or having disabilities, or being black, you'll find it hilarious. SO FUCKING WITTY.

Time for pizza and Zoolander.

2006-03-17T17:25:00.000-08:00

You know what I hate? When people suggest that communities that are marginalized along different identity axes are mutually exclusive. Like today as part of Cesar Chavez Week there was this speaker talking about immigrant farmworkers and how they have formed alliances with LGBT people, and he was really cool and all, but he kept suggesting that there were the immigrants on one side and the queers on another and they managed to find commonality, as though there are not queer immigrants!!!!! Now they might not feel entirely safe either in immigrant communities or in queer communities for many reasons, not least of which are the homophobia of many immigrant communities and the racism/Eurocentrism of many queer communities -- and that might create some artificial invisibility where they try and pass as straight or have their own niche gatherings -- but that all is getting into another story. It reminds me of last year when I wanted to do a joint Fem Forum and Lambda event, and one of my co-chairs was like "OMG, but what do feminism and queer rights have to do with each other???" OMFG, aside from the fact that it is the most obvious union since misogyny and homophobia are so intertwined and we all want to transcend gender roles and heteronormativeness, how about the fact that we're supposed to be for rights of all women, including those who are queer?

Venn diagram, people. I am not a woman on one side and a person of color on another that concocts innovative strategies of being an ally to myself; I am a bloody woman of color! And y'all men of color and white women better note that both racial justice and feminism need to encompass that intersection. And women of color better encompass queer women of color and women of color with disabilities and queer working-class immigrant women of color with disabilities, ad infinitum! I have absolutely no interest in Azn pride unless we're talking the intersections of the intersections of the intersections, because I sure as hell am not looking to liberate no fucking Harold and Kumar!

don't need no sleeping pills.

2006-03-13T17:29:00.000-08:00

I recently acquired 27 fucking Bar review CD's from PMBR, and I thought that since I have trouble sleeping at night, I might as well just lie in bed and listen to them. Since it's several months before the exam and I have yet to put myself through two gruelling courses, there is relatively low pressure to absorb the material effectively from the CD's at this point. I could just lie there and subconsciously soak in bits and pieces here and there as I please. But lo and behold, for the past two nights, the monotony of these southern law professors going on and on about the parol evidence rule and all kinds of other bullshit has had me zonked out within about twenty minutes!

2006-03-07T17:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I went to an interesting film and discussion regarding some Hindu nationalists' agenda to dictate how Indian history is presented in California textbooks. The gist of it is that they want to deny the Aryan Invasion Theory, and portray Hinduism as one unified, perfect religion that was indigenous to the land -- thereby suggesting that Muslims and Christians were foreign invaders that upset this egalitarian utopia.

Obviously, these nationalists want to incite global pride in what they perceive as their spotless ancient civilization and moreover scapegoat religious minorities for all the country's ills. The history they hope to write is patently false and misleading; the caste system was not merely descriptive, as they claim, but hierarchical and discriminatory. There was no gender equality. And whether Hinduism was fostered from within or outside of the land, there is ample evidence to support the existence of civilization preceding it, and moreover, there have always been so many diverse local traditions and ways of practicing "Hinduism" that it doesn't even make sense to suggest it was ever one religion. In fact, it's even odd to force one "Indian" identity, because our clothing, foods, languages, and customs span more diversity than Europe. (Although, thanks and no thanks to globalization and Bollywood, that gap is slowly closing. ;()

But all that said -- and with emphasizing the need not to romanticize the Hindus and/or "Aryans" as the pure, original ones and construct "The Other" against which to pit them -- I am equally skeptical of the agenda that could be fueling some groups' and individuals' support for the AIT, and not entirely appeased by this explanation of why endorsing AIT does not have possible racist implications --

But, how does the place of origin of Aryans provide *any* superiority to *any* race? It does so, *only* if the lens through which you are looking at history has already been distorted by Hindutva�if you believe that peoples who can trace their geneology all the way to India have somehow more claims to its citizenship, than others whose geneologies can be traced to areas outside the current-political boundaries.

Well, the whole citizenship/entitlement angle is certainly not the type of lens through which I have any interest in looking. However, I could see lots of fucked up people including the historians from which most of the evidence stems having fucked up reasons to advocate the notion that Sanskrit, Vedic philosophy and medicine, and the whole deal resulted from whitey intervention. The necessity of white people for these developments feeds into a white supremacist agenda pretty nicely, and, after all, they take pride in colonizing and suppressing the inferior others, so those aspects could also be strapped on with pride. I mean, I think Sanskrit and Vedic astrology and the Hindu epic myths and Kalidasa are pretty dope, and I'd like to give my peeps a fair shot at having birthed them. Of course, I'd also have to and do accept that my peeps -- I am of an "upper caste" after all -- were assholes in countless, reprehensible ways.

So my question is, why does it have to be an either/or? Either we accept that Hinduism came from white people, OR we allow the rationalization of Hindu nationalism and minority oppression? Isn't it possible that it came from within in various bits and pieces but was blown into this hegemonic and hierarchical monstrosity that we should look at critically, not least because Islam, Buddhism, and Christianity have very ancient historical ties with the land as well? If we really and truly and sincerely believe that the AIT is true and legit, that is one thing, but sometimes I get the feeling we are categorically embracing it just to avoid rationalizing Hindu nationalism, and that irritates me because it mirrors what the nationalists are doing, which is categorically denying it in order to suggest a position that is not a necessary or rational conclusion. We should be able to evaluate the historical merits of the theory alongside a criticism of the way its advocates and opponents alike deploy it to further their agendas. Hrmph.

Anyway, I'm gonna read this by Romila Thapar later tonight instead of thinking more out of my ass.

i'll taco while you talk-o

2006-02-25T17:31:00.000-08:00

This one afternoon last semester, I had ordered a fish taco and was sitting by myself contently surfing the 'net at Dos Coyotes when this dude from my class and his 2L girlfriend walked by and sat down at a neighboring table. He then came over and said hello, and said that I was welcome to join his table, unless I had work to do. Not knowing how to rebuff this friendly gesture, seeing as I was clearly doing nothing to advance my academic career or the common good, I mumbled an acceptance of his offer and relocated to the table.

As the minutes passed, I was mortified to see that about eight other law students joined, none of whom I had any intention of befriending. Not that they're not perfectly nice people in their own right.

As the conversation progressed, people in the group started reminiscing on how popular they had been in high school, and then repenting the mean things they had done to less popular people. I could not on any level identify with being popular -- having descended from the wrong continent for such an aspiration even to have resounded my radar, for one -- but the discussion nonetheless allowed me to introspect on two matters: 1) Even with my abysmally inferior social status, I had found ways to be a pretty big asshole, and I wonder if some of the people with whom I've since lost contact still remember and resent me for it; and 2) A ton of people had been assholes to me, and I wonder if they, like these ex-populars, ever recall and bemoan their past behavior.

One incident in particular stands out from junior high, actually. I used to wait for my mom to pick me up after school, and this girl named Katie Gravestone (close enough) who bore a startling resemblance to "The Brain" was waiting in the same area and asked to play my clarinet. I didn't want to let her, since I didn't look too fondly upon the idea of her salivating on my instrument, but being a world-class pushover, I handed it right over. She attempted to play it, minus the reed. Someone else soon joined the vicinity and asked her why she wasn't applying the reed, and she loudly and matter-of-factly declared, "She could have AIDS, for all I know!" I said nothing in my defense, oddly gratified that the perception of me as a foreign, diseased creature had prevented this filthy ignorant bitch from tonguing my precious reed.

Flashing forward again to Dos Coyotes, the conversation then steered to people revealing things about themselves that others might find surprising. One person had been in her high school marching band, and another had been a cheerleader, which was somehow supposed to be surprising. Then they asked me what I could say about myself that would be surprising, and I said that I did not know what would be surprising, since I did not know what would be unsurprising. They agreed that it would be a hard question to answer since they had just met me, so I was let off the hook. But really, sometimes I wonder what impression I could possibly give off, such that anything about my uneventful ass would serve as a shocker. These are some observations my colleagues may have made:

I am brown.
I rarely talk.
I rarely smile.

From these data, I suppose it would be reasonable to conclude that I am a good speller. Since this is generally true, I really have no surprises to offer.

2006-02-21T13:45:00.000-08:00

I am not generally prone to road rage -- my dad usurps the family quota on that one -- but today was a different story. I woke up to a heavy period, had a cold, unsatisfying shower, and was running late to class. And ahead of me, starting at the intersection of 1st & A and going up until the parking lot, was this elderly man driving a truck, at ten miles per hour. I couldn't even overtake the old codger because there was oncoming traffic the whole windy way. So furious was I with this man that for a moment, I considered sacrificing my own vehicle and life so that I could destroy his.

After all that, it turned out that class had been cancelled. I didn't know because I do not check my Geckomail!!! As Cyn has been recommending for ages, I will finally have it forwarded to my Gmail.

2006-02-21T01:11:00.000-08:00

Ever since Sammar introduced me to Pacman on the WWW (ebaumsworld.com/pacman.html), I have not been able to stop playing. I am obsessed with prolonging Pacman's life and consuming more and more pellets on his behalf. I can't sleep at night because I am concocting inventive strategies to maximize Pacman's fruit and pellet intake while circumventing the ghosts.

Now I've come to a realization of why I am so thoroughly invested in Pacman's destiny. I AM Pacman! I am round and scared of ghosts, and all I want is to be left alone so I can eat. And while I have no particular interest in confrontation, God help anyone who comes and tries to interfere with any of my distinguished pursuits -- I will eat them alive at their weakest moment!

On to the next round.

Talking Ads

2006-02-21T00:54:00.000-08:00

OMG, I was just minding my own business and surfing sites on Don Megha's computer, and all of a sudden, this stupid smiley in the banner ad screams out, "SAY SOMETHING!!" OMG, could anything be more alarming or irritating than that?? That is NOT going to make me more likely to click on the ad; it will just make me jump and close the fucking window. Why would an advertiser think it's smart??? I mean, think about it. If i have my volume on at this hour, chances are I'm listening to music or watching porn, and I do not want sound interference! And if I don't already have something on involving sound, then i'm totally going to be caught off guard by this fucking talking smiley, and not in a good way, especially if it's the middle of the night and I'm by myself somewhere. It's fucking scary, you dipshits! Someone should sue them for Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress.

2006-02-15T00:50:00.000-08:00

Oh meng. I was on call in Trust Wills today, and it was BAD. Bad, bad, bad, ohmygawd, SO bad.

I had woken up hung over and read the assignment this morning, too, but I stupidly ASS-umed that I would only be responsible for that portion, and not for the "review" when she usually calls on non-on-call people. She had done adequate review to answer the problem she asked me about, too, but was I paying attention to the review or the question she asked? No, because I was browsing Friendster! And so at first I gave very curt one-word responses, all of which were wrong, and then eventually resolved to engage in the most exemplary show of Civil Disobedience and decline to say anything whatsoever! Because I was so incompetently silent for long stretches of time, we didn't even get to today's assignment!

Oh well. :)

Burnt Chai

2006-02-13T22:48:00.000-08:00

This is one of my most provocative unintentional art projects to date.

Who killed the critters?

2006-02-06T16:00:00.000-08:00

When I returned to my apartment after a weekend in the Bay, I started at the sight of various winged varmints lying in their deathly glory on my bathroom floor and in the tub. I had just cleaned the bathroom a few days prior!

It was horrifying enough that these cretins had found their way in, but what could have been the cause of their simultaneous moribund condition? The temperature is in no way extreme, and they had plenty of light and air.

Is there some toxin that annihilated them and is now slowly eating away at my innards?

Or was it the lingering stench of my feces that slaughtered their ambition to live?

Rude, uncivilized bastards!

2006-02-02T16:04:00.000-08:00

That's what all law students are!

OK, fine, I'm only sitting in this meeting about careers in patent law because I wanted the free pizza. Fine, I'm sitting in the back of the room typing away on Xanga.

But most of the people in this room actually are going to practice patent law and start out making more than $125K per year and actually are gaining some valuable information in that pursuit by attending this talk -- and why do they act like they've starved hurricane evacuees when the pizza arrives?! You should have seen how they just stomped up and someone practically broke my foot, and they greedily hoarded two or three slices each when the slices were quite large but limited in number, compared to the number of people in the room?!

Can you imagine how these sons and daughters of bitchez would act if they actually were starved after a hurricane?

Greedy ass motherfuckers.

Another thing that doesn't suit me.

2006-01-31T16:05:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about how silly it is that people dress up for things. Sometimes it's fun to dress up, and sometimes it makes you feel good and fresh, and sometimes you attract attention. I can understand that. Sometimes you are at a place where you are celebrating or mourning something, and you want to demonstrate your emotional solidarity to the situation by dressing accordingly. I can kind of understand that too.

But I cannot understand having to dress up in order to substantiate your credibility. Like, dressing up for a job interview, or while at the goddamn job itself. Maybe you should look clean and not too distracting, fine. But why have jackasses constructed this whole separate arena of "professional" attire, and if you don't wear it, you're "unprofessional"? Everyone knows that nobody pops out of the womb in a three-piece suit ; at the same time, everyone knows that anyone who can afford one can wear one and look just like any other capitalist bastard. I think that most people are probably smart enough to realize this, but they feel stuck. It's like, even if they know that dressing less stuffily won't in fact make them any less competent to work, they're not sure if other people will know that. Companies aren't sure if their partners and clients will know that, and they worry that even if their partners and clients do know it, they might still on a subliminal level be drawn to companies where people look more stuffy and hide natural things about them that people might subliminally or not-so-subliminally perceive as "unprofessional."

Why doesn't everyone just collude and put an end to this nonsense? I guess that would be silly. We need to think much bigger than affordable housing, a clean environment, and universal health care. These clothes and grooming mechanisms can cost a lot of money, and hence are really good for the economy! And you're working precisely so you can afford them, after all.

Milestone

2006-01-22T16:10:00.000-08:00

Being a Desi and a feminist on top of that, it's amazing that this didn't happen before, but now I finally and unmistakably have a mustache! Hair is denying any added presence to my lonesome scalp, but is sprouting up quite generously above my lips. Pics to come, because now I also have a nice gold nosering to give that whole region some added flair.

I haven't worn a tampon in a long time, but tonight I'm going to WORK OUT IN A TAMPON for the first time. Mustache + tampon. Am I a real woman now, or what?

2006-01-20T16:30:00.000-08:00

As my sister had observed, people of color are quite the novelty in Larkspur, which is where I lunched it up with my mom today. After we were seated, our server thanked us for coming. Then she asked if we had been to the restaurant before, and we said yes. Then she asked if we were coming for some special occasion. Then when she returned the credit card voucher she asked, "Is it pronounced Leena?" and said I was the first Leena she had met.

What gracious hosts this country has!!! It almost feels like home.

Gastric Fumes

2006-01-12T16:31:00.000-08:00

Last night for dinner, I ate this. The entire freakin' pound. Packaged within five taco shells. (Actually it wasn't burger style crumbles, just regular ones whatever that means, but I couldn't find a proper pic.)

I originally intended to eat two, maybe three. But I ate so quickly that there was no time to digest or understand the extent to which I was satiated. So I opted for a fourth. I actually got full halfway through it, but I can't waste food.

Then I looked at the pan, and there were just a few crumbles left. I looked at the box of taco shells, and there was just one left. I thought, "Who wants to deal with storing leftovers? Plus, I'm going out to eat tomorrow, and then home to the Bay for the weekend. It's meant to be."

So I consumed it. And shat two times almost immediately after.

My plan today is to alternate green tea with bathroom for the next three hours. Because I'm going to the Sac Cheesecake Factory for dinner, and I plan to feast like a motherfucker.

2006-01-10T01:06:00.000-08:00

It takes me such an unreasonable amount of time to fall asleep, even when i'm perfectly tired! Like how long is it supposed to take? Maybe up to half an hour? And fewer than ten minutes if you're actually tired? But i've been trying for over 90 minutes, I believe!

And then I'll have thoughts like, "I really hope I don't have to piss, because then I'll have to get up and then any possibility of sleep will be eradicated." And then because I'll have that thought, I'll IMMEDIATELY have to piss four gallons!

I know, whine whine whine, cry me a river!

OK, I'm going back to bed.

My Belly Goes Mmm

2006-01-04T16:34:00.000-08:00

I had so much good food today, starting with breakfast at the drunken bateau and then a pot of Darjeeling tea and then yummy Naan N' Curry. All this gluttony has augmented the anguish of my mother, who can't seem to bear seeing me sit here contentedly fat and single as our family friends slowly get paired off with some highly educated chump or other. Whoever said money can't buy love is but a silly oaf, because from what I hear, allocating a good sum of one's disposable income away from feasting and into beautifying expenditures certifies a woman as a suitable commodity to be loved and cherished, just like a sparkling brand new luxury car. And like apples at the top of the tree!

I had no idea what these "black heads" were that my mom was so concerned about, so I had to look it up on Wikipedia. Damn those horny epidermis cells! My mom was stunned by my ignorance and asked what planet I had been living on. I don't know, but apparently not Venus! And certainly not Mars.

I'm telling mom the only sensible solution now until I get my ogre self into tip-top shape is to send off my bio-data, talking up my "child-bearing hips" and "wheatish complexion," along with photographs put through this process.

Bills bills bills

2005-12-28T16:38:00.000-08:00

My Macy's statements for the past several months have shown a credit for $9.02. You'd think that instead of billing me for money that they owe me, the shitheads would just send me a check. Or you'd think that my ass would call them up and ask them to send one, or use my Macy's account when I shop there. Instead, I'm thinking maybe I'll send in a check for -$9.02.

Vhoops

2005-12-23T16:41:00.000-08:00

I practically yelled at someone on the SBC customer service line today, for the first time. Normally I am very polite no matter how incompetent service from the company has been, because it can't be pegged to the person doing the phone shit. And I've been that person.

But today I was furious when I got another bill reminder to pay $50+, which I figured had to be wrong even if I had missed a month or two of payment, since I am on cheap-ass $5 flat rate. I figured that amount must have been for the "repair" from months ago that was mistakenly charged to me, and for which I had to call on, like, six different occasions and waste 20 minutes each time.

But I had forgotten that the last time, the person had mentioned an option to combine my SBC and Cingular bills, and I had elected that option. You save $3 a month by doing this, and now I recall gloating after I got off the phone and thinking I was some big-time hustler.

The woman on the line very sweetly wished me a Merry Christmas after explaining the bill, which is exactly what I would have done. Bitch.

The Politics of Curly Hair

2005-11-13T01:10:00.000-08:00

Black women's hair is political. How amusing that this would be a newsflash to many people, and something they'd never thought about before. It's kind of how I feel when people have grand epiphanies like, "Race is not just a white and black issue!" or "People in places other than Europe have histories too!"

My hair is political too. I know that if I had straight hair, I would be looked at and treated very, very, veryveryvery differently. I read a study once that said Americans tend to associate dark, curly hair with stupidity and a lack of discipline. Gee, I wonder why! Who tends to have dark, curly hair? My hair goes against the dark and straight norm of the model minority (holy shit, that article needs to be fixed up), and it throws off many a subliminally racist motherfucker.

Every good woman of Bollywood has straight hair. She might adapt Shirley temple curls for a song or two, but curly, dark hair is reserved for the vixens, nymphomaniacs, item numbers, and "schizophrenics." Interestingly, Bollywood associates dark, curly hair with western debauchery, while many Americans associate dark, curly hair more specifically with urban debauchery. It's interesting that first-generation South Asians that I meet here -- men and women -- tend to have more positive fascination with my hair, while second-generation men straight up turn the other way and lust for the ultra-typical Bollywood look, if not just an actual white girl. Is it because of the respective debaucheries that curly hair connotates to each of those groups?

2005-11-11T01:16:00.000-08:00

I fucking HATE it when people say "Excuse me" in a demanding, irritated manner when nobody is even in their way! Just now, I was getting a napkin at the counter and this dumb-ass girl holding her pretentious drink shrieked, "Excuse me," while scowlingly treading past me.

Bitch, there's a goddamn yard between us, and you weigh five pounds! Even my monumental, claustrophobic ass would have comfortably slid by without thinking twice. Next time, please spare me the shrill cacophany that otherwise accompanies your transit.

Abercrappy

2005-11-08T01:17:00.000-08:00

These? What are "these"? Gratuitous dollars in disposable income to squander on Abercrombie & Fitch?

More odious designs here. At least, I'm too pretty to wear them.

Ooh ooh, but maybe one day I'll wake up and realize my ancestors didn't hail from the Global South after all! What a relief that day will be.

Oh but they did get their asses kicked.

My Day In Haikus

2005-11-07T14:13:00.000-08:00

Alarm clock not set
E-Commerce missed yet again
I am a loser

Can't skip a shower
Or fail to wear eyeliner
Rush to make Fed Tax

Park at a meter
A dollar spent just to blog
And then a ticket

Sitting at Roma
With hot chocolate and the flies
I reflect on this

Garam Masala Not So Hot

2005-11-06T00:14:00.000-08:00

Just got back from seeing Garam Masala at Naz. It was essentially the same thing as No Entry, but far more irritating. Actually, I'm not sure whom I'd kick harder in the balls between Anil Kapoor and Akshay Kumar. But I certainly didn't mind looking at John, just as I didn't mind looking at Bipasha in No Entry.

I think I'm mostly irritated because philandering ugly men are so acceptable and comical to a conservative Desi audience, whereas movies about women having "affairs" are invariably classified as "adult" and get made a huge hullabaloo over. They are never comedies, but dramas/murder mysteries, where the woman gets into a serious dilemma and ends up having to make a massive sacrifice to prove herself worthy of reestablishing her wifely post. And these "affairs" involve the women's past lovers and/or stalkers basically coercing them into sexual relationships, while the women are visibly quivering and vulnerable and uncertain in the initial rendezvous, but ultimately succumb because they are so afraid and lonely. What kind of "affair" doesn't even involve any fun or volition?! Yet of course, they must be totally graphic to arouse the male viewer and reinforce the masochistic nature of female sexuality. (Examples: Murder, pictured above; Tum, in which she is passed out from alcohol and doesn't even know she is having "sex," which in my dictionary is called rape. The fact that they show this scene quite graphically and imply that it's an "affair" for which she must pay recourse is very, very, very troubling.)

The movies where men have affairs are totally different, aside from the gratuitous female objectification, which occurs across the board either in bed or on the beach; in these, the men having the affairs are the willing aggressors, naturally. And the salwar-kameez-clad wives take them back even though they have wisely been attune to the husband's deceptive activities all along. After all, you must unconditionally accept your husband even after he has more likely than not obtained all sorts of infectious diseases from his wanton whoring and possibly knocked up a few other chicks. Great going with the safe sex education there! Oh, but I forgot: sex can only result in disease or unwanted pregnancy if it's pre-marital. Silly me.

Why do audiences get so delighted and humored by the idea of men obtaining sex from multiple women by fooling them into thinking they have monogamous relationships? It's not just Bollywood; look at the recent Wedding Crashers and how their fun clearly wasn't just about having lots of sex, but about manipulating multiple women into having sex by making them think there was romantic potential. Are you not aware that there are plenty of women who would be interested in sex just for the sake of pleasure? After all, we're the ones with the clit?! I think it's mostly self-flattery to the typical hetero male, who wants to be desired wholly by an ostensibly brainless wallflower, rather than regarded indifferently as one among many cunnilingus service providers by an intelligent human being. Society likes to pigeonhole "promiscuous" women as insecure people who use sex for validation, as if, even if true, that would be worse than the Maxim-reading, Man Show-watching loser who wants the feeling of emotional and sexual conquest in order to secure any sense of self-worth. Hah!

A random observation: in this movie as well as No Entry, there were actually a few non-Desi women of color along with the usual blondes in the beach scenes. They actually objectified dark-skinned women. I guess that's progress in some of fucked up way.

The MPRE

2005-11-04T16:15:00.000-08:00

That test was one of the most irritating, crappily worded things I've ever seen in my life. I don't know how so many people finished so early into it, when I was on like number 25 out of 60. They gave us a full two hours and five minutes to finish it, and I was in there up until fifteen minutes before the deadline, and then just decided to fuck it and fill in random bubbles for the last 15 questions.

I had been somewhat confident for the past couple of days since I heard you only need to get like 60% of the questions correct to pass, but now I see how truly groundless that confidence was. I had only taken one full practice test in preparation -- untimed -- and checked my results after every four questions. With each successive batch, my success rate remained at a constant, remarkably low rate.

But even those practice questions could never have prepared me for the abomination that was the actual MPRE. The questions were unreasonably lengthy, and all the names were fucking "Able" and "Baker," or "Alpha," "Beta," and "Gamma," or "Plaint" and "Deft," which made me the most murderous. The fact patterns were way too long and rambling, and the answer choices couldn't just simply be "Yes, because..." or "No, because..."; they also had to involve "Yes, but only if..." or "No, unless..." which in effect negated the whole yes/no distinction! Oh, and I caught a typo, too; there was one question that consistently employed "Able" and "Baker," but at the end of the question they randomly threw in a mention of "Beta" when they meant to say "Baker." Careless oafs!!

My only consolation while taking the exam was the seemingly low 60% passing figure, which I consistently kept planted in the forefront of my mind. After question #24, I thought, "OK, Leena, you've taken your 40% of freebies; now focus." Every few questions, I calculated what percentage of the test had been completed, and then computed the prorated figure of how many I could have gotten away with missing to that point. "OK, I am now 26.7% done, and it's even OK if I missed 10.6 questions!" If anything, the experience solidified my algebraic skills. :P

I am not looking forward to taking this again in March. ;(

Leftist Men

2005-11-02T20:18:00.000-08:00

There is a gathering of male leftists (Greens) at a neighboring table. They seem to think they are incredibly revolutionary. They are talking about some political event they are planning, and discussing options for various (male and mostly white) speakers that might be able to grace it.

In the midst of a conversational break, they just joked admiringly about how one of the guys in the group -- looks to be about forty -- is dating an eighteen-year-old "girl."

*Scoff*

Update: Oh holy fuck, did they just read my mind/blog? One just said, gingerly, "I think it would be nice if we had a... female... Green... speak. 'Cause you know, they're always male." Maybe they just happened to look my way and were reminded of the existence of females, outside of a humping context. Now they're discussing how this one is "fairly new," that one they haven't seen speak, etc.

"We want someone who's dynamic. Somebody that grabs your attention," one guy just clarified.

Then they abandoned the brainstorming of female potentials.

Riiight.

I'm not saying I embody those principles to the best of my ability, but at least I'm aware of that and able to call out my privilege and keep my eyes open as to who is and isn't represented, for whatever that's worth.

PIZZA

2005-10-29T14:20:00.000-07:00

I don't think the average person could begin to understand the extent to which pizza pleases me. I love the stuffed crust of Woodstock's, the thin crust of New York, the Desi tinge of Zante's, and the incomparably fresh and delicious toppings of Cheeseboard.

I even love your average Pizza Hut, Round Table, or Pizza Guys. In fact, the moment that I acquire my two slices of Pizza Guys or Cenario's and return to my seat after subjecting myself to a long and arduous queue in the Moot Court Room, I think, "This is heaven." Nothing within the walls of the law school makes me more happy than the lunchtime talks. All I want is to be informed, challenged, and fed.

Wow, I should put that on my resume.

2005-10-27T14:21:00.000-07:00

Ouch, my feet hurt. I am so not used to wearing heels. Why are so many women's fashions and grooming standards so inherently abusive to our bodies? Urgh!

Tonight I sucked it up and supported the hefty weight of my body on the pictured five-inch toothpicks for the special occasion of receiving a scholarship from the women's section of the local bar association, in the generous amount of 5 G's. This is a good thing, because I hadn't accepted the full amount of the loans that were offered to me -- for fear of having to pay them back -- and consequently I would have gone flat broke in about the middle of November without the extra help.

A small chunk of that money came out tonight itself, since they charged $65 per guest, and my whole family came. But that's OK, because when unnecessary amount of effort appears to have been exerted in sculpting the butter, you know you're having a good meal.

On the ride back, my parents spent the whole time lecturing me on how it was great that I had done some stuff to merit said money and recognition, but I shouldn't "waste" my "brilliance" on a low-paying career in women's human rights.

Born Into Brothels

2005-10-24T14:23:00.000-07:00

I just saw (most of) Born Into Brothels. I have immigration stuff to do, so I really must not get carried away with the potentially gargantuan commentary that is churning in my head. However, I will say that overall, I appreciated the film for giving subjectivity to the children. I did go back and read some of the criticisms that had been flying around, and some of them actually pissed me off. I think sometimes activists let identity politics get in the way of humanitarian work. So what if she was a white woman appearing to try to "save" brown children? Yes, there are many areas of portrayal in which she needs to be sensitive, and her conclusions are certainly questionable, but I also saw that she was treating these children like human beings, and trying to do something positive for them. It is one thing to evaluate and critique the means by which the task is undertaken, but why complain at the fact that someone with privilege is trying to exercise it positively? It seems like some of the criticisms were implying that people of the "west" should just butt out altogether, but that's a situation where under revolutionary ivory-tower supervision, you're damned if you do, and damned if you don't (isn't it we who otherwise criticize Eurocentrism in discussions of human rights?). When it comes to identity politics vs. social service, I also think there was some whit of cred to the theorizing of one dead white men named Maslow. In the larger scheme of things, social and economic justice clearly must be strived for rather than "saving" people, but short-term needs also must be pragmatically accounted for.

That is NOT to say there are not other people, including locals, who have their interests at heart also, and it's a problem that she skipped over any discussion of them. And it's certainly not to say she did a good job of representing the sex workers themselves. They have very little involvement in the film other than being shown as abusive, alcoholic monsters. Hence, supposedly the need to remove these children from their homes and send them to boarding school. I really don't have enough information to say what is too paternalistic and what is really in the children's best interest (It's easy for me to argue that the children should stay in the community, but would I ever send any child I know to live there? What if a sex worker's child wants something different than the parents? Whose decision should be given more deference? Who knows.), but I am glad that something was created that could raise these questions and invite dialogue on a population that is quite hidden from many parts of the world.

I thought this was a pretty fair commentary. I shall paste the most pertinent sections:

Frontline's investigation into some of the claims made by Briski has shown that key elements of the Born Into Brothels story are questionable on points of fact. Whereas Briski suggests that the children received little or no education before her efforts to have them admitted to boarding schools, Frontline found that all of them were going to school when the documentary was made. While the children involved in Briski's project were delighted with the creative opportunities and the sense of purpose she had given them, it was clear she was far from being a solitary saint among the wretched of Kolkata. Several non-governmental organisations provided a welter of services that had significantly ameliorated the horrific conditions of organised sex trade in Kolkata, in comparison with other major urban centres in South Asia.

Frontline's investigation adds to a small but growing feeling of disquiet provoked by the film. Partha Banerjee, a New York resident closely associated with the making of the film, has, for example, pointed to the exploitative character of the enterprise and asserted that the children it represented were worse off after the documentary was made. It is hard to know what the children themselves would make of the film. Briski has said that the film will not be screened in India, a decision she claimed was meant to protect the privacy of her subjects. She was quoted by the news portal rediff.com as saying this was because "she had promised to protect the identities of the prostitutes from police and politicians" - a specious claim, since those allegedly dangerous police and politicians would have no trouble purchasing the DVD version, due shortly for release, or, indeed, in watching it at film festivals in India, where it will be screened. Sonagachi, though, is not Briski's cause - and that is just the beginning of the problems posed by Born Into Brothels.

...

Watching it, audiences might never realise that there is another Sonagachi: one where sex workers have organised for their rights, won battles against police harassment, registered significant gains against Human Immunodeficiency Virus, and where there is a vibrant movement for the legalization of the profession. Kolkata is home, for example, to the Sonagachi Acquired Immune Defeciency Syndrome Project, one of the largest and most successful community-run intervention projects in the world. Set up with government assistance, the Sonagachi Project was spearheaded by Smarajit Jana, an epidemiologist who trained several sex workers to act as `peer-educators'. Soon, noted Paroma Basu in a 2002 article, "hundreds of women were refusing unprotected sex, even if their clients offered to pay more". While in 1992 a government survey showed a mere 2.7 per cent of 450 sex workers were using condoms, that figure had gone up to 69.3 per cent within two years. Only 9 per cent of Sonagachi's sex workers were HIV-positive in 2002, compared with upwards of 70 per cent in Mumbai - and that too in 1997.

By design or otherwise, Briski and Kauffman censor out the well-known story of the Sonagachi sex workers' efforts to gain democratic rights, notably the legalisation of their profession - and of their growing success in securing rights. In 1995, sex-workers in Sonagachi set up the Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee, a trade union that now has over 60,000 members across West Bengal. The Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee has fought not only for decriminalisation, but also for the right to negotiate wages and working conditions. It has had considerable success in mitigating the rampant harassment of sex workers; Kolkata, where Briski so heroically overcame the police and organised crime to make her documentary, is one of the safest centres for sex workers in India.

...

Briski's variation on the theme of oriental despotism fits her audience's political prejudices. Other commentators in the United States who have researched the subject, however, came to very different conclusions about the West Bengal government's integrity. Noting that both Kerala and West Bengal had low numbers of AIDS cases among sex workers, Raney Aronson, the producer of a 2004 television documentary, said that while "whether this has to do directly with a communist-led government is the big question, I think it might".

PERHAPS the most disturbing aspect of the film is its advocacy of removal: the contention, as Briski and Kauffman put it, is that as long as the children remain in Sonagachi, "these kids have little possibility of escaping their mother's fate or for creating another type of life". It is here that Briski's silence on the struggle of Sonagachi sex workers to transform their own lives is of particular significance: it is, in her view, of no consequence. Avijit's journey to Holland for his photography award represents, in Briski's argument, one kind of redemption; boarding schools another kind. Out of their mothers' homes, out of their rotting tenements, out of Sonagachi, out of Kolkata, and out of India, the argument goes, the children of the brothels may find freedom and fulfilment. The notion resonates powerfully with received middle-class wisdom on class, caste and criminality.
...

South Asia has its own forms of removal, sadly uncontested - one reason, perhaps, why much of the Indian media have greeted Born Into Brothels with either nationalistic and parochial ire or with undisguised reverence. Adivasi children are shunted into Hindu missionary-run schools, for example, or poor Muslim children into madrassas where they may be remade in the image of their benefactors. It is important to note that Briski is not dealing with a special group of children who need to be removed from their homes; her students are representative of all the children in the community. Any criticism directed at such charity meets, always, with the predictable response that the children are at least fed and clothed - an indisputable virtue that, nonetheless, diminishes not a whit from the real need for economic reform and wider educational access in their own communities. If Briski wanted evidence that the children of Sonagachi could beat the odds and give meaning to their lives, all she had to do was turn to Mrinal Kanti Dutta: the son of a sex worker, Dutta was a key figure in the mobilisation of the Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee. Others have made lives for themselves elsewhere: but there is space for none of this in Briski's missionary enterprise.

Pardon my shameful ignorance, but how exactly does sex work and the gendered economic conditions compelling it coincide with Communism in the first place, if it's truly Communist? I will have to look into this...

And there was the edited version of what I was going to say.

Update: I'm not done yet, with watching the movie in the first place, or giving my thoughts on it. One thing that I might just do as a separate post is the possibility of economic empowerment through art and photography, and/or the power of spreading such art with access unrestricted by copyright.

Also wanted to briefly address the imperialistic angle, since that is one disturbing inference that could be drawn in this case because the filmmaker happens to be white American. However, I don't think this particular "saving" mentality necessarily carries racial or imperialistic connotations. There are plenty of conflicts between South Asian sex workers and South Asian middle-class social workers, for example. (What to say of an effort like this? It seems well-intentioned, but is against legalization and founded on the premise that most women involved in sex work are "victims of circumstance" -- do the sex workers necessarily view it that way and all want to be "rehabilitated" though? What if some sex workers want to continue working and apply harm reduction? What if they want to apply this so they can have their daughters enter the work? Hard questions.) I'm sure the average middle class South Asian in South Asia would come to the same conclusions about wanting to remove the children. And right here in the US, there are plenty of family law cases where certain types of parents are deemed unfit, usually due to economic deprivation. I think the rift is one of class. Clearly, class is tied to race in the US, and caste in India, and clearly, on a global scale, class is tied to country. Which I guess is what makes it imperialistic, even though the motivation was probably more to save the poor and the abused -- per middle-class, including brown middle-class standards -- than save the brown, but who knows?

OK, then again, as I read more, I become less sympathetic to the film and its motivations.

In the end, the film seems more about Briski’s journey and less about the hard reality of prostitution and the effects of her interference in young lives. It tugs at the heart but leaves the head relatively untouched.Intentionally or not, Briski is the noble soul in the film, faced with the mountain of Indian bureaucracy, teaching the children photography, trying to move them to good schools, getting them tested for aids and taking them to the zoo. The film’s self-congratulatory tone thickens as it progresses through ‘Zana Aunty’s’ triumphs and travails, making us wonder who the real subject is.

And the subjectivity of the kids is the whole reason I was liking it. Blah.

Among the questions Partha Banerjee asks:

Did the producers and directors ever get permission from the sex workers to show their kids and lives to the world (including Calcutta and India) and aren’t their identities now widely exposed because of the new fame and glory and global distribution of news (for example, see big papers Anandabazar and Telegraph, Calcutta, March 1, where they’ve published names and schools of these kids)

It's kind of sad that this question was just a passing thought in my mind, but I didn't dwell on it. Americans are so anal about privacy, especially children's privacy, and want parental consent for every damn thing. Why would it not matter what the parents thought in this case? Because they are just ignorant poor brown female sex workers in a third world country? Ick.

On the other hand, while there are many valid concerns about the movie, I want to make sure that our pride and sense of ownership over our cultural representations don't get in the way of addressing and bringing exposure to important social issues, especially those confronting the most marginalized of the marginalized.

And then I'm also annoyed at why there is still little discussion in any of these critiques of why there is prostitution in the first place. People cast all responsibility on economic injustice across countries and among the genders, and ultimately on western imperialism, but isn't that just too bloody convenient? What is really driving the demand side of the market? Who are the clients, and why are they treated as incidental to the trade -- are they just mindless victims to a western imperialist patriarchy? Or are we so idiotic as to take for granted that men have a biological need to fuck, and hence the reason for the existence of rampant female prostitution shouldn't be questioned? Is it not questioned so that we don't vilify lower-income men? For, while certainly there are high-class and middle-class assholes who go to brothels, many of these men are also piss-poor. The higher-end men probably go to higher-end places than these -- the bullshit "gentlemen's clubs." Most of those men are turds, but many of the women working in such places could conceivably have other options and actually be choosing to do the work too, so matters are a little more complex. On the other hand, most of the workers in brothels are probably not people with many other options, or so society widely believes, including men who go to them. Am I supposed to sympathize with such men because of economic injustice even when they apparently have money to spend on things other than their families, and then they spread diseases to their wives? Because I really don't.

In conclusion, I have no conclusion.

Spoiled Assholes

2005-08-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

Last night, my sister and I went to Cable Car Pizza after hitting up the local Desi/hippie party known as Dhamaal. There was this young, ugly-ass corporate-looking mofo sitting at one of the tables, and his friend, who could be similarly described, was at the counter, applying parmesan cheese to his slice. There was this other dude that was going around politely asking people if they had $1.50. Eventually this guy approached ugly corporate mofo #1, who waved him off and said, "Go away, I don't have anything," before the guy even asked. "Could you spare just a little change?" Guy asked. "No, but actually my friend bought me this pizza, he's right over there," he pointed, smirking.

Guy then approached the friend. "Do you have $1.50?" "Actually, I do, but I worked for it, and I suggest you do the same," replied ugly corporate mofo #2. Then he joined the other smirking jackass and they talked loudly about how they get up five days a week to work.

Yeah, I'm sure you've really had to work. Your attitude demonstrates how much you understand the meaning of that word. It's not an easy life, getting charitable handouts from the old boys' network, sitting in an air conditioned building overlooking the city, making money out of money, getting lap dances on the company.

Your sense of entitlement sickens me, you worthless maggots.

What do I even say?

2005-08-27T22:06:00.000-07:00

These are from ads on Michelle Malkin's "Immigration Blog."

Let It Bleed

2005-08-14T19:30:00.000-07:00

One morning in fifth grade, I was just going about my usual business: brushed my teeth, pulled my pants down to pee...

"Oh my God... I shit in my pants!!!"

I was mortified by my rectal incompetence!

But wait, it didn't really look like shit; it was brown, but it had more of a soupy texture. I didn't know what to do with this, so I just took off my chaddi and presented it to my mom.
At first even she was surprised.

"You didn't get hurt, right?"

"I don't think so; I never felt anything there."

"OK, well... it looks like you got your period."

Oh. I remembered her telling me about this period thing. I would start bleeding every month because later I would have to have a baby, and I couldn't go to the temple when I had this thing, but I thought that was going to be when I was 13 or 14, not 10!

"So what do I do now??"

"Ek minute."

She went to the closet and came back with a small green package.

"This is a maxi-pad. You just tape it to your underwear so it covers the hole where you are bleeding from -- you know, that is where the baby comes from. Do you want me to tape it for you?"

I liked to think of myself as grown up enough to figure things out on my own, so I declined the offer for help and proceeded to the bathroom with my pad.

Common sense has never really been my forte, and I started wondering how I was supposed to get this thing to cover the hole where babies came from. See, I always thought babies came from lower in the stomach. At the bottom of my rolls of baby fat (which have now brazenly assumed the role of adult fat), there was this indentation, which I thought could reasonably expand into a hole if a baby needed to come out. I applied the pad horizontally as I thought it should go and wondered, who designs these things? Why was the tape only attached to the top part of the underwear? Maybe the rest of the tape was for the shirt to go over?

Well, eventually I figured out the right way to wear a pad, but there are many things about these things that I still don't get. Like, why are there so many varieties of them? You have to scan the aisle for several minutes before finding the right kind. I know this is supposed to be the great thing about capitalism -- all this competition! all these choices! -- but who would really choose the short, bulky-ass pad with no wings?!

I also don't get why we have to pay for pads in public restrooms. That may seem obvious, but think about it. We don't pay for toilet paper, right? The government doesn't want us dribbling our piss and smearing our shit everywhere, and it would be kind of ridiculous to carry around wads of toilet paper, so we have it provided in restrooms. Oh, I guess when it's a "female-specific" concern, well, women are either responsible enough or unimportant enough so they don't have to figure into any budget. Maybe that mentality could explain why so many insurance policies will cover Viagra but not birth control.

Well, fuck that! We should stand up to this bullshit. Our bleeding pussies deserve free sanitation too! We shouldn't have to carry around a pad or a tampon or a quarter everywhere we go. I think we should just... bleed. Let's just go around bleeding all over the malls, parks, schools, government buildings, and see how the mothafuckers like that! Let's let our blood gush from every mountaintop, and from sea to shining sea. That's what we have to do, ladies: just let it bleed!

The South Asian FAQ

2005-08-05T22:11:00.000-07:00

I frequently get asked many, many questions on account of not being white. This by no means comprehensively addresses the bewilderment that some people express at my degree of pigment, but it does answer some of the more commonly asked questions about my exotic heritage.

1. Where are you from?

The Bay Area.

2. No, like where are you originally from?

The Bay Area.

If you are really trying to discover why I am brown, a better phrasing would be "What is your ethnicity?"

3. When did you come here?

I came out of the womb on the 16th day of the tenth moon in 1980.

4. Do you speak Hindu?

No. Hindu is not a language, just like Christian, Muslim, and Jewish are not languages. Hindi is a language, and I speak it, but not everybody in South Asia does.

5. Are you vegetarian?

I'm a bad vegetarian. I eat seafood, and soups with meat broths, and meat curries/gravies, and many a tasty thing made with animal fat. So basically, I'm not vegetarian, but I don't like tasting chunks of meat. My distaste is not culturally or religiously inspired, though many South Asians do observe dietary restrictions that are influenced by religion, region, or even caste.

6. Are you going to get an arranged marriage?

Probably not. Though, there isn't really one uniform meaning to "arranged marriage." It just means your parents or some elders from the community have been involved in introducing you to the person. It could be as informal as them just giving you the person's contact information and then butting out, or keeping informed about the dating progress, or more heavily regulating and lining up prospective candidates and expecting a prompt decision. Some people are super-traditional/old-school and there could be problems with this, i.e. there have been incidents of forced arranged marriage, and many people in the community view this as a form of family abuse and provide services to help victims.

7. Do you have to marry someone from your caste?

No. Which is not to say my parents would not be delighted if I did, but they are not hell-bent on any particular caste, region, or country. They view it more as a cultural affiliation than a hierarchy per se, although caste is also often tied to class (similar to race in this country), so there is that embedded dynamic. Although the caste system is bullshit, there is a need to retain classifications to mend its effects, again similar to race in this community. People who have been labeled "untouchables" or "backward caste" have transformed caste into a platform for empowerment and solidarity.

8. Why do women wear that red dot?

Because it goes well with a lot of fashions. And it's not always red. Traditionally, women would wear a red dot to signify that they were married, but nobody that you are likely to see will wear it in this manner.

9. Do you know a guy named Raj from Texas?

I know about twelve.

There are more than a billion South Asians around the world, so there is no reason for anyone to think that one would know another. Although, I do end up knowing just about all of them through one or two degrees.

10. Are your parents really conservative?

No. That's a relative concept, of course, but compared to most people in this country, they are definitely not politically conservative. They have been protective with the kids, more so with my older sister than with me, but they are not that old-school.

11. Is your dad a software engineer?

No. He is an engineer though (structural). While many South Asians in this country are of "professional" occupations because of the asshole immigration laws that would only let those people in for many years, there is also a very large working class. Elite bastards wish to deny this and halt the cab driver stereotype, but we do in fact have the same issues and struggles as many other communities of color in this country.

12. Aren't all South Asian men really traditional and possessive?

Some are. There are backward dicks all over the world, eh? Personally, although I would marry neither and hate both, I would rather kick it with a slightly traditional dude than a Howard Stern.

13. Aren't you really old to be South Asian and not married?

According to many people in the community, yes. Norms are definitely shifting though. Among the middle-class South Asian American peeps I know, there are many people well into their thirties and not married. And many gay and out people of a range of ages, who won't be able to get married in most places for a long while.

14. Do you hate Pakistani people?

No. Some dipshit Indians would answer in the positive, and I hate them.

15. Have you seen Monsoon Wedding?

Yes, I loved it! You don't always have to use such culturally sensitive ice-breakers though. I don't tend to mind, but some people would.

16. Did you hear about that South Asian person that just [achieved something extraordinary and/or killed someone]?

No, and unless you know me and know that I am an avid stalker of the subcontinent and her diaspora, it's kind of lame for you to ask me this.

17. Do you wear colored contact lenses?

No. South Asia is a diverse place a range of climates and a history of random migration and colonization, so for whatever reason, some people have eye/skin/hair colors and hair textures that don't look the way you'd expect. Of course, our media-induced beauty ideal is white, so some people would be inclined to getting such things.

18. What tribe are you from?

Wrong people, Columbus.

Though there may be some adivasi "tribes" in the homeland. I'm pretty ignorant of how they identify...

19. Do you eat a lot of curry?

Totally. By the way, "curry" is a generic term, meaning any type of gravy.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

2005-07-23T22:17:00.000-07:00

Just saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I love fine-ass Johnny, especially now that he looks way androgynous. But some things about the movie were so fucking wrong, HAH!

(Spoilers ahead.) So, basically the story revolves around this little kid, Charlie, whom we are supposed to perceive as the little underdog 'cause he's poor and shit. His grandfather used to work in Willy Wonka's world-renowned chocolate factory (WW even made a chocolate castle for Prince Pondicherry and his wife, who are in brown-face makeup even though they are Indian!), but the factory had to shut down after employees misappropriated WW's trade secrets.

Well now the factory is somehow back up, and WW has a contest to allow five kids, each accompanied by a guardian, to enter his factory, based on who gets the "gold tickets" that are placed in the candy bars at random. We see some class analysis during this contest; obviously, privileged little shits have a better chance at winning, since they can afford to buy more candy. One of the fathers of a spoiled lil' bitch makes the women in his sweatshop unwrap a bunch of candy bars for several days, until a ticket is found.

Anyway, so eventually, once we get into the factory, we find out how WW has managed to keep the factory running efficiently and without the risk of someone stealing his trade secret: Oompa Loompas. Apparently, in the original story, they were supposed to be African pygmies, but I guess American consciousness has somehow risen to a level where we'd perceive that visual as somewhat fucked up.

Instead, the Oompa Loompa has tribal/indigenous clothing, habitat, and customs in the introductory scene, resembling the stereotype we have of Native Americans. He is played by an Indian (as in red dot) actor, though, 'cause who can tell one Indian from another, anyway? This might be a matter of excitement for people of color in Hollywood, that there is opportunity for so many brown people to act as Oompa Loompas, but instead, the same actor plays ALL of them, because as I said, who can tell one Indian from another, anyway? ;P Oh, and the actor, Deep Roy, is a real-life dwarf. But that's not enough; they made him even more microscopic, by camera trick. That's probably done just in case you hand any doubts that these Oompa Loompas are... well, basically sub-human. The People of the Ethical Treatment of Animals should have no complaint with this movie, because WW does not test on animals; he tests on Oompa Loompas!! They're also his home-grown entertainers, busting out in song and dance every time a fat kid or a girl loses the contest!

So how did WW come across these strange beings? He happened to travel to some strange forest in search of new flavors for his chocolate, since raw materials of the third world are, of course, in the public domain. Unfortunately, he found that these primitive Oompa Loompas only had caterpillars to eat, though what they really craved were cocoa beans. WW conveniently offered them all the cocoa beans they wanted if they came to be his factory labor, and they graciously accepted, since we know that places where dark-skinned people live have such a dearth of flavorful spices, teas, herbs, and plants, including cacao. Well, gee, how Pareto efficient!

So in the end we find out WW invited these kids and had this contest to find an heir to his factory. 'Cause there's no way these little brown sub-humans who have been tending it all these years could even be considered for that role.

You better not bomb, I'm telling you why...

2005-07-21T10:57:00.000-07:00

A few minutes after Rach and I plunked down on BART and I deliriously locked my vision into the floor of the decrepit train, Rach disrupted my trance with the disgusted proclamation: "Is that Santa Claus guy staring at us?!"

"Who?" I questioned deliriously.

"Him," Rach responded, pointing her knuckles in the direction of this old dude with a long, white beard, sitting at an angle diagonal to us but out of earshot.

I burst out laughing upon the sight of the eerie duplicate of the North Pole resident.

"Why has he been staring at us for the last twenty minutes? There's an Indian guy sitting right next to him; he might as well turn his face 90 degrees and stare him down."

And then, lo and behold, he DID! He literally turned his face sharply to the right and stared at the Desi guy, peering intently as the Desi guy pulled out his calculator and started multiplying things.

And then Saint Nick shifted his gaze to this Desi woman that was at about 45 degrees from him. He kept this isosceles triangular rotation going on during his whole train ride: us, 90 degree calculator Desi, 45 degree Desi woman.

Thanks to his watchful eye, no bombs went off on that train!

Playing Soccer

2005-07-15T11:11:00.000-07:00

I love taking breaks. At times, I purposely undertake arduous tasks just for the satisfaction of some ensuing momentary relief. It's like taking a dump after a gruelling 18-course meal served by a persistent Aunty.

At other times, I navigate toward activities where there is a required break, but little work required on my part, because I cannot be trusted to do the work properly.

I used to play soccer. For a pretty long time, actually. I was woefully unskilled, though supposedly that didn't matter; the coach would always enthusiastically declare that it wasn't about winning, but about teamwork and having fun. Then while rotating players, the coach would always happen to sit me out for two quarters. That's half the fucking game.

But I didn't mind. I was performing a necessary function in this operation, and I, too, deserved a break. Obviously, "teamwork and having fun," for the dexterous majority, involved certain curtailments of activity for the bumbling minority. If the coach didn't sit me out and I fearfully stood there on the corner of the field, dodging and trembling at any person or ball that came within any reasonable proximity of my being, "the team" would be pissed. I had been placed on the team to fulfill a numerical requirement, but I was the weakest link. It would be unfair to require that others endure my infirmity for the miniscule possibility of my improvement, when, in my absence, so much collaborative triumph was abound. My role was to patiently hover on a dirt mound until I could go claim my Twinkies and Capri Sun at half time. And this, I could handle.

Drink, Link, and Drive

2005-07-13T22:48:00.000-07:00

Why isn't there some over-the-counter pill you can pop to eradicate intoxication? I'm not talking about dampening the craving or curing a hangover. I know that herbal and greasy shit, respectively, tend to aid in those matters. But like, for the average reckless bar-hopping youth that then needs to drive home, can't the fucking scientists do something?

I suspect the most enthusiastic lobbyists for such an endeavor would come from the alcohol industry. While I am no fan of said industry, I would gladly receive its backing, just so I could feel safer amidst irresponsible young drivers that have been indoctrinated by its savvy asshole marketing.

The pill should be called "Link" because it puts your senses back together. The motto should be, "Drink, Link, and Drive!"

There, the name has been trademarked. Now someome, come up with an open source process to supply it some meaning.

15 Years Ago

2005-06-30T22:38:00.000-07:00

I have not changed at all since fifth grade. Check out some of my journal entries I had to do in class:

Sept. 11, 1990

"Dinner"

Yesterday we had Indian food for dinner. Since my aunt is visiting from India, she ate it, too. My mom, dad, sister, and I ate it. We ate at my house. We ate around 7:00. We ate it so we could grow and so we wouldn't starve.

The Indian food included Indian tortillas, barbequed chicken, and shrimp.

Sept. 20, 1990

If I had a million dollars and had to give it away, I would give it to my sister and parents. That way my sister can get a car and my parents can get a house. My parents could also get Indian tapes and my sister could go to heavy metal concerts.

Sept. 24, 1990

"Exploring"

If I could explore any place I wanted, I would explore the sun. I would put a snow shield on so that I wouldn't burn into ashes.

Oct. 8, 1990

This weekend was very fun. On Saturday morning I watched "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." After that I watched "Bill and Ted's Adventures."

On Sunday I went to dance practice.

Oct. 12, 1990

The thing that I like best about fall is that I get to step on all of the dead leaves. Stepping on dead leaves makes a crunch sound. Then I get to rake the leaves.

Also, three special occasions come in fall. First comes Diwali, an Indian "Festival of Lights." Then comes my birthday. Last comes Halloween.

Nov. 30, 1990

I have no idea what "a stitch in time saves nine" means. It sounds like it's from the Bible. Maybe it means a cat. A cat has nine lives. A stitch in time saves a cat.

Dec. 7, 1990

If I had to fight for this country, I would feel bad that our country was at war. If I had to wear a certain costume, I would wear a peace shirt and end the war. I would fight for a dead George Bush if I had to fight.

Jan. 15, 1991

I don't think the United States should go to war with the Persian Gulf. I think the United States should stop bugging the Persian Gulf about oil. It's their oil, so let them keep it!

Another reason is that I want the world to be in peace. If the Soviet Union joins, it'll be even worse- World War III!

The last reason is that the prices will go higher. Bush unnecessarily wants a war, and I don't think it's fair. NO WAY! STRIKE AGAINST BUSH!

Feb. 4, 1991

My favorite thing to do in my spare time is to play Nintendo. The games I like to play are Super Mario Bros. 3, Mickey Mousecapades, and Tennis. I also like Super Mario Bros., Super Mario Bros. 2, and Duck Hunt. Hogan's Alley and The Legend of Zelda are fun, too.

Casual Carpool

2005-06-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

I've taken the casual carpool about eight times now, and each time I hope to come out of it with a story worth telling. I don't need anything too drastic like the driver pulling a knife on me, or having pictures of young boys plastered across his/her glove compartment, or driving into the bridge railing, but a little eccentricity wouldn't hurt. Maybe the driver could be wearing dark sunglasses and a trenchcoat, and play Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" on repeat. Maybe s/he could have a caged tarantula in the back seat. Maybe s/he could at least have a really dirty car.

Nothing. The drivers, and my fellow passengers, have been disappointingly normal.

I suppose I can't complain, when I myself have not had the audacity to play out the interesting/quirky passenger. I could bring my own case of CDs, and just thumb through it and help myself to the disc player and radio. I could bring rose petals in my bag and shower them on the driver throughout the ride. I could blow some balloons and also bring along streamers and confetti to decorate the car. I could recline my seat all the way back and start meditating. I could clutch the dashboard and shriek in fear every few moments, reprimanding the driver for his/her speed even if it is entirely reasonable. Or, I could just laugh hysterically.

But I don't.

And hence, alas, I contribute to the uneventfulness of the casual carpool.

Spam I Can

2005-06-23T22:47:00.000-07:00

I don't understand why some people are so email-averse. I mean, Hamidi is my man! (See? We Middle Eastern & South Asian folks know how to adapt our infiltration to the digital era. ) How else are you supposed to get out the "unpopular" opinion when the other side is the one with all the money? We demi-bourgies with righteous inclinations don't necessarily have access to TV or print media, but if you've got a computer and some leisure time, you better take it back and spam away the ignorant mothafuckers that have got the same!

It's funny how people don't complain about having to switch the channel or turn the radio dial if they encounter something they don't like, though they are probably brainwashed maggots that do like everything. So delete the damn email too. It ain't hard, finger-lazy bastards. Maybe jack off a little more to loosen up those joints.

Not Hot for BART

2005-06-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

BART can bite my ass, and its passengers can burn in hell. What incompetent morons voted this the #1 public transporation in America? I do not appreciate having to pay nine dollars per day with no chance of a commuter discount to endure this frequently delayed, over-crowded abomination.

Let's establish a tableau of my experience today, for example. Tons of assholes packed in together, clutching onto poles, sighing and shaking their heads in frustration. Me, at the center of it all, my arm desperately stretched through a crevice between two fellow obese individuals to grip a grubby pole. A bespectacled, insipid geek repeatedly clearing his throat and persistently crouching over my rack with a crossword puzzle. Some stupid hoochie fisting my ass for about four stops. Two hackneyed frat boys ramming their booties into my love handles. My nose uncomfortably buried in the armpit of some tall dude, who in turn breathes heavily into my dandruff.

There's my fucked up BART porn for the day. Stay tuned for the next one. :P

Split Pee Soup

2005-06-09T22:52:00.000-07:00

Because I eat crap all the time, don't exercise, sleep irregularly, and overall have a preposterously disgusting lifestyle, I suspect I may be at risk for a chronic disease or two. To avoid taking any risks, I asked my physician to hook up some tests, and went down to the lab right after my physical exam this morning.

Most of the conditions I was being tested for required blood samples, so I kicked back and watched the fresh crimson fluids being sucked up from the front of my elbow. Then the lab technician (or whatever they're called) asked me to go to the bathroom and collect a urine sample.

The cup she gave me was barely a goddamn inch in diameter. Having had my vulva freshly probed and prodded by the physician just minutes earlier, I was in no position to whip out a sprightly, singular stream of urine that I could aim into this unseemly test tube.

Why can't they strap a funnel to the toilet bowl and have the goddamn flask affixed at the bottom of that? Hrmph.

Anyway, I crouched over the toilet, first "voiding" a sample of my piss into the toilet as instructed. Then I placed the vial under my pee tunnel, and the stress of the ensuing possible catastrophe caused some erratic splatter onto my hand. After collecting a sufficient sample into the container, I placed it on the floor and proceeded to wipe myself. A stupid scrap of toilet paper then decided to fly smack into the container.

I'm sure that wouldn't have been a problem, but I just didn't feel like inquiring after it or returning to the bathroom in the event that the it were a problem. So I emptied the contents and resumed my crouching tiger posture. But nothing came out. I kept swallowing my spit and thinking of scary things, like spiders, but still, nothing.

Ten minutes later, I decided this was ridiculous. I would just have to tell home girl I had no luck and try again in a few minutes.

I went out and offered a moderately fabricated version of my story to the woman. "I think I voided too much initially," I explained, "Now there's nothing left. Can I have some water?"

After drinking two cups of water, I tried again, still to no avail.

Finally, I just asked for a container to go. I'll just have to drop off my piss later on.

Work: Mo' Time, Mo' Problems

2005-06-08T22:53:00.000-07:00

People who work lame office jobs would all be much happier and more productive human beings if the standard eight-hour work day (which in reality for most people is more like 12 hours, including those who work the "second shift" and all) were cut down to a four-hour work day -- four days a week.

I am still debating whether the optimal time would be 10-2 or 2-6. The benefit of the former is that you get it out of the way and it entails the lunch hour for sociable lunch meetings. I guess this all depends on what type of job you have, of course. I would prefer the 2-6. You can wake up late, each breakfast, work out, have lunch with friends, go to work, and then go out for dinner and then drinks and wake up with a hangover and repeat.

An eight-hour day is terribly long. We know from our own experiences and from the wisdom of Office Space that people invariably waste time and stare into space for the first hour or so. Then they take a coffee break. Then they stretch out the fifteen minutes' worth of work they have to get done over the next six or seven hours. What crap. There's no way I'm going to do anything after lunch except perhaps attend a meeting and stare at people. Plus, there are all these state and federal regulations on mandating breaks, and every sane person exploits and extends the designated allotments. Instead, make it a flat four hours with a ten-minute break. People will be in, work for a couple hours, take a break, and then work again for a couple of hours. I think it will work well for everyone.

Salaries should not be cut, since people will be getting the same amount of work done, if not more, and posing far less of a nuisance with their decrepit presence. Since people won't be working as much, there won't be as many on-the-job injuries. There won't be so much trash to pick up. There won't be as many HR complaints. There will be lower gas and electric bills.

And, people will have more time free from lame office jobs to volunteer for other stuff. Or, like, support the arts or something.

(Not that I have a problem staying eight hours at my job, since it contains much of what I'd volunteer my time for, anyway, so there's another option -- make your company something people actually care about, punks!)

Accessory in Cheapness

2005-06-04T22:55:00.000-07:00

I hadn't been to Sunvalley Mall in quite a while, so I thought I'd hit it up this afternoon to see what kind of new stores it harbored.

Early on, my eyes caught a sign that said "Amuse." Sufficiently amused, I proceeded inside to see a flurry of teeny-boppers purchasing new accessories. I was vaguely interested in this one pair of chandelier earrings, so I turned over the set to check the price. It said: "$1.80."

Did I see that right?

I checked the price tag on an identical neighboring set to ensure there wasn't a preceding "1" that had eluded me, but nope: the earrings were actually for $1.80.

Uh-oh.

I have a habit of gathering unncecessary trifles just because they're cheap, and then I never use them. I thought I could put this undesirable possibility in check by refusing the shopping basket that a sales clerk offered just then. But upon being harassed with shopping baskets thrust in my face by two other representatives within a span of five minutes, I finally surrendered; I am not accustomed to talking to people, and I didn't know if my vocal cords would be able to withstand another "No, thanks."

What followed was a series of frivolous purchases, all consisting of offensively tacky, but cheap, earrings. One of the pairs is so bright, it would put a solar eclipse to shame. My life is complete.

A Scene From My Novel

2005-06-01T22:58:00.000-07:00

Sharmila�s sole proprietorship was flourishing with new referrals by the day, adding to a growing base of satisfied customers.

Today, it seemed her services were being solicited by one of the most unlikely customers: Prasad Londhe, president of the Hindu Students� Council.

Sharmila was taken aback upon answering the door, in spite of herself. She was no naive damsel -- she was wise to the ways of her seemingly innocent peers -- but she didn't quite think Prasad would have the gall to come to her and risk poking any holes in his clean reputation.

Prasad, however, was not soliciting quite was she was expecting or willing to offer.

"Hi," Prasad muttered quickly, going directly to the couch to sit down after being let inside. "Look, I'm not here to, you know," he said, waving his hand uncomfortably.

"Aww, Prasad," Sharmila smiled soothingly, sitting down next to him and stroking his arm, "That's OK, I've had first-timers here before; I'll go through everything from the basics. I also want to assure you that everything that happens in here will be kept absolutely confidential."

"For your own good!" Prasad proclaimed in a raging outburst, shifting himself to the edge of the couch. "I'm not here for any of your sick, so-called sexual services. I'm here to talk some sense into you."

"Oh, I see," Sharmila smiled coolly. "Are you trying to shut me down?"

"No, I won't do that. I could have called the cops on you, but I'm hoping you'll make the right decision for yourself and stop being such a disgrace to the South Asian community."

Sharmila raised her eyebrows curiously. "You think I'm a disgrace to the South Asian community?"

"How can you even ask this?" Prasad asked, astonished. "Is this what your parents taught you? Do you know what shame you would bring to your family, and what about the university? Do you think UC Berkeley wants to have a prostitute attending their university?"

"The current administration, probably not," Sharmila shrugged matter-of-factly, "But that's not really my concern."

Prasad's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Look, if you don't care about your parents or the university, at least think about what will happen to you if the word gets out. Sooner or later this will leak to the police or the press; who will hire you then? How will you get married later on?"

"Sweetie, I take each day as it comes," Sharmila yawned, slouching back into the couch.

Prasad sat upright, infuriated. "I can't fucking believe this. Man, if my mother ever found out about you attending this university, she'd be so worried about the distractions, and I have a little sister, I don't want knowing about trashy people like you."

"Ah, the real reason for not reporting me," Sharmila smiled knowingly.

"Don't you have any fucking pride? Living off the money of desperate men. Some of whom make an honest living, mind you."

"Oh, Prasad, how unfair," Sharmila pouted, "Gori can strut her stuff and reap the rewards of your honest living, but can't see a brown sister gettin' some cash of her own?"

"What are you talking about?" Prasad demanded, flustered.

"I heard what a wild time you and your boys had at Centerfolds for Rajiv�s twenty-first. Don't you have any pride, my friend?"

"Yes, we went there. That has nothing to do with this. I don't think too highly of those strippers either. It's unfortunate that some women have to turn to such things for money, but a lot of them are just pathetic, trashy women, completely lacking dignity and trying to make easy money."

"What?" Sharmila frowned quizzically. "You paid money to watch women degrade themselves and their communities, and exploit your hard-earned cash? But don't you realize that you have the power to put us out of business? Come on, Prasad, you'll need to take it in your hands to stop supporting us. I know you really care about those women who get into it for financial need, but maybe that's your calling, huh? Prasad-funded rehab for restoration of strippers' dignity? I'm sure the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, Christian Coalition, and lots of other forces of good will back you up full throttle."

Prasad was silent, shaking his head and heaving in frustration.

"You know," Sharmila said softly, sitting upright with a dazed expression, "Every time I shower, I think about how I could be making a fortune by taking a camera in. A picture of water running over these young, supple brown breasts, or an mpeg film, the camera panning over every curve as I tease it, moving my index finger in and out of my mouth, and down, exploring every crack and crevice. Panting. Heaving." She turned her gaze to Prasad, leaning closer to him. "How much do you think a guy would pay for it? And how many guys would buy it? Just imagine how easy is it is for a girl to make a fortune, and how few girls cash in on it."

Prasad was aghast, his face flushed as he watched Sharmila's fingers shamelessly tracing her breasts over her blouse. "You know, you are really sick. I had heard how much of a whore you were but nothing could have prepared me for what you are saying. You are seriously demented. And who do you think you are behaving like that in front of me anyway -- Sharon Stone?"

Sharmila tossed her head back, laughing maniacally. "Oh, come on Prasad, you're a fellow student at the prestigious Haas School of Business. You ought to appreciate my entrepreneurship. Others will be running sweatshops, which should worry you more; I'll be completely self-made, hurting no one. In fact, I'm helping people -- there are lots of lonely guys who are too shy to ask a girl out, or need some practice and training beforehand. Sometimes the guy really just wants to talk and cuddle; we don't even end up having sex. I would really be a fool not to take up this business. Just think how much of a market I have. A sure monopoly in the market for brown university students, given all the prudes that sit around worrying about their reputations. See? I'm fair and lovely. I can quench your wet sari fetish. I can be your exotic pussy, your red hot dot-head, your barely legal honey-dip! This is a niche with an itch. I can do it live, or on video, or on the phone, on demand. All because I'm sincere with my business and believe in total quality management. I can make out with sluts of other colors. Interracial and lesbian porn are hot commodities, so there I'm hitting two birds with one stone; no, three! I insist on condoms, being a peer health and sex educator and all, but I'll do soft-core threesomes, too; who wouldn't want to be the man in the middle? I've already wasted two years by starting at 20; if only I had really started as a barely legal I could have made a-"

"Just shut up!� Prasad shouted, trembling in fury. "I can't believe what I'm hearing at all. What would your father think! Now I�m convinced I'll move back to India to raise my kids. At least then they won't be exposed to this shameless sexual liberation propaganda of you morally degenerate feminists!"

"I see, I'm a feminist!" Sharmila smirked. "I'd like to see you run that by that Isha chick who seems to think that any time a woman expresses herself sexually, it's because she's trying to be more like a man, which of course is the worse thing possible. A lot of feminists seem to have forgotten about choice, like the one I'm exercising by using my body as a commodity in what's actually the most feminine way possible, profiting from the world's oldest profession. Just look at Ms. Meghana Subramaniam, self-proclaimed radical feminist whose article I just read yesterday, about challenging male sexual entitlement. She says political progress for women and other 'oppressed people' can't be reconciled with free-market capitalism, and sex workers who enter the business by choice set things back by cashing in on the intersection of capitalism and patriarchy."

"Yes, she is absolutely right," Prasad said, gathering himself. "It's sluts like you who make it difficult for girls who are actually trying to make an honest living in this world. No wonder the top companies are reluctant to hire girls -- entirely possible that some two-dollar whore like you might try to seduce customers or sleep her way to the top."

"I see; now feminism's on your side. And in what an interesting way, at that. Way to stick to your bow and arrow, Mr. Hindu Students' Council!" Sharmila cackled.

"You are sick!" Prasad shouted, standing up and pulling his wallet out of his pocket. "How much is the opportunity cost of your whorish enterprise? I have taken up some time when you could have been degrading womankind and mankind. How much do you want? One hundred? Two hundred?"

"I don't want your money, sweetie, just get out of my house," Sharmila replied, opening the door.

"No, let me pay you. You were expecting me to come give you money for your sick business, so I�ll at least do that much."

"Prasad, just get the fuck out unless you want me to call the cops on you for trespass."

Prasad stomped out, sweating in humiliation.

---------------------------

I came up with a novel idea (pun intended) in 2002, and wrote the above scene in 2003 (though I've touched it up a little for purposes of this post). I am now resurrecting the project -- maybe. I'm just going to write bits and pieces as I feel the inspiration. It might morph and take another form. Maybe it will just be a bunch of short stories. Or maybe it will just be this one blog entry.

I want the book to be satirical propaganda, without being too in your face about how I, as the author, feel about certain issues (until very late into the novel, at least). I want to give fair weight to a lot of perspectives and even give heavy credibility to some with which I violently disagree.

Above was an example that I would love some feedback on. Was it entertaining? Did it make you think? Was it really obvious where I stand on the issue of prostitution, in its relationship with feminism? Were the characters too contrived? Both of these characters are such that they can't altogether avoid being symbols/caricatures to some degree, but they should possess at least a modicum of realism. (It should be noted that these are fairly minor characters, but the issues raised by each weave throughout the novel and come up with many other characters. Also, the focus is not solely on sexuality, but is generally an anti-libertarian manifesto.)

Any and all feedback please... thanks!

A Brilliant Contraption

2005-05-28T23:41:00.000-07:00

Wow, every toilet should just be this. Why is this something that has been created specifically for vehicular use? I mean, a toilet that turns shit into disposable "sweet smelling, inoffensive liquid," and that can fold up into a suitcase -- how fucking rad is that?! I want one of those to carry around with me everywhere. Fuck gas stations and porto-potties; I wants me some Indipod! I don't have the size of vehicle required to accommodate the privacy tent, but I can just pull over on the 24 and set up shop along Fish Ranch Road.

Even if I had a larger vehicle, I'm not sure how I would feel about shitting in the car. I know that was kind of the purpose, and I suppose that it will help a lot of people to travel who otherwise are prevented from freely doing so due to incontinence and whatnot. But can you imagine busting out this contraption and plugging it into the cigarette lighter and then having this huge bubble that you enter and shit in, and then re-packing it? I guess it could only work for a one-time use, 'cause you don't want to open it up and see the liquid floating around, no matter how sweet-smelling and inoffensive. And it might swish around and stain the toilet seat too. But then, the liquid is disposable, so I suppose you could just pull over somewhere along your trip and dump it out? Maybe you can carry little Lysol pads with you to clean off the seat too. Where would you dump the liquid? I guess you could go into an actual bathroom at a gas station and dump it into a toilet there.

I think I would also like to take this handy contraption to law school, seeing as my fellow students are mysteriously unable to maintain sanitary restroom conditions. People might wonder, "What is that, your laptop?" And then, they'd see me plug this thing into... hm, I'm not sure what... and then I would disappear into the bubble and it would look all futuristic and shit! Heh.

Why I Can't Work Retail

2005-05-25T23:43:00.000-07:00

I have absolutely no visual observation skills. This impotency greatly impaired my efficacy as a retail employee at Mervyn's, where I graced the Home Department one summer. People would ask me, "Do you have any of such-and-such bedsheet in queen size?" I would mumble, "Uh, let me check," and disappear into the stockroom, only to forget, immediately, the pattern and fundamental nature of whatever it was I was supposed to be scavenging.

"Fuck," I would think, yawning at a shelf stocked with various bath towels. "OK, I'll just have to say we don't have any more this time, but next time I must etch the pattern and all the details into my brain before coming up here."

I would then trudge back downstairs, only to forget the appearance of whomever it was to whom I owed a report of my failure.

"Women are like apples..."

2005-05-21T23:45:00.000-07:00

I have seen this passage quoted far too often from well-meaning persons to refrain from comment:

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy . . . So the apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Now where do I begin with this abomination?

Let's start with the obvious premises: 1) that women are the literally dehumanized objects of men's "reaching" and "getting" and "climbing"; and 2) that everyone is hetero. Women don't have to passively sit here and wait for some brave jack-ass man to come pick us off the highest branch of the tree. We can have some subjectivity in the process, and it doesn't have to be with a man. And, for that matter, it doesn't have to be with anyone. Fuck that noise.

Moving on with the analysis of this ridiculous compilation of crap, I assume that its intention is to affirm women who feel rejected by men. I am all for affirming women, but why must this be conducted through misogyny? Maybe you have not been appreciated by a man for the amazing person that you are, but why must you conjecture that another women who has gotten noticed is "rotten," "not as good," and "easy"? Why must your self-worth be premised in how much "higher" you are than other women, in the eyes and reach of a man?

Even if some cowardly man is reaching for what he perceives to be "not as good" or "easier," why must you agree that the woman actually is of said lower value? Maybe the guy is only jocking her because she meets superficial aesthetic sensibilities and is sexually open, but that's not really all there is to her. The problem is not her; the problem is what he is using to evaluate women. Why must you participate in her degradation by perceiving her in the same one-dimensional manner and labeling her as trashy?

And for the "easy" bit. I may be "easy" as a third grade spelling test, but that's because I'm a damn horny woman with needs, not because I give a flying fuck about a man's. How do you like THEM apples?

I'm saving this link so I can blast it back to anyone who sends me this goddamned passage ever again.

But I do somewhat agree with the last part of the passage:

Men are like a fine wine. They start out as grapes, and it's up to [their partners] to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

...

...So are the days of our lives.

2005-05-15T23:47:00.000-07:00

It's weird. When I was younger, a year used to seem like such a long time. And for good reason, I suppose; when I was five, one year was 20% of my life. But now, one year is just about 4% of my life. One day is barely over one hundredth of one percent. Holy shit!

Now why should I feel any sense of responsibility toward a period of my life that constitutes a trifling hundredth of a percent?

And yet, when I look back on these 295 months I have lived, I can say that a cumulative 1% of my life has bore the most significant impact. That one percent did not come in one lump sum, but in bits and pieces: a conversation, a small gesture here and there, a chapter from a book -- fractions coming in tenths, hundreds, thousandths, billionths, added together -- microscopic golden epiphanies, embroidered into a quilt of giddy sloth.

I want golden embroidery to equate to more than one percent of my quilt. And yet with each passing day, the quilt helplessly expands, and the same quantity of golden thread that was once one percent is now becoming a smaller and smaller proportion.

One hundredth of a percent does matter. And I'm going to start living like it does. Dammit.

Self-Help

2005-05-06T23:50:00.000-07:00

I am a strong believer in the power of the subconscious. I truly believe that a mind can trick itself into believing anything whatsoever. So why not delude yourself into a state of triumph and bliss? I have done so on many occasions using tricks such as the ones highlighted below.

Trick #1: Grass Is Greener
We have all at various times felt like we were plummeting down a desperate abyss of hypotheticals: what if I took that internship in New York; what if my parents were less protective; what if I were born on Uranus instead of Earth? We tend to wish for what we don't have, and if we do obtain it, we tend to reminisce upon the good times of its absence. So, close your eyes and imagine that you were on the "other side," where you had thought the grass would be greener. Imagine that after a while, the bad things start to stick out over the good, and you fondly remember the original side, thinking, "What if I were still there?" Now, open your eyes, and voila- your wish has come true!

Trick #2: More Serious Obligations
Have you ever had to do something that you REALLY didn't want to do, such as study for an exam, or clean your room? Well, now you can do something else you would much rather do and feel terrific about it! Suppose you have an exam on Tuesday and today is Saturday, and there's a really cool art festival going on in the city during the whole weekend. All you have to do is delude yourself into imagining you have another exam that comes on Monday that is even harder than the one on Tuesday. Naturally, your weekend time would then be occupied with something other than studying for the Tuesday exam, right?

You can read these tricks and many more in a forthcoming self-help manual written by Yours Truly that is bound to put all other self-help books out of business for their lack of need: Leading a Life of Mediocrity and Lovin' It!

Cinematic Debut

2005-05-02T23:51:00.000-07:00

In the summer of 2001, something possessed me to audition for a role in a zero-budget Hindi-language venture. The casting call had been put out by an aspiring Bollywood director, newly arrived from India and eager to put together this pilot project for Zee TV. I was going to be around Berkeley the whole summer with nothing to do after the 9-5 office space crap, so I figured, might as well see what's up.

My acting ability, like my drawing ability, is something that only exists when I have some detailed example to bite blatantly. Before going into the audition, I popped in some Madhuri Dixit flick, which at the moment of necessity enabled me to ape the melodramatic lines and accompanying gestures with the greatest of ease. Because of this and the probable reluctance of many an aspiring actor to take up this shady unpaid gig, I landed a role as the "feminist friend" of the female lead.

The story was something along these lines: The male is is this dorky, persistent, but well-meaning guy who comes to an American college from India, and, while walking by McDonald's, instantly falls in love with the female lead who happens to be passing by; she is American-born with "Indian values" (read: sexually modest, naive, and ultra-forgiving). Ooh, such deep irony in the East-West swap already -- can you feel it?!

Now check this: the "feminist friend" is newly moved from Bombay (more irony!!), and, for some reason that the audience is not supposed to sympathize with, dislikes the persistent, bumbling Indian-born guy with pretty much no game. She instead sets the heroine up on a date with a jerk of an American-born Indian cocaine addict, who ends up tricking her into getting drunk (poor girl would never drink alcohol of her own volition, mind you; she thought it was just Coca Cola!) and... sexually assaults her. The heroine is traumatized because she feels responsible for having her "honor" toyed with, so she overdoses on the date rapist's cocaine and ends up in the hospital. This is when dork man comes to hold her hand and tell her he loves her, and rapist dick also comes to apologize and beg for her not to take legal action. This gets dork incensed and ready to beat him up. However, sweet desi chick forgives rapist dick and tells dork man to leave him alone. Then dork man and forgiving dipshit chick fall in love and live happily ever after.

We shot a couple of scenes in my apartment, and during one such occasion, I thought I'd have a nice two-hour "discussion" with the director over a chai break.

I began by expressing my concern over my imperfect Hindi and subconscious American mannerisms. He assured me that they were OK, because my role was that of a "feminist." I then told him I was having a bit of difficulty understanding the character and what made her a feminist.

"She hates Indian men," he explained.

I found this characterization of feminism intriguing, an oddly refreshing break from the common patriarchal American perception of feminism as the decisive hatred of ALL men, regardless of national origin.

I offered my dear director the knowledge that I was a feminist, and I did not consider his assessment to be accurate.

The knowledge of my female-emancipatory leanings put a twinkle in his eye, and he began a quest to develop the character around the real me. He asked to check out my room and noted various posters that I had, endorsing musical talents such as the Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys, movies such as Bride of Chucky and Leprechaun in the Hood, and finally, Lord Krishna.

"Let's film a scene in here!" he exclaimed. "But not with the Krishna poster -- that doesn't fit. We'll use the Spice Girls in the background."

He then went on to underscore how because the feminist friend was so misguided in her distaste toward Indian men, she led the heroine astray into the trap of the wanton westerner and effectively caused the whole conflict, which she comes to realize and regret later on. Somehow, the Spice Girls poster would represent the negative phase of the role just perfectly.

I informed homeboy that feminism was about social justice and women's human rights, and neither the admiration of the Spice Girls, nor the arbitrary shunning of men from a particular country, nor the desire for your friend to get with some leering asshole, reflected a desire for this. I mean shit, say what you want to say about me, but don't use my -ism's name in vain!

I then explained the problems I had with the script, starting from: 1) none of the characters being remotely likable; to 2) throwing in something as serious and life-altering as attempted rape just to demonstrate the lead male's heroism in wanting to beat up the guy that did it, even though this was probably more because he saw it as an assault on HIS "property" more than anything else; to 3) demanding no legal accountability from the rapist or clarifying that he, and he alone, is at fault; to 4) not giving any indication that homechick is informed of her rights or planning to seek social services at least for her emotional well-being; to 5) reinforcing the virtue of the pious, self-sacrificing dumb-ass hoe. And there was no fuckin' way in hell he was going to vilify the "feminist" as the root cause of evil on top of all this.

He looked at me as if I were some sort of deformed unicorn: something which cannot, and SHOULD not, exist.

Upon some back-and-forth bargaining (Desis R' Us!), he agreed to add a scene to the end showing the rapist dick in handcuffs, suggesting that homechick had at least reported him, making that action her only redeemable one.

After shooting was complete, home boy said he was going to India temporarily for some "networking" and would return and do some post-production work, letting the cast sit on the editing process with him. He was not to be seen for a full year, when I ran into him at some culture show. I asked him what was the deal with the movie, and he mumbled something back. I didn't really care to clarify.

Dangerous Blasphemy

2005-04-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

One morning, a foolish girl named Keena stepped into the shower, agitated that she had already missed one class and might not make it in time for the next. She hadn't given a shout out to the Goddess in a long time, so today she thought she would recite the Gayatri Mantra while scrubbing herself. She didn't quite know the meaning of the prayer despite her shoddy semester of Sanskrit, and her parents had always insisted that its authentic application was limited to young boys' thread ceremonies, contrary to popular modern Hindu thought. Nevertheless, she commenced:

"Om Bhur Bhuvah Svaha
Tat Sa-"

All of a sudden the shower massager she had installed for obvious reasons came crashing down off its socket and collided into the big toe on her right foot.

"FUCK!" She exclaimed in the middle of her incantation, and then calmly re-affixed the apparatus without ensuring its security.

She resumed the chant, rotating her bodily angle in case the Goddess should hear it better from wherever she might be lounging.

"Tat Savitur Varenyam..."

The goddamned device came plummeting down once again, this time on the big toe of her left foot!

"Mothafucker!" She exclaimed, poker-faced, and re-affixed the instrument once again.

Then she remembered she had to practice for an upcoming performance, so she abandoned the Gayatri Mantra and opted for "Let It Bleed." Right after the utterance of "rectal incompetence," the appliance yet again came crashing down, and this time injured her left pinky toe.

Now she will have no choice but to miss the next class and lie horizontally on the futon with a pack of ice melting over her toes.

Springtime Belly

2005-04-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

The weather's getting better, and I've got a drawer full of hooch gear that I want to bring out. The problem is that most of it doesn’t fit me quite right, and I'm broke as a mofo. I am not even trying to lose my junk in the trunk, nor do I particularly care to look "toned" and all that shit, but I do need work on these abs. Yet the problem is so circular, because I also require some sun to make this image presentable. Presently, the truth laid bare is that my belly and a five-gallon sack of milk are virtually indistinguishable. I don’t even know where my tits end and the belly begins. All the freaking babies of the world could come take a suckle off my shit. But I don't like babies, and I need an excuse to rid myself of this ability and the concurrent guilt that accompanies its lack of execution. So today, in addition to walking instead of driving, I actually hit up the gym.

The Social Dimensions of Pissing in Law School

2005-04-08T23:22:00.000-07:00

Why do people all of a sudden forget how to piss into a toilet when they come to law school?

It's a serious question. I am speaking mainly about the women's restrooms, since those are the ones I generally use. I am sure these grown women are perfectly capable of squatting and aiming their piss directly into the toilet, and then flushing it. But the sanitation problem seems to spiral out of control the more people you have in a space, and the less that people know each other.

I think the reason for the nasty state of affairs is two-fold. First, you trust people less when there's a lot of them, and you don't want to sit on the toilet even if it looks clear because you never know whose germs might be on it. Secondly, you feel less accountable to your fellow woman that's going in next because a) you don't necessarily know or like her, and b) you could say it wasn't you.

I wonder what the threshold is, as far as number, and level of anonymity, to trigger these phenomena. For example, I believe that if you made two strangers share a bathroom in a hotel room for some conference, chances are they would sit on the toilet and flush it and be considerate of each other. I would say that even if you put a larger number of strangers together in a household-type environment, they would probably feel some inexplicable level of trust toward each others' ass germs and sit it out on the same toilet. Perhaps it's the public-ness of the stall set-up that inherently makes people wary. Yes, maybe you just feel more comfortable if you've SEEN the other people that are using the same space, even though that really means nothing. So, the factors contributing to filth are: 1) number of people; 2) level of acquaintance; and 3) architecture.

Back to the pondering on two strangers respecting and trusting each others' pissing space: why can't we always just live like that? Isn't it silly that just because you learn someone's name or have a brief conversation, you then feel a little more trusting or indebted toward them? Imagine if every woman went and sat on the toilet, just like she would at home, then did her thing, then flushed it -- with her hand, not her shoe? And then the next woman did the same, and so on. Why must distrust of the people and the process seep in somewhere? Can we envision a urinary utopia, and give Walden Pond a new meaning?

Spider Wars

2005-04-08T23:17:00.000-07:00

I am in a state of war with a spider in my bathroom. I am sure that to an impartial observer, this image would appear a comical one. Me, this big huge human hulk, versus this tiny scampering cretin. But that mofo has got me pretty bad. This is some pretty serious face-off.

First, the baleful arachnid began vertically weaving its way down from the northwest corner of my bathroom, as I was placidly taking a dump. I could only gape in shock and awe, as though it were a human corpse hanging from my ceiling.

Shamefully, I have to this day never been able to catch a spider, so after completing my task, I solemnly eyed the creature as it made its way across the counter, and resolved to vacuum it up when it eventually reached the floor.

Ten minutes later, the brute was on the lower portion of the wall, about a foot away from the floor, so I thought I could gently drop some toilet paper on top of it in the course of its slow crawling, and it would glide to the floor where I could suck it up. I had to drop the paper from afar, lest the beast somehow leap onto my hand from a closer proximity.

The toilet paper did not even touch the animal.

I made several attempts, until there was a nice collection of wasted toilet paper on the floor, and eventually, it just stopped moving, as if to say, "You pathetic asshole. Here, I'll stop moving for you. Could you please get the paper to hit me now, already?"

I couldn't.

Defeated, I sighed and flopped back on the futon, where my goddamn eye caught the sight of yet another spider. It was on a sheet, so I thought I could just drop the sheet to the floor and vacuum it. But then it crawled to the bare futon -- d'oh -- and since it didn't seem like it planned on venturing to the floor, I raised the vacuum, ready to suck it up on the futon itself, when the motherfucker JUMPED, right onto my laptop case on the floor. I was so terrified, trying to prod and turn the case and catch it scampering out. After 10 minutes of futility in this endeavor, I turned around and noted that the asshole was back on the futon!! I pried away all my belongings, and this time, when it got to the top of the futon, I had the wisdom to just blow on the fucking thing, and then it fell to the floor and I was able to vacuum it up!

One down, one more to go. :(

Giving Teamwork a Break

2005-04-08T23:12:00.000-07:00

The Artist in Me

2005-04-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

I just drew this stupid design on a napkin and now I think I'm bloody Picasso. Now that I walk to school and take hand-notes, my focus will be ever-occupied with efforts to nourish my artistic genius on the edges of my flimsy pink binder.

New Fitness Plan

2005-04-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

Due in part to my fondness for chai, and in remaining part to my general gluttony, I piss and shit very frequently. Building upon these rituals, I can benefit greatly from adapting the following policy: I will touch my toes ten times before and after each expulsion. If I follow this exercise regimen strictly, I should be fit as a fiddle within a week.

Veer-Zaara Addendum

2005-04-02T11:22:00.000-08:00

My latest song to play on repeat is "Main Yahaan Hoon" from Veer-Zaara. The refrain translates roughly to: "Sweetheart, the distance has dissipated; I am here, everywhere you look." Basically, homechick falls in love and gets all delusional, so the song features the guy popping up and singing in her imagination wherever she goes.

That's fine, but he should appear in more places. In particular, I have a vision for the ending of the song. She should be sitting on the toilet with a constipated expression, like she's really trying to purge him out once and for all. She flushes at the last beat of the fast, intense violin music. But then she looks back at the toilet and is aghast to see one lone turd reverberating with the dude's image superimposed on it, softly crooning "Main yahaan hoon, yahaan hoon, yahaan hoon... yahaaaan..."

Boy, do I have a talent to take a perfectly romantic concept and completely fuck it up.

Exotic

2005-03-30T11:13:00.000-08:00

Men rarely find me attractive, but when they do, my tropical lineage is the most oft-cited cause.

"You look so exotic, like you're from Ecuador."

"My friend pointed to you and said women from Egypt look like that. I said, daaaamn."

Lately people have been able to identify my exotic origins more precisely, thanks in part to my nosering and ethnocentric ensemble.

On my walk to school today, three young ambiguously brown men started staring at me from a block away and one of them hollered, "Hey, are you from India?"

"Yeah," I replied, knowing that I and all my progeny will be "from India" unless repetitious miscegenation erases any trace of that heritage into oblivion.

"Oh, we're looking for an Indian restaurant that's supposed to be around here, and you look all pretty and Indian, so we thought we'd ask you."

Aww. Of course, I was able to provide the needed information. Strangers often assume I'm the one-stop encyclopedia on South Asian restaurants, movies, classical literature, and whatnot, and they are absolutely correct.

The boys then asked me what I studied, and upon learning I was in law school, became impressed that I was going to become "a cop."

See no fat; see just urine.

2005-01-13T11:10:00.000-08:00

His name was Dr. Khare. A urologist by profession, he was also a self-proclaimed brahmin pundit that had expansive knowledge in a realm of subjects -- most famously, yoga and eye care. In fact, he was famous in India for having come up with a system to mend people's dilapidated vision without further need for any lenses or eye surgery. He was thus brought to our house in the summer of 2000 upon the recommendation of my maternal uncle.

After muttering our introductions, Dr. Khare asked us to stand up and turn around for him, and then sat us down for a pep talk.

"You are good guhls, and that's why I am telling you this, because you are like my daughters," he began. "There are some things all guhls want, no? Such as, all guhls want to have children, right? Biologically, all guhls desire to nurture and bring up children. Any guhl who does not want this would be abnormal, na?"

I nodded while wearing a blank Homer Simpson stare, internally shuddering as I envisioned myself muffling my ears with the pillow as my future babies cried for milk and a diaper change from their turd-infested playpen.

Dr. Khare then proceeded on to his next logical leap.

"And to have children, you must get married, no?"

I nodded again, fantasizing about cloning myself in a petri dish and naming the result "mini-ree," or having wild unprotected sex with Johnny Depp and birthing his bastard child (John Abraham wasn't around then).

Then came the upshot: "And who will marry you if you are fat?!"

My sister and I glanced at each other incredulously.

"This is why I will teach you some important things during these two weeks I am staying here. I came actually to help with your wision, but since eye and body is connected, my program will also help you lose weight and be fit and healthy so you can be happy."

I again nodded blindly.

My sister, though, was more vocal in her dissent, so he mentally filed us in his western-vocal-rebellious and traditional-quiet-compliant dichotomy and accordingly approached her more warily.

My parents were sympathetic to our distate toward Dr. Khare's philosophy behind our in-house summer fat camp, but they nevertheless encouraged us to dismiss his flawed value system and extract the benefit of his twice-born wisdom for the sake of our "health." We couldn't help but wonder what this chump had up his sleeve, so we woke up at 8am and showed up to the family room as he instructed.

What followed was a series of exercises that primarily worked the muscles of the eyes and rectum. Dr. Khare demonstrated the latter's constriction by clenching and releasing a fist while seated in Indian style with his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

For lunch, we would eat three teaspoons of a special sabzi made from watermelon rind.

After dinner, my family, four educated adults, would gather around the dinner table with our elbows on the table and palms covering our eyes for thirty minutes, while Dr. Khare paced and talked us through a new-age prayer for improved vision. "Imagine a black welwet in front of your eyes," he would say softly, "See it relaxedly. Just the black welwet. Now, chant the name of God: Om Gam Ganapataye Namah."

These activities would be duly interspersed with lectures on the benefits of drinking urine and inserting urine droplets into one's eyes.

It has been almost five years since then, and I am more fat, blind, and unmarried than ever. I also foolishly waste the remedial potential of my urine by disposing of it in the toilet. But at least I have Dr. Khare's therapeutic notes stashed in my closet under a box of tampons, should I ever resolve to cure myself of these ills.

Just Eat It.

2004-12-29T11:07:00.000-08:00

In some old-ass Indian book, my boy Lord Krishna delineates three gunas, or qualities: sattva (purity), rajas (passion), and tamas (inertia). Supposedly, the foods that we intake will help yield different proportions of these qualities in ourselves.

Sattvic food

is the purest diet... It nourishes the body and maintains it in a peaceful state. And it calms and purifies the mind, enabling it to function at its maximum potential... Sattvic foods include cereals, wholemeal bread, fresh fruit and vegetables, pure fruit juices, milk, butter and cheese, legumes, nuts, seeds, sprouted seeds, honey, and herb teas.

Rajasic foods

are very hot, bitter, sour, dry, or salty... They destroy the mind-body equilibrium, feeding the body at the expense of the mind. Too much rajasic food will overstimulate the body and excite the passions, making the mind restless and uncontrollable. Rajasic foods include hot substances, such as sharp spices or strong herbs, stimulants, like coffee and tea, fish, eggs, salt and chocolate. Eating in a hurry is also considered rajasic.

And finally, a Tamasic diet

benefits neither the mind nor the body. Prana, or energy, is withdrawn, powers of reasoning become clouded and a sense of inertia sets in. The body's resistance to disease is destroyed and the mind filled with dark emotions, such as anger and greed. Tamasic items include meat, alcohol, tobacco, onions, garlic, fermented foods, such as vinegar, and stale or overripe substances. Overeating is also regarded as tamasic.

Naturally, the bulk of my dietary activity is tied up in the latter two categories. I regularly overeat/overdrink spices, herbs, fish, chocolate, tea, coffee, garlic, and alcohol- in a hurry. Given how uneventful my life has been despite these sinful indulgences, I better step a lil' harder on these ingredients. Sattva has never had any sort of appeal to me, either in diet or character. It's basically full circle next to Tamas, in fact, because either way you're just an inactive blob- might as well be mentally deranged while (not) at it. Then at least you can deliver some bad-ass art to the world.

Deconstructing a weight loss ad

2004-11-26T11:18:00.000-08:00

All right, let's get real with this one: the one thing that stands about this woman is her killer rack. And that, I've already got. So this weight loss ad doesn't do crap. I mean shit, if you want me to lose weight, threaten me with a heart attack or something, not some skinny bitch with silicone jugs. Geez.

Wedding Rituals

2004-09-06T21:52:00.000-07:00

I was watching the video of my cousin Shaba's wedding yesterday, and everything seemed so tiresome. First, being on stage for like five hours performing mysterious rituals in five different outfits, then taking a two-hour "break" to get further decked out, and then coming back for the reception and having to greet and do namaskar to everyone. At least this cousin just did the hand-folding namaskar; my mom said another cousin actually knelt and touched the feet of each of the elders. That is way too much work; after being stressed out for x number of months and spending the whole day being greasy and frenzied, you then have to starve and bow down while others are feasting away?

If I ever get married, I'm gonna use my break to get massively stoned, and then I'll come back and lie face-down on the floor for a nap. The elders can just bless me by coming over and kicking my head.

Color Me Summer Associate

2004-08-04T21:49:00.000-07:00

I'm kind of flirting with the idea of applying to a firm for summer work next year. I've never worked in the private sector before. This is probably why I was the only female business major with dark hair in my college. I wasn't the only woman of color -- I'm sure the program was at least 30% Asian with a couple of token black and Latina chicks -- but everyone was duly advised by their seniors to come off as un-ethnic as possible during recruiting time. This meant having very professional-looking (i.e. straight/ened, tied back, light-colored) hair, and probably blue or green contact lenses... oh, and, minimizing any involvement in cultural events or activities on your resume. You don't want "South Asian" this-and-that all over the place, or the big corporations will fear that you won't be able to deal with the diversity of their rich white clientele.

In law school, the career counselor and my senior students from underrepresented communities all continue to give the same advice. Firms tend to be conservative, they say, so if you're black or otherwise have curly/ kinky dair hair, you want to make sure to tie it back. *No braids* or you'll be mistaken for some Malcolm X-supporting black militant Rastafarian and whatnot. If you are queer and you have done any queer activities, even if it's a legal clinic that provided practical experience, you MOS DEF don't want that on your resume.

Then there's the matter of being a woman at all, which I suspect does not work particularly well in one's favor. This is of course part of why you want to be as attractive as possible per Abercrombie standards; studies have frequently shown that employers favor "attractive" candidates over normal people. You shouldn't wear a skirt to an interview in general, but if you are curvy, you definitely want to avoid drawing any attention to your body or they'll think you're as unseasoned in your work ethic as you are in your bulimia.

So, I think I should start gearing up pretty soon. I'll buy a nice relaxer and a corset... and while I'm at it, I think I'll just buy a fake dick and keep it erect the whole time too. Hm, I'm kind of excited about this idea now...

Mean Girls

2004-07-23T21:46:00.000-07:00

On many occasions in my youth, and, I won't lie, on some recent occasions, I have sat down with friends to "analyze" other people, to ponder over why they did, said, wore, smoked the things they did. Our comprehensive investigation would always lead to a singular diagnosis: the person was insecure. In particular, if the unsuspecting psychiatric subject was female, there could be no alternative assessment. Check out these perfectly reasoned conclusions:

*She makes out with everyone 'cause she's insecure.

*She acts all prude 'cause she's insecure.

*She dresses up and acts like she's all that 'cause she's insecure.

*She's all frumpy and doesn't give a shit how she looks 'cause she's insecure.

*She's all skinny 'cause she has an eating disorder 'cause she's insecure.

*She's all fat 'cause she eats all the time 'cause she's insecure.

*She bases her self-worth on her academic performance 'cause she's insecure.

*She doesn't care about school 'cause she's insecure.

*She has all this attitude 'cause she's insecure.

*She's all nice to everyone 'cause she's insecure.

It would be such a fun and simple activity. It would also have this comforting aspect to it, because the more qualities you could pair off with "insecurity," especially of people that were very different from you, the lower your own correlation would be. On the other hand, those of us with more masochistic tendencies would gladly lay all of our own cards on the table to be shuffled and dealt into the hands of eager young sadists.

Somehow, we would never get around to having deep-seated conversations about people that possessed confidence in abundance, or in any capacity, for that matter. I'm not sure how I would recognize such a thing. Chances are, it's not something I would have to worry about- the ostensibly "confident" person would just be frontin' 'cause they're insecure.

Misanthropy

2004-07-11T21:45:00.000-07:00

I hate people arbitrarily and with a passion.

Actually, that's not exactly true. I hate people based on what they exude to me in a rapid assessment. I don't know if I would say this is "superficial," as my decision to hate or not to hate a person has no relation to how good-looking the person is; in fact, I have been known to hate people whom I'd be quite happy to fuck.

I remember on one occasion being notably stoned and thinking I should allow people to redeem themselves in my bloodshot eyes. No, I should take active steps to embrace them in my heart. I thought this could be best achieved by pretending to be their mother. One by one, I imagined giving birth to each of my arch enemies, most of whom possess no knowledge of my existence. I would cry tears of joy as each little bundle, splattered with my vaginal fluids, was placed in my arms. I imagined hearing their first words, taking them to soccer practice and piano lessons, and smirking at their lovable idiocy as they waltzed off to the Prom. This exercise would make me regard my enemy in a very different light. I looked down at my belly button, the place where the bond began. Then I remembered that it was the enemy's belly button, not mine, that was linked to the umbilical cord. Then I decided I was just not cut out to be a mother, so I considered role-playing the father. Then the drugs really wore off and I realized I would burn myself on a funeral pyre before raising such a complete and utter asshole all the way to adulthood.

Pablano Chilli

2004-07-02T21:42:00.000-07:00

What the goddamn fucking hell is a "pablano chilli"?

I just went barbeque-grocery shopping per my mom's request, and shit, usually I love grocery shopping, but this particular episode was just one annoyance upon another. First, it was too fucking crowded. Then, I browsed the chillis, and there were serrano chillis, and eh, other ones, but NOT the pablano ones. I hate talking to people, but I mustered up the will-power to ask a worker what pablano chillis were. "They're usually canned," he replied. "OK, thanks," I muttered quickly, scampering away before I could be expected to make further eye contact or conversation.

I went to the aisle with random canned things but again did not see pablano chillis among the assortment of other canned chillis. I then tried to call my mom's cell phone, which had been used in a conversation between us just moments earlier to discuss red bellpeppers, but she did not pick up. Enraged, I decided I would keep calling until she picked up. However, the network connection then faded into oblivion, so that plan went to shit. I was about to create some major destruction when my gaze fell upon an unsweetened baking chocolate bar and I began imagining the (un)sweet possibilities. I dropped the bar into my shopping cart, figuring it would suffice as an appropriate substitute for these alleged pablano chillis.

Then at the check-out counter, some mofo came up behind me and plopped his items down withOUT utilizing one of those divider things. Who does that?? I glared at him resentfully, but the dipshit was too busy picking his ass to notice. Then, as I was putting away my change, some asshole wanted to squeeze past me. Now, I acknowledge that my ass is somewhat monumental, but can you please go around me when you notice that I am standing here dry-humping the fucking counter to let you pass?

Desi Pop

2004-06-29T21:42:00.000-07:00

The other day -- blessed be free previews, for I am too cheap to view anything otherwise -- I had the opportunity to catch up on some Desi pop videos. My heart flooded with joy upon learning that the good men of the South Asian entertainment media have liberated my young Desi sistaz from being sari-clad, subservient housewives to top-knotch video hoes. The most remarkable progress has been made in what I call the "Fake It and Shake It" genre: they take a golden classic, remake it with untrained singers, remix it with tonedeaf DJ's, and have hot teenagers lip-synch and shake their asses to it. A couple of the videos still featured hot white chicks in a pornographic beach orgy with an unfortunate-looking Desi man, but don't fret, my sistaz; with a little more Fair and Lovely, better hair straightening products, more accessible colored contact lenses, and obsessive low-carb dieting (the Jains invented it, you know!), we will soon acquire our rightful monopoly as Desi pop-smut princesses!

A Lingering Question

2004-06-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

I have never understood the desire to own expensive lingerie. I can understand a person's desire to have her partner wear it, for it can surely look hot, but why would you want some for yourself? To "feel sexy" I suppose, but can't you just get stoned and stick your finger up your cunt for the same effect? It's always worked for me.

Perhaps it provides "better support." I could understand such a concept with respect to bras, but what kind of support does your pussy need? In my experience, anything other than 100% pure cotton from Target yields the most unsavory discharge.

Then, I understand there is this concept of "conspicuous consumption" where you buy shit just to show that you can, but how conspicuous would said undergarments be? If I ever do buy expensive lingerie, I will at least be sure to keep my shirt unbuttoned and wear a super-short skirt to display the distribution of my disposable income, because that is the only way anyone will ever see it. In the rare moment of passion I might find myself in, I am sure I will eagerly rip those articles off before they can even be seen.

Bargaining for time with Desi parents

2004-06-11T21:32:00.000-07:00

My mom has selective hearing, always blocking out the second figure in my time span when she asks me what time I will be home. This is why I have a system worked out for when I expect to return after midnight: I give a figure, just ONE figure, well beyond the actual expected time, because I know both of our Desi asses will immediately begin bargaining.

"What time you will be home?"

"I don't know, like 4."

"FOUR??? No, you be home by 12."

"No, maybe 3."

"1."

"2:30."

"No later than 2. Take your cell phone and make sure you have gas."

Having been away during the year, I had forgotten that even a drive to the post office at 2:00pm requires a 10-minute conversation.

"Where are you going?"

"The post office."

"OK, so you will be back in 10 minutes?"

"No, maybe a little later."

"Why? You're just going to Treat, right?"

"No, Meridian Park."

"What? Why Meridian Park? Go to Treat. Have you seen gas prices recently?"

"Yeah but I might want to stop by the mall and look for clothes."

"No, absolutely not, I get nauseous looking at your closet. Look how many clothes you have! And so many that you don't even wear. Come back in 10 minutes and then go through your closet and remove the clothes you don't wear so we can give them to Salvation Army."

"OK, I'll do that later, but I want to find some new tops."

"No later-bater and no new top-bop. You think we are rich? And look how fat you are. Just sleeping and eating all day, don't even wake up to go for a walk in the morning. From tomorrow on I want you to wake up at 8 and come with me for a walk. The morning sun is the best. Lose at least 20 pounds and then think about new clothes. Go to post office on Treat and come back in 10 minutes."

"OK!!!!!!!"

"And make sure you lock the top and bottom lock as you are leaving. One day three months ago you had only locked the bottom. A thief could have come in!"

"But it's the same key for the top and bottom lock. If the thief could have unlocked the bottom one it also could have unlocked the top one."

"Don't get smart with me. Do you have enough gas?"

"Yeah, or I'll fill it."

"OK, and make sure you take your cell phone."