The other day, my wife and her parents picked up a film called “Hum Phirr Mileinge” (sic) from our local Indian store, apparently without reading the blurb on the back.

Just to be clear, I have not altered the following in any way. I just ran it through the scanner, compressed it a little so as not to crash the site, and posted it for you:

If you’re having trouble reading it, never fear; the text is plagiarized verbatim from a Oneindia.in web review. And here is a short excerpt in case you’re too lazy to click:

To put it bluntly, Hum Phirr Mileinge is archaic and outdated. You actually pinch yourself while watching this one. Is this real? Perhaps, director Manish Goel is completely clueless about the kind of cinema being made these days. The direction is unbelievably weak and so is the writing. Frankly, nothing works in this film, except for a couple of tuneful songs [Sandesh Shandilya], which, sadly, show up even if there’s no situation.

Remember, they are trying to sell DVDs with this blurb!

My question for you is this: how do you think this happened? A DVD printing/label company operator phoning it in, or intentional subversion?

Aharay! What a waste of perfectly good achar…

The X-ray equipment used by TSA airport security in Columbus could not detect what was inside a sealed canister in a bag being inspected around 7 p.m. Tuesday. [wlwt]

A brown woman? A suspicious package? Airport security to the rescue!

The container was labeled “baby food,” but authorities say security personnel became suspicious when the woman who owned the suitcase claimed the canister held pickles. [kansascity]

There’s only one thing to do.

The fire department bomb squad removed the item from the airport and detonated it, discovering the mangoes.

No one was hurt. Flights and other airport operations were not interrupted.[wlwt]

There are two things I love to this story. First, I wonder where this woman was going that she absolutely had to pack mango achar in her luggage. Where ever it was, she just absolutely could not leave home without the essential mango pickle to take with her. Secondly, I find it hilarious that they detonated the canister of achar. I imagine flying tangy orange sauce exploding all over the members of the bomb squad and pieces of mango getting stuck in their hair. Couldn’t they have just uncapped the jar and tasted it instead?

Desi, please.

Doubtless many readers saw the recent article in the New York Times, profiling Katherine Russell Rich, author most recently of a book called Dreaming in Hindi — a memoir of a year spent in Rajasthan, learning Hindi.

Something about the article in the Times bugged me, starting with the following passage:

One store owner insists in English that she is not actually speaking Hindi; when Ms. Rich explains, in Hindi, that she studied the language for some time in Rajasthan, he retorts, in English, “They don’t speak Hindi in Rajasthan.” (This happens not to be true.)

When Ms. Rich returned to New York from abroad, she spontaneously spoke Hindi to a friend of a friend. “He told me that when I spoke Hindi to him, it was like a body blow,” Ms. Rich said. “I think to Indians, sometimes it feels like I’m eavesdropping on a private conversation, like I’m breaking the fourth wall.” (link)

Wait, couldn’t it also be that the people Rich has been accosting, taxi drivers and convenience store clerks, might simply find this persistent American annoying, and have refused to speak Hindi with her mainly to make her go away? Lady, I’m sorry if your being in New York means your newly-acquired Hindi is going to start getting rusty. But I got a job to do, and that involves speaking English to patrons as I sell them stuff, not teaching you how to pronounce “lajawab” correctly. Next in line, please?

The question has to be asked: why does Katherine Russell Rich want to learn to speak Hindi? Is it to communicate with Hindi speakers while living in India? That would be a perfectly fine reason, indeed, an admirable one. But I suspect that sadly her real desire was to a) get paid for writing a book where she can talk all about her Hindi lessons and her impressions of Rajasthan, only to b) promptly move back to Manhattan, where she’ll irk Hindi speaking New Yorkers with her persistent demands that they speak Hindi with her?

Another annoyance in the article is the presumption that people refuse to acknowledge a white woman who speaks Hindi because we desis like to gossip about Americans in our secret language:

To some people from India, Ms. Rich learned, it is insulting to be addressed in anything other than English, a language of the privileged. And for some immigrants, domain over a language unfamiliar to most Americans must feel like one of the few riches they can claim. (link)

I really don’t know where the author of the article got this idea. (Why not ask an actual Indian, Hindi-speaker before making the speculative statement that “domain over a language unfamiliar to most Americans must feel like one of the few riches they can claim”?)

Finally, there is the obligatory dis on second-generation, “heritage” students who take Hindi classes at their universities:

“A lot of Indians who were born here or moved here when they were very small want to rediscover the language,” he said. (Ms. Rich said that she had overlapped with such students at New York University, and that many were already proficient in the language, less interested in their heritage and more interested in an easy A.) (link)

I’ll have you know, Ms. Rich, that most second gen, Indian-American college students do not take Hindi for this reason. I myself took Hindi at Cornell, and my professor gave me a “B” in intermediate Hindi (I deserved it, but it still smarts: certainly not an “easy A”).

In fact, most Indian-American college students actually take Hindi to meet, and flirt with, other Indian-American college students. So there.

Should government ministers use Twitter to keep the public informed of their daily activities? That’s a question being debated in India, thanks to new Minister of State for External Affairs Shashi Tharoor, who reportedly is the first Indian minister to actively use Twitter.

In case you aren’t one of his growing legion of followers, here’s just a sampling of his recent tweets:

First day in Parliament. Still can’t believe I made it to Delhi! Remind me not to fly Kingfisher again.
7:05 AM May 19th from TwitterBerry

Have given 13 interviews in 3 languages and 2 more TV shows pending. A little overwhelmed by the media scum.
3:31 PM May 19th from TwitterBerry

Scrum. I meant, scrum.
3:32 PM May 19th from TwitterBerry

@koshy no, I won’t be tweeting in Malayalam.
6:54 PM May 19th from TwitterBerry

@sreenivasan I’ve made 500 campaign speeches in Malayalam, given 150+ interviews in Malayalam, cursed my ex-wife in Malayalam!
6:59 PM May 19th from TwitterBerry

@verghese yes, I do regret the last part. I should have done it in French.
7:02 PM May 19th from TwitterBerry

Lunch with Vijay Amritraj, tennis ace and old friend. Discussed Wimbledon, Fed vs. Nad.
2:34 PM May 20th from TwitterBerry

@bhupathi yes, I’m more of a “Go Fed” guy than a “Go Nad” guy.
2:43 PM May 20th from TwitterBerry

Office computer still won’t work  … too many bugs. Clerk used a spray and 100 roaches ran out!
10:22 AM May 24th from TwitterBerry

It’s been a rough several months reading the news out of Sri Lanka. But fortunately, The Onion noticed.

And thus we have the painfully hilarious Michelle Obama’s Arms Meet With Sri Lankan Refugees

(Spotted via Twitter. I’ve become a bit of a Twitter fiend lately.)

It is not unlikely that you have read or at least seen one article about Michelle Obama’s arms—her bold (?) sleevelessness, her workout routine, her admirably solid triceps and biceps and DISCIPLINE. The woman is RIPPED. Information about Michelle Obama’s arms is, for the most part, plentiful and straightforward and accessible. And this is comparatively ridiculous. As the piece indicates, it is pretty much like THE ARMS exist as an entity separate from the First Lady herself. Like THE ARMS are deeply important. You would think everyone cared about THE ARMS.

What else is going on in the world? A gentle jolt, courtesy of The Onion’s lede:

VAVUNIYA, SRI LANKA—In a rare diplomatic trip overseas, first lady Michelle Obama’s arms visited the largest refugee camp in Sri Lanka this week, bringing hope and comfort to countless victims of the nation’s 26-year civil war.

The article is actually weirdly informative. References to the number of displaced, the human rights minister, Manik Farm, the length of the war, the nature of ongoing suffering…

There are probably people who will only read about Sri Lanka in this one article. It’s comforting to think that if that’s true, at least those people will get not only a laugh, but also a very real sense of the most urgent issue in Sri Lanka right now: the people who need humanitarian aid. Well done, Onion. Humor and heart.

(Reminded me of the post-9/11 issue. Find American Life Turns Into Bad Jerry Bruckheimer Movie here.)

This is sick. Out of the 41 semifinalists left standing today, 15 of the are Indian Americans. The Kenyans have running. The Cubans, baseball. The Chinese, ping-pong. Indian Americans own spelling.

It was a moment to savor. Of the record 293 participants at 82nd Scripps National Spelling Bee, only 41 moved on to the nationally televised semifinals that start Thursday morning (10 a.m. ET, ESPN)…

Expected to be in that final group are several returning favorites. Fourteen-year-old Keiko Bridwell of Duncan, S.C., back for the fourth time after tying for 17th last year, had no problem with “swivel” and “mahout” (one who keeps or drives elephants) in her oral rounds and breezed into the semifinals.

Is it easier now because she’s a veteran?

“More pressure,” Keiko said. “Everybody wants me to do better.”… [Link]

When ESPN calls you the Spelling Bee favorite it is just like putting an NFL player on the cover of a Madden game. You are probably cursed. Therefore, based on my own intensive scouting I offer up the following thoughts for those people who have bookies in Vegas and want to bet on these young horses. Word of advice: always bet on brown.

The first one I want you to keep an eye on is Vaibhav S. Vavilala from Indiana. Double V as he is known on the circuit is a 4 time competitor. Experience helps, but it can also prove to be a mental block because you can better visualize past failure.

Click for full profile

The next contestant I want you to watch for is Kavya “The Destroyer” Shivashankar. Like Double V above she is a four time veteran. According to her profile the thirteen year old looks forward to becoming a neurosurgeon. The Kavyas we know stop at nothing when the smell of success is in the air.

Click for full profile

Shekhar Kapur has made the worst advertisement ever, for Schweppes. It stars Nicole Kidman, Arjun Rampal, Rubina Ali (the little girl from Slumdog Millionaire), the Lake Palace at Udaipur, and a thick, dripping heap of tacky, pseudo-sensual, Orientalist ambience. I think it’s sort of meant to be ironic, but the irony doesn’t really work:

What is the thing you hate most about it? I’d like to compile a complete list and send it to the man.

I used to really admire Shekhar Kapur, for Masoom, The Bandit Queen and for the first Elizabeth. More recently, I started to think something something had gone wrong when my wife and I wasted one of our rare babysitter nights to go see the half-baked Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Now, after watching this ad, I think I’ll abstain from Shekhar Kapur (and probably also Schweppes) entirely.

Via Harbeer comes this video: a sock-puppet parody of, what else, Slumdog Millionaire:

Although, I am not sure what I think of the Punjabi MC performance at the end.

It's become pretty old hat for us to find Bollywood rip offs of Western music and movies. Indian Superman is probably still my alltime favorite but this music video manages to chart new ground on an extremely crowded landscape.

Not only do they rip off the tune, they also rip off the band -

Not wanting to be left out of the fun, some Westerner's gave the video the Tunak Tunak treatment. The result is below the fold -

An unintentionally hilarious (to me) story on NPR Monday morning. It seems that West Point researchers stumbled upon a terrorist recruitment “how-to” manual:

Researchers at West Point recently stumbled on the 51-page manual while they were visiting a jihadi chat room, called Ecles. It’s a Web site that allows members to have interactive discussions, post videos and download manuals. Ecles is the second most popular jihadi chat room on the Web, and al-Qaida often posts things there. Because of that, it is a place counterterrorism analysts track regularly.

So when the West Point analysts discovered a step-by-step primer called “The Art of Recruiting Mujahedeen,” it got their attention. On one level, the manual might be an early indication that al-Qaida is trying to identify new sleeper terrorists. On the other hand, the book is so basic it seems to suggest al-Qaida is getting desperate for new members. [Link]

What is it in the manual that suggests desperation to some? Well, if I were to slap a different, more pleasant cover on the book and then re-name it to, let’s say… “The Art of Seducing Desi Boys” I think I could make big money by marketing it to some SM readers. Behold the advice, straight from the manual [with my suggested modifications]:

Here’s how the manual, as translated by the CIA, suggests a recruiter build a rapport with a recruit:

“This stage lasts approximately three weeks [unless it overlaps with March Madness in which case it may take longer],” it says. “You must do something important at this stage [such as letting him go past first base]. You must identify his interests and relations with people [especially with his overprotective mother] and how he spends the whole 24 hours, meaning you study him secretly to be reassured about your choice [and make sure he does not talk about finance, medicine, or Battlestar Galactica too much…well definitely not finance or medicine].”

This section touches on such things as being nice to the recruit. It suggests the recruiter pretend to be his friend, perhaps even buy him small gifts [like the Wii]. It ends with a questionnaire to assess progress. “Is the recruit [more] anxious to see you [than Jamal was to see Latika]?” it asks. You get one point for “no” [because he probably doesn’t have many options anyways] and three points for “[hell] yes.” Does he accept your advice and respect your opinion [about how he should smile like Sanjay Gupta more often]?… “If you have received less than 10 points, you are on the wrong path [and need to try again on Shaddi.com, or a speed dating event], repeat the stages from the beginning. From 10 to 18, you are on your way [to achieving your Bollywood Dreams].” [Link]

I’m telling you. There is money to be made in this book idea of mine.

We regularly get news tips about freakishly smart desi kids, like six year old Pranav Veera:

Pranav Veera can recite the names of the U.S. presidents in the order they served in office. He can say the alphabet backward. Give him a date back to 2000, and he’ll tell you the day of the week. He’s only 6 years old… Pranav has an IQ of 176… Albert Einstein’s IQ was believed to be about 160. The average IQ is 100. [link]

Yawn. Another desi Doogie in diapers. I mean, the kid is cute:

But he’s not really that smart:

What does Pranav want to be when he grows up? “An astronaut,” he said without hesitation. [link]

Besides which, I know the secret of our racial success. No, it’s not secret pooja, genetic superiority or even sheer numbers (if one person in a million has an IQ of 176 or above, and there are over a million desis in America … ), it’s parents:

And some of you wonder why I sweat engineers…look at what amazing things they do! Hot off our tip-line:

A couple of weeks back, Sree asked SAJA Forum readers to help him see if there were any Desis affected by the Madoff swindle: http://www.sajaforum.org/2009/02/crime-any-desis-on-the-madoff-client-list.html

As a techie, needing to have humans manually crowdsource the filtering of Desi names out of a long list seemed inefficient.

That’s why I built DesiFilter, a new web tool to help community journalists and obsessive Desi-angle stalkers:

http://www.desifilter.com (click on “Example 1”, etc. for sample datasets)

It’s pretty simple — just feed it some text, and it’ll go through a list of about 26,000 common South Asian names and highlight possible matches.

South Asian names are super-multicultural. I tried to remove most common Anglo names (otherwise any list of American names would be all false positives), but there’s still substantial overlap with Iranian, Arab, Turkish, and Portuguese names. It may miss Anna John and catch Osama Bin Laden — but it’s still infinitely easier than looking for potentially Desi names by hand.

My goal is for the tool to be part of any obsessive Desi-angle stalker’s toolkit. I’m interested in what you or Sepia readers find with it. I’d love feedback. Thanks.

You want feedback? Boy, you ‘bout to get you some feedback, let me tell YOU. ;) I love how it’s an accepted practice to be an “obsessive, Desi-angle stalker”. It’s just so matter-of-fact. And warm and fuzzy— we at SM are not the only ones! Admit it, you totally do it, too. When movie credits roll, and you see a Best Boy named Neel/Jay/Anil Patel/Sen/Singh, you feel a little twinge of recognition…or indigestion. Who told you to get a Large popcorn AND nachos?

Anyway, is this the first time I’ve reprinted an ENTIRE, somewhat lengthy missive to the tip line, verbatim? Why, I think it is. I just don’t have the heart to remove anything. Especially any sentence which allows me to escape freely (muahahaha) while catching Bin Laden. FINALLY! Someone needed to do it and the U.S. sucks at it. Jai Hind! No, wait…Jai Ho! Actually, more like Jai HIM——> Anirvan.

Of course, if you’re a bibliophile, you already knew him; he’s behind the very respected BookFinder.com

…the best resource (online or off) for finding used, rare, and out of print books. The Library of Congress recommends it; both Newsweek and Money magazines called it one of the two best book sites online (the other, in both cases, being Amazon.com). [link]

And no, Anirvan didn’t pay me to splort all over your screen with my giddiness over his geekery. I splorted for free! Wait, that sounds awful. My point is, we get dozens, if not hundreds of tips. We rarely have the resources to cover each one. Most of you are aware of this.

I’m sure Anirvan sent in his DesiFilter message, shrugged, and thought “maybe”. He certainly couldn’t have expected that I’d put down my outrageously late dinner of lemon rice and paavaka mezhukkupuratti, pause the DVR and postpone packing for my trip tomorrow, just to publish an effusive endorsement of his efforts. He deserves it, though. It’s not every day that reading a tip makes me go —> :D. Better living through technology, y’all. I’m ‘bout it bout ‘it. Let the stalking begin! Wait, that doesn’t sound right, either…

Mutineers, have you been the victim…of strange assumptions and blatant stupidity?

Are you confused? Uneasy? Constipated?

You may be suffering from PSSD. Post-Slumdog Stress Disorder is a very real ailment, with devastating consequences for its sufferers. Victims of PSSD often, on a daily, if not hourly basis, endure flashes of rage, manic ranting, rocking back and forth while twitching slightly in the corner, and a smug proclivity to email links to anti-“Slumdog Millionaire” news stories with the subject line: “HA! Look who agrees with me! LOOK!!”.

If you have been accosted by allegedly well-meaning but clearly oblivious, pink cylons who initiate insensitive conversations about this movie with you, DO SOMETHING. Instead of being harmed by that dangerous trauma trigger, show them this educational video, so that they leave you the fuck alone, then you can go back to being bitter about not going to medical or law school, in peace.

Link courtesy of old skool mutineer SexyGultiHo. And yes, that’s his screen name.

WHEREAS, Aishwarya Bachchan (née Rai) won the Miss World contest in 1994, bringing glory to India and paving the way for three lesser beauties to win the same title.

WHEREAS, Freida Pinto was a model who appeared in ads for Hutch, Airtel and Wrigley’s Chewing Gum, but was not selected by L’Oréal, the world’s largest cosmetics and beauty company, to grace billboards in New York, Toronto and other major cities around the world, causing innumerable men to drive their cars into telephone poles.

WHEREAS, Aishwarya Bachchan has long been known as “The Most Beautiful Woman in the World,” a title bestowed on her by none other than Julia Roberts, which, along with the acronym TMBWIIW, is widely recognized as her trademark, in much the same way as Angelina Jolie is widely considered to possess the trademark of TMBWITWOTA, or “The Most Beautiful Woman in the World Other Than Aishwarya.”

WHEREAS, Aishwarya Bachchan has appeared in 40 movies, has been crowned the “Queen of Bollywood,” and is a favorite of Mani Ratnam, Ashutosh Gowariker and other top directors who have created blockbusters featuring such acclaimed stars as Amitabh Bachchan, Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Bachchan.

WHEREAS, Freida Pinto has appeared in just one English movie, a role that required her mainly to smile and look pretty, while Aishwarya Bachchan has starred in several English movies such as Bride and Prejudice, Mistress of Spices and The Pink Panther 2, roles that required her to not just smile and look pretty, but also flutter her eyelashes.

DEAR ANU: I’m tired of the dating scene and have decided that I’d like to have an arranged marriage, but my parents insist that I have a love marriage. They don’t want me to end up like them. “A love marriage may not last, but at least you will be happy for a short time,” my father said. “With an arranged marriage, you may be unhappy forever.”

I cried and pleaded with them to arrange my marriage. Finally, my mother said, “Okay, then. We will arrange a love marriage for you.” They want to arrange it with the son of my father’s dentist. They want me to date him for six months and try my best to fall in love with him. “He is a good boy,” my mother said. “He will not expect you to sleep with him on the first date.”

I just about screamed when I heard that. “I’m saving myself for the right man!” I said. My father, who happens to be a banker, smiled and nodded his head. “Saving is good,” he said. “But boys these days, before making any investments, they like to do some checking.”

Please help me! I don’t know what to do. — SoConfused in SoCal

DEAR SO CONFUSED: Yours is a common complaint I’ve been getting from the younger generation. Many parents aren’t totally happy with their arranged marriages and want something better for their children. But the children have been through the dating process and want something better for themselves, something that doesn’t involve being dumped.

I think the idea of arranging a love marriage is a good one, but so is falling in love with an arranged marriage. The important thing is to end up with the right person, someone who will love and cherish you, someone who’s interested in a long-term investment, rather than a quick withdrawal.

India’s religious right has been taking a public relations beating this past week. The newly formed Consortium of Pub-going, Loose and Forward Women (which, by the way, is the greatest name for a group since the Committee for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice) has organized the Pink Chaddis Campaign to oppose the Sri Ram Sena’s despicable actions last month and their impending Valentine’s Day protests:

The group says it will give the pink underwear to Sri Ram Sena (Army of Lord Ram) on Valentine’s Day on Saturday.

[SRS] was blamed for the bar attack in the southern city of Mangalore last month.

Pramod Mutalik, who heads the little known Ram Sena and is now on bail after he was held following the attack, has said it is “not acceptable” for women to go to bars in India.

He has also said his men will protest against Valentine’s Day on Saturday. [Link]

Let’s just hope that the SRS leaders don’t have a fetish for women’s underwear or this campaign will not have its intended effect.

In other news (perhaps not entirely unrelated) the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), India’s Hindu nationalist group, has decided to start marketing a soft drink that contains cow urine. They see it as a refreshing alternative to Coke or Pepsi. I am sure they would rather young women kick back with a six pack of these instead of be loose at a bar with a beer:

Om Prakash, the head of the department, said the drink - called “gau jal”, or “cow water” - in Sanskrit was undergoing laboratory tests and would be launched “very soon, maybe by the end of this year”.

“Don’t worry, it won’t smell like urine and will be tasty too,” he told The Times from his headquarters in Hardwar, one of four holy cities on the River Ganges. “Its USP will be that it’s going to be very healthy. It won’t be like carbonated drinks and would be devoid of any toxins.”

The drink is the latest attempt by the RSS - which was founded in 1925 and now claims eight million members - to cleanse India of foreign influence and promote its ideology of Hindutva, or Hindu-ness. [Link]

I am curious, does anyone know how the cow urine aftershave splash has been doing in sales?

Do you like lists? I love ‘em. My favorites include “100 things to do before you die,” “50 ways to lose your blubber,” and “25 ways to hide your bald spot.” (No, I don’t have a bald spot. I have a bald zip code.)

I just found another list. It’s called “Ten people who could change the world” and — surprise, surprise — Bobby Jindal is on it. The man never ceases to amaze me. I mean, he’s destined to change the world, whereas I have enough trouble changing my little son’s diaper.

The list appeared in the British magazine New Statesman, along with a profile of the Louisiana governor and future president.

Bobby Jindal talks too fast. That, both admirers and detractors agree, is the most noticeable flaw in the impressive presentation he offers as the first Indian-American governor and perhaps the best prospect for revitalising a Republican Party that has just started its tour of the wilderness … [Link]

Come on, guys. He doesn’t talk too fast. You just need to brush up on your Punjabi. You do know that he isn’t always speaking English, don’t you?

The man is brilliant. He speaks Punjabi, Hindi, Telugu, Tamil, Malayalam, French, Spanish, Arabic, Swahili and Xhosa, to name just a few. He’ll be the first U.S. president who can talk to foreign leaders in their native tongues. That would be a stark contrast from the last Republican president, who could barely talk to foreign leaders in his native tongue.

His rush of words is likely linked to the rush of his ambition, and his ambition - at 37, just two years above the minimum to be president - appears beyond restraint. He began his assimilation aged four, when he announced to his parents, a civil engineer and state official who moved from the Punjab to Louisiana before their son was born, that he wanted to be called “Bobby”, after a character in the 1970s sitcom The Brady Bunch, rather than his given name, Piyush. [Link]

You hear that? Bobby began his assimilation at age 4! The only thing I was assimilating at age 4 was payasam. Changing my name was the farthest thing from my mind. I was focusing on more exciting things, such as climbing the tree in the front yard, bouncing a ball off the neighbor’s wall, and pulling my sister’s hair.

India has a reputation for producing a lot of doctors, but it may also be gaining a reputation for producing a lot of doctoring. The fake-document industry appears to be flourishing like never before, which makes you wonder how many of those doctors have doctorates that were doctored. Not many, I believe, but every now and then, a fraudulent doctor is busted, perhaps after giving a patient reason to doubt his medical knowledge.

Patient: “Doctor, my angina is killing me. Please help me!”

Doctor: “Okay, lie back and spread your legs.”

A Bangladeshi man named Golam Kibria was recently fined for practicing medicine with no real  qualifications — unless you count that high school certificate.

After interrogation, Kibria confessed holding no medical qualifications. He said he began his career as an employee at a pharmacy in Kushtia in 1991. Since he wanted ‘to become a doctor’, in 2003 he went to India and bought MBBS and MD (Doctor of Medicine) certificates at a cost of Tk 12,000 from a network of people there who specialise in sale of ‘fake’ certificates of different colleges and universities. [Link]

Only Tk 12,000 ($175) for a pair of medical degrees? Wow, I wonder if I can finally make my mother’s dream come true. Don’t worry: I’m not planning on practicing medicine — just practicing being a good son.

Imagine how pleased my mom would be to display my MD certificate on her bedroom wall, right next to my PhD from Harvard and MBA from Wharton.

Earlier this week I was surveying some recently and soon-to-be-released albums as I decided what to load on to my mp3 player. Like many, I enjoy listening to music when I work out and especially when I run, so something upbeat was in order. I checked out the new Common and Lily Allen albums and they seemed worth loading. Then however, I came upon the must have release-of-the-week and used up the rest of my allowance:

Nassau County Police in New York are seeking information on the whereabouts of the Bollywood Movie Awards, last seen on May 26, 2007, at the Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Long Island.

The BMAs, as they were affectionately called, were reported missing last May and have not been found, despite frantic efforts by American and Indian search and rescue teams.

“We’ve searched by land, by water and by air,” said Nassau County Police spokesman Scott Hansen. “We even sent divers to the bottom of the East River. The only thing they found was a rusted trophy won by David Hasselhoff at the 2005 BMAs.”

Hansen said the police department has received dozens of calls from concerned citizens about the BMAs. “One man was particularly distraught,” Hansen said. “He said he cannot survive another year without seeing Bipasha Basu in a tight dress.”

Hansen said foul play is not suspected, but police are looking into various possibilities. They have interviewed a number of past BMA nominees who didn’t win an award. But most did not attend the show, so their disappointment, if any, was minimal, Hansen said.

“That’s the thing about the BMAs,” Hansen said. “They always strived to make people happy. Almost all celebrities who were willing to attend the show were given an award. Special awards were created for them if necessary.”

But he acknowledged that police had questioned Aamir Khan, who they suspect has held a grudge since 1999, when Shahrukh Khan won a BMA for “Best Sensational Performance.”

“I don’t know much about Bollywood,” Hansen said, “but I hear that Aamir believes he’s more sensational than Shahrukh.”

Action hero Steven Seagal, who won the BMA’s “Humanitarian Award” in 2001, is among several Hollywood celebrities who have expressed shock and concern about their disappearance.

“I hope we can find them,” Seagal said. “As far as I’m concerned, the BMAs are better than the Academy Awards. They gave me an award and they even let me sing. The Academy Awards won’t even let me in the building.”

The ongoing search for all photos and documents from President Obama’s past has turned up a diary that his desi roommate kept in the early 1980s. Some of the entries are quite revealing:

Aug. 28, 1981: Barack and I went searching for furniture today. We found a couch that someone had dumped on the street. It doesn’t look too bad, once we turned the cushions over. It doesn’t smell bad either, once Barack sprayed it with his Brut.

Sept. 14, 1981: Barack and I have been eating pizza, macaroni and cheese, and Ramen noodles for dinner. But today, I decided to make chicken karahi for a change. Barack tasted it and said, “Mmmm … This is a good change. Did I tell you how much I believe in change?”

Oct. 2, 1981: I tried to get Barack to give up cigarettes today. I said to him, “Why smoke cigarettes when you can smoke pot?” But it didn’t work. Poor guy. He really needs some help.

Nov. 13, 1981: Barack is a little too square. I’m trying to get him to be more stylish, more cool. Yesterday, I took him to see Sholay at a friend’s house, hoping that Amitabh Bachchan’s style would rub off on him. And today, Barack is walking around wearing a wide-collared shirt and saying, “Tera naam kya hai, Basanti?”

Nov. 20, 1981: Barack is such a dreamer. He talks about being leader of America one day. I told him that he needs to shoot for something more realistic, such as leader of the church choir. I mean, the day a black man becomes leader of America is the day I need to give up weed.

I was chatting with a friend –- let’s call him Varun –- about books and movies. Varun considers himself an expert on almost everything. So I asked him to name his favorite books and movies.

VARUN: “Well, one of my favorite books is Salman Rushdie’s M. Night’s Children.”

ME: “Don’t you mean Midnight’s Children?”

VARUN: “No, M. Night’s Children. It’s the story of two brave girls who delete a movie script on their father’s computer, saving the world from another disaster.”

ME: “Wow, Salman is amazing. Give the man a Nobel already! What other books do you like?”

VARUN: “I really love Jhumpa Lahiri’s first book Interpreter of My Laddoos.”

ME: “Don’t you mean Interpreter of Maladies?”

VARUN: “No, Interpreter of My Laddoos. It’s the story of a woman named Anjali who owns an Indian restaurant in New York and tries to win the attention of a handsome IT specialist by giving him two free laddoos after every meal. She keeps wondering if he will get the message.”

ME: “Jhumpa is fantastic. Where does she get her ideas?”

VARUN: “Yes, she’s fabulous. I also like her latest book: Unaccustomed Girth.”

ME: “Don’t you mean Unaccustomed Earth?”

VARUN: “No, Unaccustomed Girth. It’s the story of a skinny lad from Kolkata named Gopal who comes to America to study at Boston University and falls in love with the all-you-can-eat buffet.”

ME: “Another winner from Jhumpa! What other books do you like?”

Am I the only one who thinks of an infamously disturbing Borat quote whenever Pamela Anderson is mentioned: “She had golden hairs, teeth as white as pearls, and the…”. I am? Sigh. Okay, fine.

Via the Beeb:

Stray dogs in India’s financial capital, Mumbai (Bombay) should be sterilised not killed, says former Baywatch star Pamela Anderson.

Animal lover Ms Anderson intervened on the dogs’ behalf in a letter to the city authorities.

“Dogs cannot use condoms but… they can be ‘fixed’ painlessly,” she wrote.

The star learnt of the dogs’ plight after Mumbai’s High Court recently said strays should be killed as they were a “permanent nuisance” to the public. [BBC]

More:

The court gave the ruling in response to a public interest litigation filed by a Mumbai-based non-governmental organisation (NGO), In Defence of Animals, challenging the validity of certain provisions of a law that permits killing of dogs under certain conditions. It said animals had as much constitutional right to life as humans and had a “right to expect compassion from Indian citizens”.[ST]

The court interpreted “nuisance” in this instance as “anything that endangers life or is injurious to the health of the public at large”.

While it noted that mere barking could not be cause for killing a dog, “dogs that have the habit of chasing moving vehicles, especially two-wheelers, may be treated as a public nuisance as they could lead to accidents”. [ST]

Animals rights activists say that as many as 70,000 strays in Mumbai and many more across the states of Maharashtra and Goa may be disposed of if the High Court’s ruling goes ahead.

The decision has been stayed until the end of this month.[BBC]

“The way they suddenly pounce on bike riders is dangerous. Something has to be done and they have to be off roads.”

On the subject of Pamela herself, Mr Guliyani said: “She is hot but why is she writing to the municipal commissioner[BBC]

Duh, that’s what hot people do.

One of you phoned me, all out of breath, to say: “Have you heard? Prince Harry said racist things about BROWN people! This is so Sepia Mutiny. Are you going to blog it? Are you? Are you? Because, like, if you do? I don’t want credit, but I can’t WAIT until SM covers it. Okay? So, are you blogging it? When?”

Well…how ‘bout now, you not-annoying-at-all badger.

The video embedded above features Prince Harry disparaging darkies, his Grandmother and perhaps Canadians, as well— I couldn’t tell at times, with his accent. Well, that and a lot of people seem to insult Canadians (why?), so it seems like a safe assumption. The footage commences with time spent in an airport, waiting for a flight to the former British colony of Cyprus; after some editing, Harry is shown later on, discussing night maneuvers in Cyprus, as well as his pubes.

Speaking of those, they are what inspired the title of this post. In my title, I use the word “Ginger”, to refer to an infamous South Park episode which can help us understand why the Prince did what he did; perhaps by understanding, we may gain closure, and move on.

I had initially typed, “What next? Water is wet?” in the little Movable Type box before going the Ginger route. I only reveal this because I was really torn about which title to use. Obviously, South Park beats logic and sarcasm, every time. And for good reason, at least in this case.

Listening to Eric Cartman is especially instructive when trying to pick up the pieces after a traumatic video like the one above. Many people are asking themselves, why would Prince Harry SAY such a thing? Because water is wet? Trolls like to upset people? It’s just the way things are?

Or…is there something…more sinister…behind that pale skin and insolent mouth?

In a class presentation, Cartman argues that “Gingers” - people with red hair, freckles, and pale skin - are disgusting and are inherently evil, have no souls, and are unable to walk around during the day because of this...

Aasif Mandvi wasn’t the only person to allude to the fact that Sanjay Gupta’s coming nomination makes life harder for all of us non- attractive neurosurgeon journalists. Sandip Roy, writing at New American Media, also tries to prepare us all for how hard it is going to be for us regular desis to play keep up with the Guptas now:

…I fear it’s a mixed blessing for the rest of us much more run-of-the-mill South Asians. It’s exciting to see someone who comes from your stock make it big. But another neurosurgeon-makes-good story is going to make us look even more like underachievers.

“What’s the matter, beta? Why can’t you be more like that nice Sanjay Gupta? Not just a neurosurgeon but on CNN AND meeting Obama for three hours?”

Not only is he dashing and articulate. Not only did he do brain surgery on a 2 -year-old Iraqi boy while embedded during the Iraq war, now he might be the new Surgeon-general. Let me pause, and reel in the envy!

And his only qualm, according to the Washington Post is “is said to involve the financial impact on his pregnant wife and two children if he gives up his lucrative medical and journalistic careers.”

Golly. This is a South Asian parent’s dream. He’s 39 and he’s already followed the four stages of a good Hindu life - childhood, education, family and now a sort-of-renunciation-and-service… [Link]

I completely agree with Roy’s analysis. This is the reason I have been pretty bummed ever since the Gupta nomination even though I agree he is a good pick. In fact, there has been a sort of let down ever since Obama got elected. He promised that we could all “Be the change.” How can that be true though when 300,000 people submitted resumes for ~7000 “change” jobs? Its like musical chairs and I, like may of you, am left without a seat. I’m the wrong kind of doctor, just a blogger and not a journalist, and I’m not quite so…model-like. I can’t even complain that he had access to a better education at an elitist school since we went to the same school. In short, I’m rapidly turning into a bitter hater, much like conservative pundit Stephen Colbert who basically implies in the clip below that Gupta isn’t qualified since he is a “dick eater”:

News that Sanjay Gupta has been offered the position of Surgeon General has produced the classic trifecta of Golidlocks responses: Is he too sexy for the job, not sexy enough, or does he have the right amount of smouldering sex appeal to keep pace with Obama, Biden, Daschle and Hillary Clinton?

Too sexy for this job:

My friend Dr. B objects to the idea that SG could be the SG, saying that he lacks the gravitas for the job, and that she would have preferred a more established, less erotically charged nominee in the C. Everett Koop mold.

For those of you too young to remember, despite Koop’s mad pediatric surgical skillz, he was as attractive as Bill Gates on a bad hair day. Nobody, no matter how intense their uniform fetish, ever had an erotic dream about Dr. Koop or Joycelen Elders, and Dr. B thinks that precedent should be maintained.

Similarly, when Dr. Amonymous asks for SG’s policy qualifications, pointing out that “The Surgeon General functions under the direction of the Assistant Secretary for Health and operationally heads the 6,000-member Commissioned Corps of the USPHS, a cadre of health professionals who are on call 24 hours a day, and can be dispatched by the Secretary of HHS or the Assistant Secretary for Health in the event of a public health emergency.” [wiki], it’s clear that what he’s really saying is … “how can I take him seriously when he’s so pretty?”

(Manish has a variant of this argument, claiming not that Gupta is too sexy for the job, but that the job isn’t sexy enough for him, calling it a step down from his current position to one that pays less and has less influence.)

They do have a point since “Gupta was named one of the Sexiest Men of 2003 by People magazine.” [wiki] It’s hard to see what more objective measure of sexiness there might be.

Not sexy enough for this job:

There are those, however, who reject People Magazine’s imprimature as if it were some illegible doctor’s scrawl on a prescription pad, arguing brazenly that Dr. Gupta doesn’t have the intellectual honesty sex appeal necessary for the position.

I thought it would be cute and fun to do a “resolutions” post on December 31st, but I wasn’t sure how to approach it. After all, just asking you what you plan on not accomplishing in the new year seemed rather bleh. So, imagine my glee when I discovered a frothy fashion article about this exact subject with no less than 1.5 brown connections to exploit! Problem solved.

Via Vogue.com:

We asked some of our favorite women what they hope to do (or do a little bit better)—from family to food and fashion—in 2009.

I’ve only quoted about half of the resolvers here:

Vera Wang, designer “Work more and work out more.”

Venus Williams, tennis player “I think it’s time to give up leggings and add more prints to my closet in 2009. I also think it’s time for more accessories, but I want to avoid those big chunky pieces.”

While she is a tennis player, Venus isn’t our “0.5” connection. ;)

Chanel Iman, model “Step back into my closet and re-create the things I haven’t worn in a while and do wardrobe swaps with my friends. After the swap, you can go shopping for that one item that will make the trade pop. It’s kind of a green way to go.”

Sophie Buhai, designer, Vena Cava “Monochromatic fashion that feels elegant (but is almost boring) paired with an eccentric large metal necklace is what I am wanting to wear. As far as giving things up, I’d say it’s time to give up flashy designer bags. The new year and a new economy are all about buying vintage Ferragamo and Bottega on eBay.”

Coco Rocha, model “Wear more jackets. This is the time to bundle up, and a girl cannot have too many coats because it is what you are seen most in during the winter season.”

Marina Rust, contributing editor, Vogue “I know if I squeeze a lemon into a cup of hot water and honey every morning I will actually feel and look better. Maybe this year I will remember to do it.”

Tory Burch, designer “Keep things in perspective and not sweat the small stuff. I always try to focus on the big picture and remember if my family is happy and healthy, nothing is worth getting too stressed about.”

Chiara Clemente, filmmaker “Eat at home as much as I can. Maybe it’s because I am Italian, but you have to start with the basics. And that’s food.”

Since I’ve had beauty pageant winners on the brain, I thought I’d share this video with the five of you who haven’t seen and rolled your eyes at it yet. I mean, that’s what I did once I realized what she meant by “condone” (way to kinda fake us out on the News Tab, oh person with unintelligible TypeKey handle).

Natasha Paracha is Miss Pakistan World 2008. She’s an alumna of U.C. Berkeley (go bears!), where she majored in Poli-Sci and started an association for Pakistani students. When she’s not confusing important words which commence with the letter “C” ;), she’s thinking about current events, about which she had the following to share:

The recent tragedy in Mumbai was the work of misguided individuals who do not represent a specific religion, creed or nationality…The fact these young men may have links to Pakistan is in no way indicative of the culture and caliber of people that represent Pakistan. It is my hope the world views this tragedy with those thoughts in mind as we all mourn for the victims and their families. [link]

More:

The tragedy in Mumbai has left us all in shock. It is difficult to understand that such violent acts are taking place in metropolitan regions. First, the attacks that were carried out at Marriott in Islamabad and now this…I have family and friends that live close to the Taj and Oberoi and my heart goes out to all those innocent people involved. [link]

All right, now which one of you (or ten of you) went to Cal with her and have stories about that one time she got her belly pierced at Zebra on a dare, and it, like, totally got infected? Oh, snap…that was me. Carry on, bear cubs and mutineers…

Recently, I saw the image above, taken from a screenshot of the webpage of a Los Angeles talk radio station [via sullivan]. The show it mentions is the “top rated morning program in the Los Angeles market, with over 1 million listeners.”[wiki] I was struck by the blue turban which, it turns out, the wingnuts think is part of Nostradamus’ prediction about Antichrist III:

Out of the country of Greater Arabia Shall be born a strong master of Mohammed, He will enter Europe wearing a blue turban. He will be the terror of mankind. Never more horror. [freep!]

Now if they think that Hawaii is part of Greater Arabia, I’m worried what they’ll think when they see a photo of the Indian Prime Minister! Or worse, one of Sikh peacekeepers, since we know how they feel about the UN … (images below the fold)

I’m tempted to gather together a whole bunch of friends to stand outside a wingnut gathering, all of us wearing blue turbans, staring at people as they enter and exit. It would be worth it for a laugh, that is, if they didn’t call the FBI and accuse us of suspicious behavior. One step at a time, I guess. Maybe I should start with that cool forehead tattoo instead …

I haven’t had time to blog, and what I’ve wanted most to blog about were the tragic events in Bombay that cast a pall over Thanksgiving. I have family there, as do many of you, and so I was glued to the internet, watching as events unfolded.

I’ve since stepped back and have been mulling things over. I’ve got a lot to say, but what I want to say first, before I get nuanced, is pretty much this [via Manish]:

This is the reason why Stewart is brilliant - that was both hillarious and very good political commentary. I know that’s neither the beginning nor the end of the topic, but it’s something I have to get out of my system before I can go further.

That said, again I’m not going to open comments on this post. I have a great deal of anger about what the terrorists did, and about how those responsible for training them may have brought us one step closer to a nasty war, but that doesn’t mean that I want this site to become a cesspool of ugly comments about Pakistanis.

Reader “Cola” emailed our tip line about a Cele|bitchy blog post regarding The View’s most annoying co-host and the incomprehensible insults she hurls. Watch and enjoy, Mutineers:

But is she being racist? Or just a sputtering, inarticulate twit? I vote for the latter, but Defamer disagrees:

Though Elisabeth Hasselbeck has offended many during her tenure on The View, she’s never quite had what could be called, in the show parlance, a “Ching Chong” moment. So named for Rosie O’Donnell’s Asian language impression in which she shrieked, “Ching Chong Ching Chong!” and stopped just shy of declaring, “That was me, Rosie, playing an Oriental!” the gaffe is the type that incurs the wrath of an entire race, and Hasselbeck may have had her own in this morning’s episode.

While attempting to reference Deepak Chopra’s recent remarks on the Mumbai massacre (he implied the terrorists had an eye on America), a frustrated Hasselbeck first called him “Glitter Glasses Whatshisface,” and then, dismissing his comments as beneath her recognition, muttered, “Go light a bowl of incense.” Why stop there, Elisabeth? Tell those minorities how you really feel using the most stereotype-laden kiss-offs you can muster! If your stylist tries to dress you in another pirate shirt? “Oh, go take your AIDS pills!” Joy Behar got you down? Just say, “Whatsa matta, you-a? Something land in your spaghetti? Oh, what-a spicy meatball!” It’s fun, easy, and guaranteed to get the letters pouring in! [whats-his-link]

These are the remarks which got her knickers in a twist. In my opinion, she’s referring to Chopra’s new-age/self-helpy connections, zimbly because I think she’s too stupid to realize that agarbathi is Desi. I don’t know about all those letters pouring in there, Defamer. Thanks for the love, though!

Finally, “Glitter Glasses Whatshisface”? But…but…why? It doesn’t even make sense, not that Hasselbeck is known for doing so. Thoughts? :)

At times, it must be done. It simply must.

What is “it”? Honest reflection. Meditation. The potentially uncomfortable exercise of asking difficult questions…questions like…”Is Neel Kashkari a CHUMP?”

Elijah Cummings, breakin’ it down Bodymore-style. A friend of mine whom I had forwarded that clip to told me that Cummings is a genuinely nice guy, which makes it all the more hilarious for him to be the one questioning our boy Neel. Find a previous SM post about the sacrificial lamb Kashkari by our Vinod, here.

(Hmm. I thought the name of the author of that ThinkProgress piece sounded familiar…then I realized it was erstwhile WLPer/reader Satyam, whom I was introduced to by mutineer Harin at the Kal Penn event held in support of our President-elect. :) I love how accomplished and brainy you smurfs mutineers are.)

The other day I was looking on YouTube for the famous version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” from the old Bollywood film, Purab aur Paschim, to amuse my kid. Instead, I found this:

It’s not just done for comedy, I think (though it is clearly meant to be funny for a South Indian TV audience). Actually, having the same English words applied to the different classical Indian musical styles is an instructive way of seeing the differences in the styles.

(Incidentally, what are the first two styles she uses?)

Well not Indian Bride Barbie so much as their November cover girl, but that’s totes what she reminds ME of (thanks, cookiemonsta):

Former Spice Girl Victoria Beckham graces the cover of Vogue India’s November issue, trading in her western outfits for a traditional Indian bridal sari.

“Posh” Beckham, the wife of British footballer David Beckham, chose several bridal outfits by Indian designers for the photo shoot, the magazine said in a statement. [linky]

She was also not overheard saying, “Can we hike these up a bit? I need people to see that I have replaced my seven-inch Loubys with swaggers. Aren’t they MAJOR?”

“I have long been an avid admirer of the Indian fashion and lifestyle culture,” Beckham, 34, was quoted as saying. [linky]

She then stared dreamily off in to space for a second while fondly remembering that one time, with that proto-chav who made it rain with rupees at Glassy Junction. Ah, good times.

The magazine’s fashion director said Beckham was thrilled to experiment with Indian bridal wear.

“She absolutely loved everything about it — from the ‘maang tikka’ and ‘haath zeb’ (traditional Indian jewellery) to the gorgeous lehengas (traditional Indian skirt with embroidery),” said Anahita Shroff Adajania. [linky]

What fool wouldn’t? Indian brides get to wear the most gorgeous clothes in the world. I love Reem Acra but even her most show-stopping gowns fade away in the presence of Priya and Chintan’s most basic lehenga.

The cover is after the jump.

Australian-based Boymongoose is back with another video gem from their 2006 album Christmas in Asia Minor. You may remember the 12 Days of Christmas song we posted back then. Here is the video to Single Girls set to the music of Jingle Bells. Make sure to play this at your desi Holiday party. It will definitely be spinning here at our North Dakota headquarters come December.

Last week the Sacramento County GOP, which is the local party for the state capital of the most populous state in the union, had image below on their the official website!

If you had any doubt that the GOP was promoting the message “Obama = Arab = Muslim = Terrorist!” this should put your doubts to rest. (To their credit, the state level party quickly had the material removed but that doesn’t undercut the broader campaign.)

One minor personal consequence of this tactic is that I am unable to go canvassing door-to-door in battleground states for either campaign. Can you imagine the reception I would encounter knocking on doors for the Obama campaign in West Virginia? Or how about ringing doorbells for McCain in Missouri?

Sure, I might be able to overcome the xenophobia and fear of certain voters, but that would make the exercise more about me than the candidate, with each minute spent explaining who I am taken away from time avalable to make the case for a particular campaign. No, that would be immensely selfish on my part.

Unfortunately, this leaves me with only one option if I want to participate in face-to-face persuasion of voters. I could pretend to be working for the opposition.

“Unlike in Bollywood movies,” Mr. Siddharth said, “we fight. We are totally opposite, but she is mine.”

“New York can be a very cruel city,” he said. “There are days when it can eat you up and spit you out. Sapna is my private escape. I always love to come home to her knowing that she brings peace to my chaos.” (link)

(Unless I am mistaken, this is where some readers might swoon a little. Others may find it all too cheesy. To each, her own.)

The part I personally liked the best had to do with the way they met, twice, online:

Dr. Chaudhary, a specialist in family medicine in New York, had posted her profile online at an Indian introductions site. She first heard from Mr. Siddharth, an advertising executive and stand-up comedian, in June 2005, in a response that was impressively lively. But after she replied, he seemed to vanish. That is, until September, when Mr. Siddharth’s second e-mail message, nearly identical to the first, landed.

To that one, she replied: “Maybe you should try and keep better track — or maybe you were just so overwhelmed by my beauty that you had some short term memory loss.” (link)

Let’s get this straight. Guy sees picture of a lady on Shaadi.com and thinks, “Me likee.” He shoots off his generic self-introduction, which in this case is pretty good, because homeboy has, as we’ve already established, the gift of gab. She replies encouragingly, but now (presumably) he’s already preoccupied emailing someone else, and as a result he blows her off. The other thing doesn’t pan out, and three months later he sees the first profile again without realizing it (her new pictures are “sexier”), and shoots off the same generic self-introduction, albeit a little puzzled that Gmail already seemed to know her email address.

And three years later, they’re getting married in style (seriously, check out those pictures), and bragging about it in the Times.

One quick side note — I like that the Times reporter describes the site through which they met as an “Introductions” website, not a “Matrimonials” site. It seems to me that “Introductions” is a better fit than “Matrimonials,” a descriptor that would require an obligatory reference to the “exotic” Indian practice known as “Arranged Marriage” ™.)

Anyone else have interesting Matrimonials/Introductions website correspondence snafus?

But Narinder’s “My Turn” essay in this week’s Newsweek is much more to my taste. The key section for me was this:

“A lot of people ask me why I wear a turban,” goes one of my jokes. “I tell them it’s because it contracepts my vices. But you know what, turbans are great contraceptives … I haven’t had sex in five years!”

I became more ambitious. I now wanted to show the entire audience that Indians, Muslims or brown people in general were affable and moderate. Because I received my first couple of threats from Sikhs, I had to convince myself that my fellow Sikhs were in fact also moderate. But it felt strangely exciting reading the verbal barbs posted on my first YouTube clip: I was having an impact.

I e-mailed some of the overzealous Sikhs and told them that I was making fun of prejudice against those who wear turbans, not the turban itself, which seemed even more sacred now. After 9/11, many Sikhs had cut their hair and stopped wearing turbans. The menacing looks and discrimination were too much. Our visible identity in numbers was dwindling in both America and India. Bollywood films had reduced Sikhs to fools and caricatures. In America we were being taken too seriously; in India, not enough. It sometimes made me feel compelled to conform and fit in, too. (link)

Seeing Narinder Singh say this makes me appreciate his approach to comedy more, in spirit if not in the actual performances I’ve seen. For one thing, though the reasons were different I too received my share of hate mail around the time I was first blogging at SM, (including an outright threat, from a fellow Sikh). I sympathize partly because I think the temptation is strong to “make an impact” and get attention with edgy statements — every writer, blogger, or comedian just starting out knows this — even if it offends some people and loses you some friends.

Still, I’m not sure he’s quite there yet in his actual comedy routine. What do people think?

To end on a positive note, Narinder Singh’s final quip might well be the funniest line he’s written:

Still, I completely understood my fellow Sikhs’ sensitivity and their fear of being marginalized further. I really didn’t mind the death threats and the heckling, as long as I continued not having sex.

Shruti’s facebook status earlier this week said that she was “certain that Aasif Mandvi is a regular reader of Sepia Mutiny and Ultrabrown.” I asked her what she meant, and she referred me to the following:

I know he never says that he got his references from the Mutiny, but I’m pretty sure we blogged about ‘What Brown Can Do For You’ and we definitely blogged the dancing little man video. And come on, you have to type in ‘brown’ before you can comment on the sites! He MUST have been talking bout us. The Mutiny has ‘brown’ literally trademarked!

I got the privilege of meeting Asif earlier this year (at a brown conference) and I know he’s a visitor to this site, so Shruti may just be right … How bout it, Aasif? Give the Mutiny a shout out on the Daily Show next time!

…lest you wish to spend the rest of the day with your legs tightly crossed, doubled-over with sympathy pain and terror (thanks, JTMoney!). Via our news tab:

A 2cm long fish apparently found it’s (sic) way into the penis of a 14-year-old boy from India in a bizarre medical case.

The patient was admitted to hospital with complaints of pain, dribbling urine and acute urinary retention spanning a 24-hour period. According to the boy, the fish slipped into his penis while he was cleaning his aquarium at home.

Uh…I’ve either had or been around home aquariums since I was a toddler. I have never had a fish slip anywhere, while I was cleaning anything. Hell, I haven’t even had one of these bizarre pedicures.

Professor Vezhaventhan and Professor Jeyaraman, who treated the boy and later wrote a paper on the case, explained: “While he was cleaning the fish tank in his house, he was holding a fish in his hand and went to the toilet for passing urine. When he was passing urine, the fish slipped from his hand and entered his urethra and then he developed all these symptoms.”

Okay, mens. Here’s the part which will have you wincing:

After detecting the fish in the boy’s bladder, Vezhaventhan and Jeyaraman used a technique known as cystourethroscopy to insert a special set of forceps down the patient’s penis. Unfortunately, the fish was just too slippery to grip, so they resorted to using a rigid ureteroscope with a tool attached that is normally used for removing bladder stones.

Yeesh, even I am crossing my legs at this point. One of the most awesome aspects of being female is knowing what a speculum is, whether one is involved with medicine or not, and by awesome, I mean “atrocious”. Owww.

The fish the urologists removed, which Practical Fishkeeping believes to be a small member of the Betta genus, measured 2cm long and 1.5cm wide.

By the way, bettas aren’t just “Siamese Fighting Fish”, even though many people refer to the latter (a.k.a. Betta Splendens) by just its genus name. For those who may be wondering about it, the image enhancing this post is a picture of my dearly departed “Kir Royale”, a betta splendens who traveled to that great pond in the sky, earlier this year.

He was later admitted into counseling to help him overcome any trauma.

Speaking of trauma, aren’t you glad I didn’t play the caption game, with this one? ;)

Twice a week, a very kind gentleman comes by with a nifty vacuum cleaner strapped to his back, to spruce up the floors. I say nifty because it looks more like a jet-pack or something a lot more fun than a mere appliance. Anyway, when he strolls in with his trademark, “Hell-oooooo!”, I know it is time to stand up and get out of his way. I usually just move to the other side of my desk and prepare myself for a minute or two of nothingness, but apparently, today will be…something. I hear a familiar voice, but I can’t make out the words above the din of the machine.

I turn around to see who is speaking to me. It is the one Pakistani man I work with, an uber-sweet coworker who likes to make halwa to bring to work, which he then guilts me in to eating—not the first portion, mind you; that goes to our other, “grown-up” coworkers. Oh, no—he comes by towards the end of mithai-madness and always authoritatively says, as he spoons at least three servings on to a paper plate he has helpfully brought with him, “I make you halwa. Eat.”

When I protest meekly, saying, “It’s too much!”, because I don’t want to waste food, he gives me the exact same look I get at home, from my Mom at the end of dinner.

“It’s so little. Why you make me put back in dish? If dish is empty, I can wash. Finish it. Be helpful. So I can wash. I not have all day.”

So, much in the same endearing, parental way he force-feeds me food which my tummy has no room for, he often comes by to “check on” me, the youngest brown member of the team (nine desis work here, total). To see, as he inimitably pronounces it, “how you arrrr DEW-wing!” When I moved away from my desk to facilitate vacuuming, he saw an opportunity and approached.

“Hallo En-ah!”

“Hi…Mm-…hi” I stammered, just barely resisting the urge to call him Uncle. I can’t bring myself to call him by his first name, which is Mohammad, so I just…well, call him nothing. Who cares if it’s a work environment? The man guilts and keeps tabs on me. Being on a first-name basis ain’t happenin’.

“How is your Mum? She in Kelly-for-nya? Or she visit home, maybe?”

I have always loved that: home. My heart immediately softens. No matter how many decades my late father lived in this country (three, if we’re counting), despite the American flag planted dramatically in our front yard, when he wasn’t communicating mindfully, he always said that about Kerala, too. Home.

“No, she is in California. She is well, thank you for asking.”

Here are the final batch of political t-shirts that Manish and I have created (in case you are looking to sport something subversive with just about 50 days to go before we have a new president). First up is “Hare Bama” (which you may recognize):

The next t-shirt tries to help clear up confusion:

“MA!”

“WHAT!”

“Did you hear??”

“What? McCain?”

“YES! Aw, Man! It’s only 8 or so in California…I thought I’d get to tell you.”

“No. I am listening to the NPR. Family Radio has become annoying. That man thinks the world will end in three years.”

“SO???”

“So what?”

“What do YOU think? You were so curious about whom he’d pick…”

“I was really disappointed when I heard it…my heart just went down to the floor. What’s wrong with this old man, has he lost his brain or something? She is a young girl. No experience. She is Governor of state with 8000 population for only two years. What’s she know?”

“I think…Alaska has more people than—“

“Who cares! Don’t interrupt! Point is, I can manage things better than she can. This is guaranteed losing ticket.”

“You wanted Joe Lieberman, didn’t you?”

“I did!”

“And why is that, Mummy?”

“Because he is a Democrat. Was. I mean, he is independent. Also, he was so nice to you, when you met with him and his wife.”

“Awesome reasoning, Ma. Anyway, if not Sarah, then whom?”

“I would rather he gone for that…kid…the Indian…the governor…”

Look, I’m just about as big a Michael Phelps fan as there is out there. No disrespect here. My boy is even a fellow Wolverine. However, when I saw the new cover of Sports Illustrated I thought it was a woman until I panned up to the face. I swear, with all those medals (8) it looks like he is wearing a top similar to something you’d see at an Indian wedding (picture on left). Am I going totally crazy? Am I the only one that now has this unusual image of Phelps etched into my psyche?

Truly sorry if this traumatizes anyone.

When I saw this headline on Monday I couldn’t help but laugh a little: Four [Indian] Kids on NASA Trip Go Missing. I mean, I know NASA is occasionally accused by some crackpot (even well-respected crackpots) of covering up info about aliens, but the idea of foreign kids going missing on a NASA field trip is a whole new kind of conspiracy (wrong kind of aliens). Here is how things unfolded:

The authorities of a private school here have lodged a police complaint that two of its students, who went on an educational trip to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) at its US headquarters, have gone “missing.”

The two students, Paramjit Singh and Kunal Bhandari, went as part of a 13-member delegation of the Dayanand Model School on July 22. While the other members returned, these two students did not come back. [Link]

Then there was this:

Four students from a school in Parowal village who went on a trip to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) have gone missing in the US. One of the teachers accompanying them has also not returned as she reportedly got married.

Eighteen students of the CBSE-affiliated Doaba Public Senior Secondary School went to NASA for a project. While 14 returned, Arshdeep, Sumit Sahni, Dalbir Singh and Baljinder Singh have not come back. The four are aged between 14 and 15 years.

“Teacher Meenu Sharma sent an e-mail to the school authorities, requesting them to extend her leave by a month as she got married,” a source said. [Link]

Yesterday, I attended the ASIAN AMERICANS FOR OBAMA EVENT WITH ACTOR KAL PENN, in Macacaville, VA. No, I’m not shouting at you, I’m just too lazy to reformat what I copied from the press release that uber-Dem Toby Chaudhuri was kind enough to send me. ;) Like all good desi events, it didn’t start on time, which was highly awesome for those of us who were fighting our way from DC to Farlington during rush hour, in the hopes of seeing the biggest brown actor of them all stump for Obama.

So many references were made to a certain set of movies with which you are all familiar, that I have resolved to not mention them once (not! once!) in this post; instead, I’m going to give you the highlights of what Kal Penn said, about his favorite contender for the potentially-soon-to-be-not-White House.

Penn got personal, as he speeched at us with tales of his grandfather’s involvement in the struggle for India’s freedom and a more recent influential event in his life— a phone call he received from a good friend, from Texas, asking for advice.* This friend was struggling to finance his education, and he had been offered a job with Satan with Haliburton, driving trucks through Iraq for $90,000 a year. It was a tempting, and obviously perilous offer for someone making minimum wage. Penn was deeply affected by the awful situation his friend was in and that’s one of the reasons why he’s taking the time to get involved and motivate people across the country to support Obama; he sincerely believes his man has a plan.

The actor, who is currently starring in one of MY favorite shows, “House”, commenced his entertaining remarks with “Happy Macaca day!”. Indeed, it was the second anniversary of the infamous event which transformed our community in to some monkeys with which to reckon.

The one-hundred plus people in attendance seemed to enjoy his message…and the event itself, which was lively, upbeat and well-stocked with delicious food. Seriously. While I can’t personally vouch for the chicken—which my friend had fourths of— I CAN say that after Penn was hustled in to a waiting (yet fuel-efficient) SUV, I devoured the best samosas I’ve EVER had. Toby and Ruby…who was your caterer??

Watching the Olympics this past weekend has been equal parts exhilarating and depressing. Seeing the American men win the 4 x 100 m swimming relay last night was un-freaking-real! But it also sent me in to full, early mid-life crisis mode. Am I the only one? I kept thinking how I’m now too old and beat-up to be an Olympian and I was feeling kind of jealous of fellow Wolverine Michael Phelps (would my upper body look like that if I growled in victory poolside?). And then this morning my depression lifted some. Even though I woke to the upsetting news that American Badminton stud Raju Rai had lost to a Finn (read here to understand how hard the environment is), I was quickly informed that Abhinav Bindra of India won the Gold in the 10m Air Rifle! It was Bindra that turned out to be the great brown hope.

So how did Abhinav help me to avert my midlife crisis until another day? Just look at our boy. He looks like and ordinary IT guy or an engineer or friendly grad student. He is now a national hero. A Peter Parker of sorts. He is the great common brown guy hope! Not all of us can have Phelps upper body, but some of us can imagine looking like this (I like paintballing for instance ).

From a virtual non-entity to the country’s hottest property overnight, Abhinav Bindra has struck gold. Not just in Olympics. The Chandigarh shooter who picked up India’s first ever individual gold in Olympics is expected to see his brand value shooting up to a couple of crores, riding not only on his historic feat but also his youthful personality. [Link]

Oh, lighten-up you nationalists! I’m just joking around. A hearty congrats to Abhinav! The dude even has over a 1000 comments on his latest blog entry. A feat unmatched by even…me. Well at least I can go after that record.

And for every hero of the day there is the sad story of the day. Poor Sania. Pulled out because her wrist was hurting. That’s what cortisone injections are for woman!

Raj Bhavsar lives on!!!

Update: Raj sports the bronze. Awesome.

Early in high school I weighed about 105 lbs soaking wet. I know, laugh if you want to. I am descended from two bean poles so I was at a genetic disadvantage. This was, after all, long before my collegiate boxing, my climbing adventures, and before I started appearing shirtless in “Boys of Blogging” calenders (ahem…cough cough). So just how does a 105 lb boy make his way in the brutal world that is high school? By laying low, very low. Most people don’t notice a scrawny little kid in high school (as many of our readers might sympathize with). I was also very very very shy.

I hung out with the nerd/geek crowd at the first of the two high schools I attended. It wasn’t much fun as nothing exciting ever happens in the nerd/geek crowd. One day however, my friends and I hatched a plan. The only way that we could raise our station in life was to be on a high school sports team. Even JV would do. This would be our ticket out. But what could I play? Basketball was definitely out. I was a fierce defender but way too short. Baseball? I could play infield but could barely hit the ball out of the infield. Football? Ha Ha Ha. I was pretty good at indoor hockey on the gym floor and rough enough that one kid even tried to fight me for high-sticking his friend until the PE teacher broke it up. However, there is no gym floor hockey team in high school. And then, like a ray of light the answer was revealed. My high school would be holding try-outs for the…Badminton Team.

I was pretty good at badminton and my odds were good because none of the cool kids (who were also the more athletic kids) would EVER be seen anywhere near a shuttlecock. My svelte body would dart back and forth pounding that birdie mercilessly. The fact that it looked like a tiny upside down Apollo capsule re-entering through Earth’s atmosphere was just a bonus (although I could’t say that out loud or even the geeks would make fun of me). The problem was that the competition was cut-throat. All the other geeks were gunning for the same few spots. Many of them were also Asian or South Asian since, for some strange reason, Asians have a fascination with racket sports. Every day I practiced and practiced, honing my skills while huffing like a young Boris Becker of Badminton. Then, the day before the try-outs I came down with a cold and was battling flu like symptoms all day. After watching television while slumped in a couch I got up too quickly, got a massive head rush, passed out, cut my head open on my metal bed frame as I fell, bled all over the place, and had to get stitches in the ER. The doctor ordered me to miss tryouts the next day. I didn’t make the team. This was the single most scarring failure of my life. And that brings me to the point of this thus far depressing post: American Olympian Raju Rai. Geek has been replaced with chic.

The recent issue of The New Yorker had a cute story, that I can totally relate to, about one particular G-Mail address account created four years ago:

On July 27, 2004, a friend invited Guru Raj to create a Google e-mail account. A recent graduate of the University of Virginia, Raj, then twenty-one, was watching the Democratic National Convention on a television in his parents’ basement, in Norcross, Georgia. The beta version of Gmail—available by invitation only—was less than four months old at the time, and largely unproved, but Raj’s U.V.A. e-mail account was set to expire in a few weeks, so he decided to give Gmail a try.

At first, Raj tried to create an address using his own name, but, remarkably, both gururaj @ gmail.com and rajguru @ gmail.com were already taken. So he tried the name of the young senator from Illinois who was giving the Democratic keynote address on TV. To his surprise, it worked, and, moments later, barackobama@gmail.com was quietly born. “I’m not some cute little Indian boy who grew up in America with political aspirations,” Raj, the first in his family to be born an American citizen, said recently. “I just thought it would be kind of funny to create an e-mail address based on a random senator whose name no one could spell…”

Over the next four years, as Gmail became the third most popular Webmail provider in the U.S. and Obama became a serious contender for the next President of the United States, Raj used the account for his personal e-mail. In the fall of 2006, he received, for the first time, a message intended for the Senator. By February, 2007, when Obama formally announced his candidacy, Raj was daily receiving dozens of misdirected notes from all over the world.[Link]

I found this anecdote rather funny because on my (now-defunct) personal blog I wrote of encountering the same problem. Back when G-Mail first came out I snapped up three addresses. Two of them were quite obscure but the third one was the equivalent of “smith @ gmail.com.” Needless to say, over the years I have received all kinds of random emails from people who intended their message for someone(s) else. For example, I get at least two marriage-related biodata emails (complete with pictures) each week. I also get lots of people following up on a job interviews or medical results. A lot of these emails come from India. I am always faced with a choice: do I help destiny along by informing the sender of the error or by remaining silent? I randomly go either way (I know, this is probably evil and megalomaniacal).

Raj, who now works for a software consulting company in Washington, D.C., never replied to these, or to any other e-mails meant for Obama, not even to tell an excited would-be pen pal that he is not, in fact, the Democrats’ presumptive Presidential nominee. “It just became an interesting portal into Americana,” he said. “From the beginning, I had no intention of manipulating anyone.” .[Link]

Yes! See, Raj gets it. Its just like being the postal worker whose job it is to open all the mail addressed to Santa Claus. Nobody expects him to fulfill the expectations of every letter (or even a few letters), but at least someone can bear witness (even if they are biodata packages).

Mindy Kaling, who writes for and acts on the NBC show The Office, recently revealed to David Letterman a secret that many Indian Americans guard very closely. Not all of us are good at imitating an Indian accent just because our parents are Indian [via Defamer]:

That’s right, we may not do Indian accents well…but no other ethnic group should be able to point that out without an indignant tongue-lashing back

If you want to skip the rest of the interview then start at 1:30 min mark. I can really sympathize with Mindy. When I try to do an Indian accent I sound slightly Scottish. Its just sad.

I get an email from Salon daily; with over 2,690 pieces of unread mail* in my beleaguered GMail account, I’m likely to open these newsletter-y missives approximately twice a week. Those two instances hardly ever coincide with Sunday’s “I like to watch”-edition, but I was feeling peevish while waiting for the laaaast loooooad of laundry to dry at 2:30 am, so I thought, “why not peek…it might mention my beloved ‘Mad Men’, which was the best show ever until season two started and kind of weirded me out, man.”

Right.

So I’m skimming “Critics’ Picks”, and I see no shout-outs to AMC’s finest, but my finely-honed browndar immediately zooms in on the following blurb, about Bravo’s tatti-est reality show:

Jaclyn Smith on “Shear Genius”

“Shear Genius” (Wednesdays at 10 p.m. EDT) may be the weakest of Bravo’s professional reality competitions — the contestants are almost uniformly uninteresting, and the hairstyles they create are almost uniformly ugly. Even so, its host, former “Charlie’s Angels” star Jaclyn Smith, stands out as a kinder, gentler alternative to Bravo spokesmodels Heidi Klum and Padma Lakshmi. For some crazy reason, Smith has great wells of compassion for these bad people with their bad hairstyles. When she informs a hairstylist that it’s his or her “final cut” at the end of each episode, Smith’s eyes invariably well up with tears and her voice wavers as she carefully chooses a few comforting words as a send-off. Forget Klum’s curt “auf Wiedersehen” and Lakshmi’s indifferent “Pack your knives and go” — Smith’s tearful goodbyes seem to remind us, “What could be more human than empathizing with the untalented?” — Heather Havrilesky

Whoaaaa, there HH. I know that all girls are supposed to lose their minds over Charlie’s Angels (the inspiration for a million mediocre facebook pictures) and Grease (I will never understand the obsession with that film or its annoying-as-soulja boy-soundtrack), but are we giving the gorgeous Jaclyn a bit too much credit? Let’s not so soon forget or forgive that unfortunate casual line she released years ago— there’s a reason why so many pairs of elastic-waist pants give “mom jeans” a run for fug and part of that responsibility lies with the otherwise glamorous Jaclyn Smith.

Anyway, there is nothing wrong with Heidi. If anything, far too much is right with that woman. She has squeezed three babies out of that ridiculous body and she has the cutest, most impish smile. As for pulchritudinous Padma, girl, she ain’t indifferent or cold…she’s HIGH. The Mutiny could’ve told you that, last year:

According to a source who worked on the set of Top Chef, the ex-model turned trophy wife turned hostess Padma Lakshmi allegedly enjoys smoking pot on set, giving a whole new meaning to the term “Quickfire Challenge” — see, cause she’s allegedly lighting up a joint instead of a stove! Anyway. Exactly how often this happened is disputed, though we were assured it was allegedly “fairly regularly…” [BWE]

That explains the sloooow, slightly slurred speech and her gracious, always-ready appetite to try potentially smack-nasty food— it also provides an explanation for why she doesn’t share Ms. Smith’s penchant for saltwater…she’s happy!

Folks, it is time to get excited about the fact that we will have greater South Asian participation than ever in this year’s Presidential election. Through this blog we also hope to provide a perspective from the floor of the Democratic National Convention in Denver next month that has been missing in previous years. This has been one of the long term goals of this blog after all. I will sniff out every conceivable brown angle I can find once I get there (especially if Huma is there). However, I would like to make this event as bi-directional as possible. I don’t want to show up there and simply write about what I want to write about. I want you all to send me ideas for what you’d like to learn. I’d like you guys to get me in touch with other South Asians you know will be there. I also want to know what you’d like me to communicate to the other bloggers and citizens I meet while I’m there.

In the spirit of that last point, and so we can have some fun with this, I am asking you guys to dress me. That’s right. You, the SM readers get to decide what I will wear on the convention floor next month. It is simple really: design a t-shirt that features a political or social (but non-partisan) message and I can order it using Café Press, Threadless, or one of many other internet t-shirt companies. Send me the design at abhi [at] sepiamutiny dot com. I will narrow it down to the best entries and have SM readers vote on the finalists. I will be at the convention for three full days so I will purchase up to three winning t-shirts to wear on the floor. The more clever/funny/relevant/socially conscious your t-shirt, the more likely it is to grab attention and communicate your message to all the varied citizens expected to be in Denver (the picture below is a perfect example of what I’m looking for). Let’s have some fun with this. My mom (retired from a major department store) has been dressing me all these years. It’s time for you guys to have a turn.

Just a clarification: I am looking for full t-shirt Designs, not merely slogans or catchphrases.

The Onion, on the India-Pakistan stand-off (thanks, Astonhope):

The joke is as much on the way Cable news channels report on “breaking events” — as if the world were about to end every time there is a traffic jam on the New Jersey Turnpike — as it is on the actual endless stalemate between India and Pakistan.

I came across an anthology called The Tenth Rasa: An Anthology of Indian Nonsense, while browsing in a bookstore in suburban Philadelphia. The book is a collection of nonsensical poems and short stories from all over India, most of them translated into English. It’s one of those rare Penguin India titles that ended up getting distributed in the U.S. (An earlier book that I discovered in exactly the same way, was Samit Basu’s The Simoqin Prophecies. Also, I should point out that the editors of The Tenth Rasa have started a blog to promote the book.)

I’ll say a bit more about the idea behind the collection below, but what I have in mind for this post is a celebration of nonsense by example, not so much a thorough review (I’m also curious to know whether readers can remember their own South Asian nonsense rhymes, in any language. Anyone? Translations would be nice, but not required).

For now it might make sense to start with a couple of poems. First, the spirit of the collection is perhaps best captured by a favorite Sukumar Ray poem, “Abol Tabol,” (translated alternatively as “Gibberish” or “Gibberish Gibberish” to catch the reduplication), first published in Ray’s book of the same title in 1923:

Come happy fool whimsical cool
Come dreaming dancing fancy-free,
Come mad musician glad glusician
Beating your drum with glee.
Come O come where mad songs are sung
Without any meaning or tune,
Come to the place where without a trace
Your mind floats off like a loon.
Come scatterbrain up tidy lane
Wake, shake and rattle ‘n roll,
Come lawless creatures with willful features
Each unbound and clueless soul.
Nonsensical ways topsy-turvy gaze
Stay delirious all the time,
So come you travelers to the world of babblers
And the beat of impossible rhyme.
(Translated by Sampurna Chattarji from the Bengali)

(“Glusician” is not a typo, by the way; its utter unjustifiability is in some sense the point of the poem.)

Another of my favorites from the collection is an almost-limerick, originally written in Oriya by a writer named J.P. Das, and is called “Vain Cock”:

Taught to say ku-ku-du-koo, ku-ku-du-koo
He only said, ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’
Such a vain cock—
You’re in for a shock:
Not tandoori, you’ll only be stew.

(The joke here of course is that in many Indian languages a rooster’s cry is rendered along the lines of ‘ku-ku-du-koo’, and presumably in the Oriya version of “Vain Cock” the phrase “cock-a-doodle-doo” is rendered phonetically exactly as in English. The Vain cock, in short, is due for stew because of irremediable Anglophilic tendencies in his onomotopoeic ejaculation.)

In the following adorable clip, Stephen Colbert worries about Democratic nominee Bharath Obama being church-less and offers some divine guidance regarding salvation and religious affiliation; the segment is apparently the first of many in a series where Colbert thoughtfully helps Obama try on various faiths…I’m guessing Islam won’t be included. (Thanks for the tip, Maisnon and Kalyan!)

I share Maisnon’s skepticism about Auntie’s “no guilt!!”-claim, how about you? I also love the “spoiler” about how Manoj Nelliyattu Shyamalan will be paying his karmic debt. Finally, isn’t Colbert a little late with this fantastic suggestion? Bharath seems rather fond of Hinduism already.

Controversial crooner (and cover girl) Mathangi Arulpragasam got fugged not once, but twice over at the always-entertaining Go Fug Yourself (thank you thank you, mbawife). Behold her first fugtacular outfit below, and her second, after the jump (click to enlarge both to their full glory…srsly).

The first thing I thought of when I saw this (as if you hadn’t already guessed from my title) was “Jem! And the Holograms!”, or Jerrica, more accurately. They don’t make cartoons like they used to, do they boys and girls? When we played “Jem”, I always wanted to be “Aja”, but I was often stuck playing “Kimber”. The four of you who know what the hell I’m talking about need not comment, I can feel your sympathy over the intarweb. I’m sensitive like that.

Real cute story on NPR this morning (part of the StoryCorps series) about a man named Ramon Sanchez who recalls how, during the 1950s while he was growing up, all the teachers tried to anglicize his name to Raymond. This got me thinking about all the poor Hardicks and Shitangs and Ashfaqs out there and the struggles they must have faced growing up. Even the Poojas probably had a tough time. Anyways, the punchline of the story is TOTALLY worth it so take a listen.

Since kindergarten he’d been known as Ramon. “Rrrrrramon,” he says with a thick roll of the R.

But when he got to the second grade, his name was Americanized. “Everyone was calling me Raymond.”

“On the playground, in the classroom. Raymond! Hey, Raymond! Hey, Raymond!” he says.

And it wasn’t just his name that got changed.

“If there was a girl named Maria, her name became Mary. Juanita became Jane,” he says. [Link]

SM Tipster Vishal informed us of something today that I just assumed was a bad joke until I visited the website. There is a new Spelling Bee…exclusively for South Asian children:

About the South Asian Spelling Bee

The South Asian Spelling Bee is a platform that will give all South Asian students the opportunity to test their skills within their core peer group. In the 78th Nationals Scripps Spelling Bee, over 11% participants were South Asian and over the years many South Asian students have been champions. It is the effort of the South Asian Spelling Bee contest to encourage and promote South Asian talent across the US and to bring this aspect of a South Asian student’s life into the foreground by broadcasting this contest on National Television. [Link]

Are you kidding me? Is it not good enough that we already dominate the spelling world like the Kenyans do long distance running, or like Mr. T dominated Rocky in their first fight? Then again, that many geeky South Asian kids competing against each other is bound to provide an environment that engenders accelerated evolution (via hyper competition), resulting in the emergence of a super-speller. Its the same reason why you should always finish a course of antibiotics. If you don’t then the strongest bacteria will survive and multiply to create a superstrain. Speaking of multiply, desi parents can even use this venue to arrange child marriages like in the good old days. Mixing the right genetic lines would guarantee us victory in Scripps for years to come. Perhaps this new event has some merit after all.

13-year-old Sameer Mishra spelled “guerdon” correctly to win the 2008 Scripps National Spelling Bee. The word, rather wonderfully, means “something that one has earned or gained.” Champion!

Sameer was a crowd favorite throughout the tournament. When told one of his words in the semifinals was a dessert, he deadpanned: “That sounds good right now.” He rolled his eyes and muttered “wonderful” when told that one of his words had five different language roots. He once asked “Are you sure there are no alternate pronunciations?” In another round, he uttered “That’s a relief” after initially mishearing the word “numnah” (a type of sheepskin pad).

And what did he have to say while hoisting the heavy trophy? “I’m really, really weak.” link

Seriously, this kid was a delight. The last desi to win was Anurag Kashyap in 2005. Only three years ago, but an eternity for a competition heavily loaded with over-achieving, heartbreaking desi kids.

As someone who can’t spell cat without spell-check, I never really paid attention to or understood the mesmerizing drama of spelling bees. Not until I recently saw the documentary Spellbound. Suddenly the years of study, weight of familial expectation, the children’s innocence and drive, the announcer’s voices, the rigid rules, the way personalities emerged in unexpected ways under crushing pressure…This was nail-biting, stomach-knotting suspense!! Hot damn!!

I caught a bit of the finals last night - this year seemed harder than ever before. After the jump, a list of the twelve finalists (five desis!) and the words faced by the last three standing in order of elimination.

Continuing my suddenly service-y news coverage this the week, I bring you the most fascinating case of corruption gone awry yet! Former Bangladeshi Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina is currently under trial, facing at least 10 counts of extortion and misuse of power. Legal proceedings just hit a snag when documents pertaining to a “barge-mounted power plant graft case” were found eaten by termites.

According to her lawyers:

…many of the documents were now unreadable. The insect-eaten files were produced in court so that the matter could be officially recorded by the judge.

The defence say their case has been ruined. link

But wait! All is not so cut-and-dry (or, uh, chewed-and-digested):

The prosecution argued that only a tiny part of the cover page of the file was destroyed by termites.

They demanded to know whether the file had been damaged deliberately or because of negligence. link

Termites. Termites! Wow…think of how history might have changed if Monica had introduced a few boll weevils to that blue dress.

I wonder if I can get away with not paying rent this month… the mice ate my checkbook.

Hillary has Huma, Barack has Love,, and Huma’s love is Weiner, or at least that’s what the NY tabloids say:

Rep. Anthony Weiner, a likely 2009 mayoral candidate… finally ‘fessed that he is romancing Clinton’s glamorous “body woman,” Huma Abedin. Asked by The Associated Press about all the time he’s spending on the road campaigning for Clinton, the 43-year-old bachelor said, “It’s largely because I’m dating Huma…” [Link]

This story has actually been kicking around since January, when the rumors of a Hillary-Huma couple were stronger. Back then the Abedin-Weiner story was floated and then denied:

Speculation that Washington’s two most eligible singles—Hillary Rodham Clinton’s fashionable traveling aide Huma Abedin and New York’s dashing bachelor Congressman Anthony Weiner—are dating has become “common knowledge” among the campaign press corp… [Link]

Hillary Clinton’s top traveling aide, Huma Abedin, is not dating bachelor Rep. Anthony Weiner. A source close to Abedin shares that the political glamour gal is “just friends” with Weiner, but is dating someone else. [Link]

Honestly, I have trouble believing the story because I can’t imagine a body-person having time or energy to do anything more than minister to the candidate’s needs. They’ve got to be there, an arm’s length away, from when the candidate wakes to when they sleep. Huma’s probably better chaperoned than a desi on their first arranged marriage cha-meeting. And besides, Huma’s got her hands so full that I can’t see how she’s able to hold Weiner’s. Her schedule’s so full that there would be no time to be abeddin’ Abedin.

That said, it doesn’t really matter to me whether she likes Weiner or not. We’re desis, we like our politics without sex, thank you very much. You go girl - whatever direction you want.

With the Obama vs. Clinton contest in its death throes, I want to make sure we don’t lose sight of the big picture. There is another contest between an accomplished woman and a black man that is also about to come to an unfortunate end. It is the contest between Clinton body woman Huma Abedin and Obama body man Reggie Love (yes, that is his name).

Mr. Love now knows that when it comes to food, Senator Obama “eats pretty much anything, from chicken wings and barbecue and ribs to grilled fish and steamed broccoli.” But when he is campaigning in a small town with limited options, a cheeseburger is always a good bet. (“Cheddar is the cheese of choice,” Mr. Love added.)

He knows that “the boss,” as he calls Mr. Obama, likes MET-Rx chocolate roasted-peanut protein bars and bottles of a hard-to-find organic brew — Black Forest Berry Honest Tea. He keeps a supply of both on hand…

Mr. Love, 26, is Mr. Obama’s body man, the personal aide who shadows the senator and anticipates everything he needs — and everything he does not need. He is not a bodyguard (security is provided by the Secret Service), but rather the ultimate assistant, rarely more than a body length away from the candidate. [Link]

Even in a story about Obama’s body man, the Times lets us know that it too is smitten by giving a nod to the underdog:

Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton has a body woman, the efficient and glamorous Huma Abedin. [Link]

Yeah, that’s right. She is efficient and glamorous in addition to being dreamy. What does Mr. Love have going for him?

Mr. Love had summer try-outs with the Green Bay Packers in 2004 and the Dallas Cowboys in 2005 before being cut.

Which is how, in 2006, after applying for an internship on Capitol Hill, Mr. Love ended up interviewing with Robert Gibbs, Mr. Obama’s communications director, for a position in Mr. Obama’s Senate office. “It’s the only time I’ve ever interviewed somebody whose work experience included the Green Bay Packers and the Dallas Cowboys,” Mr. Gibbs said. [Link]

Misogyny rears its ugly head once again. The popular jock is pitted against the female achiever.

These people are actually quite serious, when they inform us of the punishments we are likely to receive for making, viewing, or thinking about the upcoming Mike Myers’ comedy, The Love Guru. One of the groups leading the protests is the Hindu Janjagruti Samiti, which has, based on the trailer, judged the film as offensive to Hindus because it mocks the sanctity of the Guru-Shishya relationship. They have drawn up an open letter of protest to the MPAA, and sent out press releases, generating straight-faced coverage like this (thanks, PremiumSchlock).

Unfortunately, while many news organizations have been attending to the budding protests against The Love Guru, few news stories have been paying attention to other creative documents by the Hindu Janjagruti Samiti relating to the film, such as the following table:

(Source for the above table.) And how many demerits do I get for finding this table hilarious? (I must admit, I am rather curious about this “nether region” idea.)

Their open letter to the MPAA is also unintentionally comic:

The trailer released by Paramount pictures shows utter disrespect for the deep spiritual significance of the Guru. It shows the Guru in a very poor light and encourages the audience to laugh at the Guru. I could not believe my eyes when the trailer revealed Mike Myers playing a Guru through a whole range of denigrating scenes, some of which are quite lurid, such as the Guru wearing a chastity belt, having an erection, involved in bar brawls, accepting money to playing cupid, etc. In the trailer the character Pitka is proclaimed as the second best Guru in India. Was this a calculated statement or was this pulled out of some juvenile script writer’s repertoire? For a country that has produced revered Gurus and Saints such as Swami Vivekanand, Ramkrushna Paramhansa and Yogi Arvind, does Paramount Pictures actually believe that Mike Meyer’s portrayal of a Guru will join the ranks of the most illustrious Saints/Guru’s of India? Was your research team / script writer not aware of the sanctity of the Guru prior to making the movie? Did they even consult leaders in Spirituality (apart from Mr. Deepak Chopra of course) if the script was potentially hurting? (link)

“The script was potentially hurting” — indeed.

The protests to this film might turn out to be funnier than the film itself.

The Washington Redskins’ cheerleaders recently performed in Hyderabad Bangalore, during an Indian Premier League cricket match. A Washington Post reporter took the following photo:

(Click on the photo to see the faces of the men a bit more clearly.)

There is also a detailed Washington Post article about the event here. Also, we wrote about the rival Twenty20 cricket league, the ICL, here; cheerleaders seemed to be a part of the mix there as well.

I know, I know — there are numerous absurd things happening here. How Boston Bhangra got involved, for one thing, is a puzzle. The “Poonjabi Peace Offering” sounds, to my ear, like it’s been delivered in Hindi. Indeed, The Great Khali is ethnically not Punjabi at all, I don’t think. (His real name is Dalip Singh Rana.)

But if you’re worried about those minor inaccuracies, you’re really REALLY missing the point of the eight glorious minutes of “entertainment” contained herein.

Barack Obama dropped a “bombshell” today, something not mentioned in either of his two books:

According to his campaign staff, Mr. Obama visited Pakistan in 1981, on the way back from Indonesia, where his mother and half-sister, Maya Soetoro-Ng, were living. He spent “about three weeks” there, Mr. Obama’s press secretary, Bill Burton, said, staying in Karachi with the family of a college friend, Mohammed Hasan Chandoo, but also traveling to Hyderabad, in India. [Link]

Whoa. He went to Karachi and probably had Hyderabadi biryani on the same college trip over 25 years ago! If he is elected President might not this learning experience alone help him bridge the divide between the South Asian nations? Remember when he said he was appalled that one of his staffers wrote the D-Punjab memo? At the time he stated an affinity for the South Asian community because his college roommate was desi. Turns out BO rolled at least three deep in his younger days:

In “Dreams from My Father,” he talks of having a Pakistani roommate when he moved to New York, a man he calls Sadik who “had overstayed his tourist visa and now made a living in New York’s high-turnover, illegal immigrant work force, waiting on tables…”

During his years at Occidental College, Mr. Obama also befriended Wahid Hamid, a fellow student who was an immigrant from Pakistan and traveled with Mr. Obama there, the Obama campaign said. Mr. Hamid is now a vice president at Pepsico in New York, and according to public records, has donated the maximum $2,300 to the Obama campaign and is listed as a fund-raiser for it.

Mr. Chandoo is now a self-employed financial consultant, living in Armonk, N.Y. He has also donated the maximum, $2,300, to Mr. Obama’s primary campaign and an additional $309 for the general election, campaign finance records show. [Link]

Clinton (D-Punjab) loves India and Indian food, but as far as I know, on a day-to-day basis she only runs one deep. And McCain? I don’t know if he has any desi friends but his daughter is desi, so I guess that also counts as one deep. All this is important because having desi friends means that you might understand aspects of foreign policy better, as Obama explained today:

“I knew what Sunni and Shia was before I joined the Senate Foreign Relations Committee,” he said. [Link]

He might have a point. We all know that W. doesn’t have a desi posse and, as you’d expect, he didn’t know what a Sunni or Shia was. Bottom line: Having South Asian American friends = good. That is something both parties should be able to agree on.

Especially if you are a smart, attractive, single desi woman. Seriously. This isn’t about desi women in particular but you’ll see how this information could be used for evil especially by desi parents. I know some of you forward posts to your parents but don’t do it with this one. You’ve been warned. NSFP=Not Safe for Parents.

Ok, now that I’ve cleared my conscience let’s get to the article at hand shall we? Slate.com recently published, The Eligible-Bachelor Paradox, which makes use of game theory to explain why the best women often end up single and alone if they wait “too long” to get married. We’ll save judgement for the end:

The shortage of appealing men is a century-plus-old commonplace of the society melodrama. The shortage—or—more exactly, the perception of a shortage—becomes evident as you hit your late 20s and more acute as you wander into the 30s. Some men explain their social fortune by believing they’ve become more attractive with age; many women prefer the far likelier explanation that male faults have become easier to overlook.

The problem of the eligible bachelor is one of the great riddles of social life. Shouldn’t there be about as many highly eligible and appealing men as there are attractive, eligible women?…

Actually, no—and here’s why. Consider the classic version of the marriage proposal: A woman makes it known that she is open to a proposal, the man proposes, and the woman chooses to say yes or no. The structure of the proposal is not, “I choose you.” It is, “Will you choose me?” A woman chooses to receive the question and chooses again once the question is asked. [Link]

So what have we learned so far? Despite the fact that men usually propose, it is the woman that typically dictates if and when a marriage will occur. In a free and modern society (meaning no forced or pressured marriages) the real power rests with the woman. Let’s go on then:

You can think of this traditional concept of the search for marriage partners as a kind of an auction. In this auction, some women will be more confident of their prospects, others less so.In game-theory terms, you would call the first group “strong bidders” and the second “weak bidders.” Your first thought might be that the “strong bidders”—women who (whether because of looks, social ability, or any other reason) are conventionally deemed more of a catch—would consistently win this kind of auction.

But this is not true. In fact, game theory predicts, and empirical studies of auctions bear out, that auctions will often be won by “weak” bidders, who know that they can be outbid and so bid more aggressively, while the “strong” bidders will hold out for a really great deal. [Link]

Discussion over an article published Sunday night on the NY Times website dominated my email inbox today. Given the fact that so many SM readers are hyper-literate (or at least think they are) this simply had to be shared, discussed, and dissected to death here as well. Ready yourselves:

We’ve all been there. Or some of us have. Anyone who cares about books has at some point confronted the Pushkin problem: when a missed — or misguided — literary reference makes it chillingly clear that a romance is going nowhere fast. At least since Dante’s Paolo and Francesca fell in love over tales of Lancelot, literary taste has been a good shorthand for gauging compatibility. These days, thanks to social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace, listing your favorite books and authors is a crucial, if risky, part of self-branding. When it comes to online dating, even casual references can turn into deal breakers. Sussing out a date’s taste in books is “actually a pretty good way — as a sort of first pass — of getting a sense of someone,” said Anna Fels, a Manhattan psychiatrist and the author of “Necessary Dreams: Ambition in Women’s Changing Lives.” “It’s a bit of a Rorschach test.” To Fels (who happens to be married to the literary publisher and writer James Atlas), reading habits can be a rough indicator of other qualities. “It tells something about … their level of intellectual curiosity, what their style is,” Fels said. “It speaks to class, educational level.”

Pity the would-be Romeo who earnestly confesses middlebrow tastes: sometimes, it’s the Howard Roark problem as much as the Pushkin one. “I did have to break up with one guy because he was very keen on Ayn Rand,” said Laura Miller, a book critic for Salon. “He was sweet and incredibly decent despite all the grandiosely heartless ‘philosophy’ he espoused, but it wasn’t even the ideology that did it. I just thought Rand was a hilariously bad writer, and past a certain point I couldn’t hide my amusement.” (Members of theatlasphere.com, a dating and fan site for devotees of “Atlas Shrugged” and “The Fountainhead,” might disagree.)… [Link]

I confess, I went to theatlassphere.com to see if Vinod had posted a dating ad there. The article goes on to conclude that you must be incredibly shallow if you dump someone based openly (or secretly) on the fact that their taste in literature sucks compared to yours. In fact, it wasn’t until I read this article that I wondered, for the first time in my life, if I was shallow. Am I destined to be “Baioed”? Not only would the pre-32 year old Abhi break up with a girl if she had ever in her life waited in a line for a Harry Potter book, he may also have dumped her if she didn’t like Mos Def The Cure (yes, I am a music snob as well). However, the new Abhi is reflective about the depth of his shallowness, mostly because he had been completely unaware of it until recently. The new Abhi wants to change. There have always been hints. Let me tell you all about one recent break-up. Well, it still feels recent but I guess it has actually been a while.

The following image was sent to me by email; it comes from the Times of India; I don’t know the artist or the original context in which it was printed:

Please provide a caption or title. avoiding the use of the word “kala.”

I should acknowledge that at least one conservative Hindu website has declared that they find the above image offensive. Do readers agree?

(As I understand it, images of deities in the Hindu tradition are widely appropriated and reinterpreted in the culture. They don’t have the same “forbidden” status that they do in, say, Islam. While I can definitely see how a nude image of a Hindu deity not normally represented as nude might be offensive, I think a comic or satirical gloss on a revered story from the tradition, as in the image above, isn’t that uncommon. I am, as always, open to hearing other points of view…)

The big news on this Sunday is that an Indian character (human not puppet) is finally (after 39 years) moving on to the storied Sesame Street!

Doesn’t Snuffleupagus look like he is eyeing “Leela” as food?

The newest neighbor on Sesame Street just happens to be Indian American, because the role was originally dreamed up with no particular ethnicity in mind.

“It was incidental,” actress Nitya Vidyasagar told India-West by phone last week from New York City, where she is currently taping the 39th season of the award-winning PBS children’s show. “The casting notices said nothing of ethnicity.”

But the New York-based stage actress made such a strong impression on the show’s producers that they found themselves willing to create her role from scratch.

Vidyasagar plays Leela, a young Indian American woman who runs the local laundromat. Unlike many of the other actors on the show, who use their own first names as their character’s names, she felt more comfortable with the name Leela. “My name is hard for some people to say,” she explained. [Link]

Sepia Mutiny went down to Sesame Street and conducted interviews to see what some residents thought of their newest neighbor. Would there be increased tension because a South Asian was moving in to the neighborhood?

First off, we found that the some Koreans were pissed that a desi is running the laundromat instead of one of their own. When pressed further they said, “why not the 7-11 one street over?” The cookie monster was also in a foul mood explaining, “great, one more mouth to feed.” Count von Count was excited that he may soon learn how to count in Hindi. Oscar threw a garbage lid at one of our bloggers and just didn’t want to be bothered. Elmo just kept laughing because he was so happy at the news but then Bert came by and slapped him upside the head for no (good) reason.

The only one that would speak to us in earnest was Grover. He turned out to be far more lucid than he comes across on television (and he wasn’t wearing a cape). He struck me as an old soul actually. He was glad to see “Leela” move into the neighborhood but expressed some remorse when learning that Nitya had chosen to go by “Leela” because she thought “Nitya” might be too hard to pronounce. “We have a mammoth-like dude named Aloysius Snuffleupagus that lives on this street. Would Nitya really have been that hard to pronounce? Even Barack gave up Barry,” said Grover.

The new Leela is quite an international woman, and speaks Hindi and Telugu. Born in Muscat, Oman, she moved to India with her family when she was a year old. She and her family lived in Kolkata, Hyderabad and Bangalore before moving to the United States when she was 12, and she speaks English with a delicate, yet hard-to-place, Indian accent. “They said I could speak with my accent, too,” she laughed. [Link]

Look for the new season to start in August. This post was brought to you by the number 8 and the letter W.

Without making a big fuss, the boys at Badmash are back with a new video and new material. Tired of the Presidential Election already? Well, how about directing your attention to the election for Prime Minister of America (click to watch the video)[Thanks to Taz]:

Amitabh has a carefully nuanced platform, which explains why America needs a PM:

“I want to say to America: Look, America, I am not here to take a job from you. I am here to bring you a job from India. That job is Prime Minister. And yes, you should find an Indian to do it.” [Link]

He’s willing to take clear stands concerning important issues, such as women’s rights:

“I have always felt right about women.” [Link]

and the right to bear arms:

“Of course. Arms should definitely be bared. As often as possible. And shoulders. And even stomachs, especially in a white sari. But only not in Texas. I’ve seen less ‘skirt steak’ on healthy cows.” [Link]

and most importantly, the issue of Obama in a turban:

But Green Card Party candidate and Oscar-attendee Amitabh Bachchan was skeptical. He cited the loose wrapping and the absence of a triangular summit as reasons to believe this impostor’s turban would never go over with the country’s brown constituents.
“The audacity of audacity!” Bachchan told reporters after seeing the photo. “Is this guy trying to make me look bad? [Link]

I love wearing saris. Trouble is, the more unique a sari is, the more memorable it will be. If you wore this to a wedding in May, people will still remember it in June. For those of us who are 3,ooo miles from home and Mama’s saris, that doesn’t leave us with many options, especially if shopping at ISP in Murrland isn’t a palatable idea.

Since I haven’t been back to the pind since 1989 (insert cringe here), and I feel like I’m getting massively ripped off if I buy something on Devon or University Avenue, that only leaves me with one way to get my pleats on; every year, some relative returns from Kerala with a few gifts which my much-adored Chinamma chose for me. She knows that I favor Kanjeevaram…and that her older sister, my Moms, is very conservative. [See: my blouse sleeves, for proof.] Chinamma always sends me something beautiful, and because of her, I haven’t needed to purchase something silky or slinky online. And that, dear mutineers, is why I didn’t see this (click, to enlarge…if you dare):

A quick break here from my Groundviews posts. First, as I said in that last comment thread, the kind people in the bunker said I could stay for awhile longer! I’m excited.

Second, my friend alerted me to a reference to Sri Lanka in a recent SNL skit:

Run the player until about 1:30 before the end, and listen to the foreign policy segment. Yup, that’s a reference to Sri Lanka’s Ambassador Prasad Kariyawasam. He’s Sri Lanka’s permanent rep to the U.N. At least, I think he still is. :)

Ennis wanted me to remind you that tomorrow night is the L.A. meetup.

I briefly toyed with the idea of not posting this, just because I like intercoastal chicken* and I’m hyper-competitive about everything. Then I realized that even if the L.A. meetup was dazzling, glorious and fornication-laden…it would still occur in Los Angeles ;)

Please take lots of pictures, the SM Flickr group has been woefully neglected, as has our Facebook album for the SM “group”. Really, you have no excuse, since you’re all going to have your cell phones with you and even the lamest o’ phones now takes pictures, hokay?

So.

Twenty-two hours from now.

Redwood Bar and Grill.

316 W. 2nd Street, Los Anjalis, 90012.

Got that?

.

*Why chicken? Well, it can’t be beef, because lots of desis don’t eat red meat. Can’t be pork, because lots of desis think it’s

…

gross

…you thought I was going to say “haram”, didn’t you? HA. Suckers.

Behold, the trailer for “The Love Guru” (tagline: His karma is huge). I have mixed feelings, because I really lurve Mike Myers; I quote something from Goldmember almost daily. But, as familiar and fun as the shrimp/gnome scene in this trailer is (“Moleee Moleee Moooole”, anyone?) seeing Myers travel around on a pillow, flying carpet-ishtyle made me want to smack someone.

Plot nugget below:

Pitka (Mike Myers) is an American raised by gurus who returns to the USA in order to break into the self-help business. His first challenge: To settle the romantic troubles and subsequent professional skid of star Toronto Maple Leafs hockey player Darren Roanoke (Romany Malco) whose wife Prudence (Meagan Good) left him for rival skater Jacques Grande (Justin Timberlake). [wiki]

We should totally do a meetup on June 20th, so we can shriek about what offended us, afterwards. ;)

p.s. Thank you to lion and astrosmurf, for the tip!

Sugi’s post on how to make babies who will possess certain characteristics via Sarkai lo khatiya jaada lage on prescribed days of the month (with both of you keeping your eyes open, got that? no eyelash fluttering out of unbearable ecstasy) is so much more mutinous than what I’m going to post, but I believe in diversity, so while she brought the funny, I’m bringin’ the schmaltz. No, not schmaltz as in rendered goose fat which can be spread on bread as is done in German and Jewish cuisine, schmaltz as in the unbelievably literal “Every Kiss begins with K”-schmaltz.

Still with me? No? Perk up. It’s tea time, lovers.

Last night, I watched “Deal or No Deal, for the first time, ever. That show is mesmerizing with its repetition and stupidity. I wanted to tell the firefighter whom they were featuring that his response of

$100,000…wow…that could do a lot…it’s like, two years salary

in response to Howie’s ridiculously leading question

How would that change absolutely everything for you and your pregnant wife, who has to put up with you working two jobs?

was actually incorrect, since taxes would eat nearly half that amount and so it was really more like ONE year of his salary, but whatevs.

Though I had an hour to waste, I still couldn’t understand why I was watching such garbage while waiting for my dirty-little-secret-TV-cocktail of “Super Nanny” and “Cashmere Mafia”— which is on an entirely different network. But you know what mutineers? It turns out that everything happens for a reason.

During one of the commercial breaks on NBC, my browndar went off like police sirens in Adams Morgan on a Saturday night. Through my keen peripheral vision, I saw a brown face sinking and then looking up. I whipped my head around (oww) and realized that some random Desi had just proposed to their future Karva-Chauth-hostage (KIDDING).

What the-?

Visit NBC.com/Love for more about this couple…sponsored by Kay Jewelers…every Gambia-Senegal session after Applebee’s begins with Kay…

In case you needed to have it pointed out, today was the so-called “Potomac Primary,” where the voters of Maryland, Virginia, and D.C. weighed in on their favorite candidate. My dad was one of the voters who showed up bright and early to get his vote in. I know that one’s ballot should be secret and that this is one of the fundamentals of our Democracy. However, I am a blogger, and our kind is not known for always playing fair. Thus, I will share with you all the first email in my inbox this morning:

from: Dad
to: Abhi
date: Feb 12, 2008 7:27 AM
subject: Hold on to your Dreams * Love ……..Dad

2-12-2008 [0829]

Abhi: I voted for Hillary - an hour ago. I urge you to think positive and hang on to your dreams.
Also please try and select life partner before next January !! Good luck !! Love…. Dad

My primary in Texas isn’t until March 4th. I am still one of those undecided voters that I usually deride during other elections. All my recent energy has been focused on choosing the best candidate to elect to office next January. Now I have another choice to make on my plate apparently. A friend who I forwarded the above email to replied with an insightful remark:

Well, if you think about it, it makes sense. What else happens next Jan? Obama becomes president. So it’s perfect — Abhi will find a life partner when a black man becomes president. See, our dads really do know everything.

Flying all over the intarwebs is an NYT article about Facebook— and how it is apparently the equivalent of a social networking roach motel; once you check in you can’t check out.

Are you a member of Facebook.com? You may have a lifetime contract. Some users have discovered that it is nearly impossible to remove themselves entirely from Facebook, setting off a fresh round of concern over the popular social network’s use of personal data. While the Web site offers users the option to deactivate their accounts, Facebook servers keep copies of the information in those accounts indefinitely.

The first flummoxed Facebooker quoted by la grey lady is brown!

“It’s like the Hotel California,” said Nipon Das, 34, a director at a biotechnology consulting firm in Manhattan, who tried unsuccessfully to delete his account this fall. “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

It took Mr. Das about two months and several e-mail exchanges with Facebook’s customer service representatives to erase most of his information from the site, which finally occurred after he sent an e-mail threatening legal action. But even after that, a reporter was able to find Mr. Das’s empty profile on Facebook and successfully sent him an e-mail message through the network.

I understand that Facebook is ostensibly attempting to keep the reactivation process zimble, should one change one’s mind about one’s participation in this timesuck, but one might still find this policy douchey. (Now who has U2 stuck in their head? Just me? Meh. You kids and your tatti taste in music.)

Facebook’s Web site does not inform departing users that they must delete information from their account in order to close it fully — meaning that they may unwittingly leave anything from e-mail addresses to credit card numbers sitting on Facebook servers. Only people who contact Facebook’s customer service department are informed that they must painstakingly delete, line by line, all of the profile information, “wall” messages and group memberships they may have created within Facebook.

“HELLO.”

“Well, that was a forceful ‘Hello’…”

“Sorry, Ma. You’ve called three times and each time I picked up, I heard nothing.”

“I have a bad connection, sorry…listen, I have a quick thing to ask you.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Should I vote?”

“WHAT?!”

“Is the primary important? Isn’t the election what matters?”

“Well…the primary is going to determine who will be in those elections, so yes it’s very important. Why are you even asking? GO VOTE, woman. Cheee!”

“I know…I should…”

“Then?”

“Well, I don’t know…”

“About what?”

“Why can’t I vote for who I want?”

“Ma. Clinton is on the ballot. What are you saying?”

“But I have to vote for a Democrat.”

“Ohhh, that-a-way. Yeah, it’s basically a closed primary.”

“That’s not fair.”

“DUDE. You were the one who was all drunk off HRC kool-aid a week ago.”

“I don’t like people telling me who to vote!”

I yam still convalescing, which means I don’t feel guilty for phoning this one in. ;) I love the random, and when Nux2 posted a link on our News Tab to a fabulous pillow you can purchase for your home, and he/she described his/her find as “random”, I was on it like Oprah on Obama. It’s mutinous because the pillow has Bollywood on it! And it’s just a mere $19.99? Wheee! Fire up the maroon Camry and let’s go!

Bombay blockbuster. Coming to a sofa or chair near you. Bollywood film clip, remastered in black and white on 100% cotton. Hidden zipper closure; feather-down insert. Machine wash. Imported. [CB2]

If you’re a fraudulent brownie like me who neither speaks Hindi (mein kya karoon?) nor watches Bollyfun, you probably won’t know that the gorgeous woman whose face will soon be under some hipster’s ass* is BhanuRekha Ganesan, the effulgent star of the legendary phillum Umrao Jaan (“the real version”, which came out in 1981 when I was six).

If you click the picture above, you can see a huge version of it, to better appreciate the edginess of it all. Once you do that, you might find yourself considering the severed hand tchotchke I’ve included a screen shot of(“adaa hand sculpture”), which is a steal at just $49.95. Think of all the money you’re saving by not buying the whole body!

Every now and then you come across a new study or news article that really just hits home. It helps provide some “professional” or “scientific” insight into something that you always kind of suspected but could never quite properly articulate to yourself. I came across just such an article today (and the study behind it) and it has me re-examining myself (and many of my friends) in a new light:

Is there a thread that ties engineers to Islamic terrorism?

There certainly is, according to Diego Gambetta and Steffen Hertog at Oxford University, who recently published a paper titled, “Engineers of Jihad.” The authors call the link to terrorism “the engineer’s mindset.”

The sociology paper published last November, which has been making rounds over the Internet and was recently picked up by The Atlantic, uses illustrative statistics and qualitative data to conclude that there is a strong relationship between an engineering background and involvement in a variety of Islamic terrorist groups. The authors have found that graduates in subjects such as science, engineering, and medicine are strongly overrepresented among Islamist movements in the Muslim world. The authors also note that engineers, alone, are strongly over-represented among graduates who gravitate to violent groups. [Link]

One risk factor alone usually does not provide cause for worry (although I do have two engineering degrees). However, when combined with other risk factors such as this one that I had previously written about, you can imagine why I have decided to do some real soul searching. I mean, us engineers do have a lot of things in common with terrorists besides the fact that there are a lot of South Asian engineers and quite a few South Asian terrorists. For example, both groups hope that there are virgins in the afterlife (cause there definitely ain’t many women in engineering school). Both groups also stay home on Friday nights and have time to become increasingly bitter.

However, contrary to popular speculation, it’s not technical skills that make engineers attractive recruits to radical groups. Rather, the authors pose the hypothesis that “engineers have a ‘mindset’ that makes them a particularly good match for Islamism,” which becomes explosive when fused by the repression and vigorous radicalization triggered by the social conditions they endured in Islamic countries. [Link]

I wonder if people that know me think I have an “engineer’s mindset.” I will now have to suppress it by pretending to be intellectually lazy and incurious. How do you liberal arts and business majors do it so well?

Bollywood must be reeling from the disrespect paid to it by its smaller cousin in California. It’s not bad enough that the Hindi version of Spiderman 3 broke box office records in India, outgrossing domestic productions with a clear ripoff of Indian cinema complete with Tobey Maguire’s Bollystyle costumes, dancing, and hair acting. But to make matters worse, Disney has been muscling in on Bolly’s home turf, the absurd movie musical.

In an audacious move akin to bringing coals to Newcastle, Disney released High School Musical (1) with songs and dialogue dubbed into Hindi in 2006. The new release involved a few subtle changes that revealed how well Disney understands Indian film audiences:

Consider “Bop to the Top,” the title of a song from the first movie. In India, one of Disney’s most important foreign markets, the phrase was changed to “Pa Pa Pa Paye Yeh Dil,” which the company said roughly translates to “the heart is full of happiness” in Hindi. A Hindi translator contacted by The New York Times said: “It’s sort of like a Duran Duran song. The words sound sexy but mean nothing…” [Link]

The dubbed version of HSM did well enough that now Disney is releasing the sequel, High School Musical 2, with an entirely Indian cast. It’s just one of many versions of HSM2 with local casts - you can see them displayed in this medley of different adaptations of HSM2 from around the world.

Below is the climatic song in the all-desi HSM2, Aaja Nachle, the replacement for “All for One” in the American version of HSM2:

The song is a hit worldwide:

According to Nielsen Media Research, more than 1.5 million children age 6 to 11 watched “Aaja Nachle.” Even in a foreign language, children “can feel what they’re saying,” Ms. Sweeney said. [Link]

The Indian film industry is taking Disney’s blatant neo-imperialism very seriously, and is launching a counter-strike. They have announced that SRK will star in a completely naturalistic biopic of Dalip Singh Saund’s life to be released for American markets, saying that anything Miramax can do, they can do better.

Via the Literary Saloon, an article in the Economic Times on the upcoming formal distribution of Harlequin Mills & Boon romance novels in India. These novels have of course been available in South Asia for many years — but mostly via redistribution and consignment. It’s only now that Harlequin is planning to start distributing its books in India directly:

For most Indian readers, it will come as a surprise that M&B was never actually distributed in India. The novels have been so much a part of our lives, stacked in the hundreds in circulating libraries, borrowed dozens at a time by women (especially in hostels, where the trick was for one girl to borrow them and ten to read them the same night), laid out for sale second hand on pavements.

We’ve seen the special sections in large bookshops, shelves aching with romantic desperation, anguish and fulfillment. We’ve fantasised about the busty heroines and tall dark handsome heroes on the covers. We knew about all the different varieties of novels: nurses, Regency, exotic settings and so on. And exactly how we knew all this we would never say since like most people we would never admit to reading M&B.

But all of this was achieved with Harlequin ever selling directly. “We had some idea about this market, but we never really followed it up,” admits Go. “At the Frankfurt Book Fair, we would meet Indian distributors who would offer to take on consignments and we never bothered beyond that.” (link)

Interestingly, Harlequin is finding that Indian men are just about as likely to be Mills and Boon fans as women:

What he wasn’t expecting were the men, “A substantial percentage of Mills & Boon readership in India is male! You don’t see that in other markets.” Go has speculations on why this is the case. Perhaps it’s just the sheer ubiquity of M&B novels, “Their sisters and mothers are reading them and since they are lying around the men read them too.” (link)

(Come on, desi guys — I know you’ve read a few of these. MoorNam? Floridian? Now is the time to come clean.)

Finally, the author of the piece asks an obvious question on my mind from the start — what about the desi version:

But the interesting question is whether, as with FMCG products, M&B will see the need to Indianise their offering. When even a Kentucky Fried Chicken has to offer a chicken curry thali to survive in India, will M&B be able to continue with its offering of Western-oriented romance fiction? Or is this sort of escapist fiction exactly its appeal? (link)

(“Tall, dark, and handsome” might have to become “fair and handsome” in the Indian context. And maybe they could still use Fabio on the cover, only with Shah Rukh Khan’s hair style?)

Incidentally, I have long wanted to write my own pulpy romance novel to make some quick cash, but I’ve been starved for a good (desi-oriented) plot. Can anyone suggest a good scenario for me to use, as I attempt to enter the world of trash fiction popular romantic fare? (The best I can think of right now is an Indian version of this plot. Hopefully I can come up with a better title than “The Rancher’s Doorstep Baby,” however)

Quick, when was the last time I wrote a blog entry on the topic of high fashion for SM? Do some of you view me as a mere niche blogger who only writes about Antarctic exploration or freaky kids? These days, bloggers must remain sufficiently versatile so as to compete in a cut-throat business, one where the profit margins are razor thin and the trolls are out with knifes. And so I bring you news of designer Marc Jacobs’ spring/summer 2008 line (thanks for the tip “Meenbeen”):

Marc Jacobs can do anything he wants now. He’s even feeling confident enough to open up about a troubled private life that he once kept very private. And one expression of that confident spirit is the injection of willfulness he’s given to his collections. It’s a definite boon to the menswear in his second line, which can occasionally seem a little too close to the contents of College Boy’s closet. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but Jacobs has proved himself a virtuoso at distilling the talents of his various collaborators, and he has some keen ones at M. by M. We could rightly expect a little more. With this latest effort, we got it.

The menswear took the mixed-up, mumbled-up, shook-up world that Marc presented for his signature Spring collection and toned it down to one key discombobulation: asymmetry. [Link]

The above review was written during 2007’s Fashion Week in NYC. Since the majority of the clothes-buying-public didn’t attend Fashion Week, they will mostly base their opinion of his men’s clothing line on print ads seen in prominent men’s magazines, and based on the reviews of prominent fashion bloggers like myself. Some of you may recognize one of the models he has chosen to show off his new men’s line: the musician M.I.A. Below each photograph I will comment on the effectiveness of these ads from the perspective of a male with a disposable income.

In the above picture M.I.A. poses like that one potential child molester uncle in the family who the relatives all shield their kids from. Her clammy skin and disheveled hair seem to scream, “what!?” and I imagine that in the next frame (had it been published) her head and chest would have been lurching forward as she said just that into the camera. This look would suit a stockbroker or I-banker, the kind who will never be the best in his field, but has some cocaine to party with after work…so its all good. And those hands. Greedy, clutching, talon-like hands that will find a way to collect what’s coming to them. All things eventually find their way into those hands so you may as well just “give it up” without a struggle. Belt not needed for a look like this (in case you were wondering). The man wearing those pants shouldn’t have to be bothered with a belt anyways. Those pants need to be easy to pull down and easy to put on in a hurry when he needs to sneak out. And he sneaks out often. The tie? The subliminal message being sent by this ad is that even if you think the tie is ugly, you can still use it for something else. Like to tie something in place. Utilitarian clothing is in for 2008. [As a side note, this is the most attractive I’ve ever seen M.I.A. look, and I’ve seen her up close. I kept looking to see if there was a wire leading from one of those red sockets at the bottom left of the photograph, into her, to make her so electric].

Title says it all. Here is something to think about on the drive home or to discuss with your friends over a beer tonight:

Roller-skating under cars might seem impossible, but it is the latest craze among kids in India and requires the flexibility, strength and balance of a gymnast.

Six-year-old Aniket Chindak holds the unofficial world record for ‘limbo-skating’ and speeds along no more than eight-inches above the ground.

Unfolding his body from his eye-watering position, the wonder-kid explained proudly how he is training to break his own world record of skating under 57 cars in 45 seconds. [Link]

He is like a human transformer. He goes from upright human to some sort of crazy airplane looking thing. Unfortunately, like all other successful child freaks, he will probably go on to face disappointment in a business that exploits youth to provide blog and media fodder.

We often receive emails like the one below at the lonely North Dakota bunker that serves as Sepia Mutiny’s world blogging headquarters:

…I’d like to reach a wider audience and would really appreciate if you could link [to] my blog.

ps - I’m pretty good at keeping my site updated. Please take a look!

Thanks much!

To this, our standard response (if we have time to write one) is a polite “please read our F.A.Q.” But when I read the above email from a blogger, writing from a lonely bunker of his own, with nothing but his science and his blog…well, I’m not made of stone people. I’m quick to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one.

Plus, this guy’s research has direct bearing on my own work and career aspirations (and might save me some day):

I am a resident of Delhi, India, and a psychiatrist by profession (heal the mentally unwell). I’m also fond of the great outdoors, and cultures around the world. I’ll be spending 3.5 months in Antarctica winter of 2008, doing research at the Indian base station. Thru this blog, I hope to keep my friends and family updated on my stay in this incredible land.
—Sudhir Khandelwal [Link]

Of course he is going to be “good about updating his site!” What else does he have to do? :)

It was a dark and stormy night. That’s a lie. It was a mild and unseasonably warm night and I was almost asleep, lulled away by Heidi Klum’s and Niki Taylor’s voiceovers on Bravo.

Then, something insane happened; I received a reality-bending email. But first, some unnecessary prattle back story.

From age 0-3.5, I had a much-adored stuffed bear, like most children my age. Unlike most children, my bear was named Babu, which totally proves that kids born here in the early to mid seventies might as well have been popped out “back home”. Anyway, Babu was wonderful as a confidante, hugging partner and drool-catcher…until we moved to San Francisco. Somewhere between Southern California and Northern, Babu disappeared, never to be seen again.

Last night, dazed and confused by exhaustion, I checked my email one final time…and did a sleepy double-take. There, in my inbox…Babu. The only justification I can offer for thinking what comes next is, um, Benadryl. “My Babu reached out to me from beyond!”, I gasped, and he did so via GMail no less:

Hi Anna,

It’s the biggest story happening in Indian Cricket and you are not covering it….that’s not right :)

Feed your cricket hunger with the story. I’m not sure if you are aware of the suspension of an Indian cricket player over racial abuse. This has created a cricket war between India and Australia. and YOU should write about it.

It has high drama, fight for honor, millions of dollars at stake and the big Indian ego Vs Australian. Australian media is supporting India as well :)

Link, link, link and link.

Well, I didn’t wanna vote in News tab and wait….hehe.. :D

~Babu

Babu, after absorbing tears, snot and Lord knows what else, this is the least I can do.

All right people.

The cricket post I have received eleven requests for (not counting the above-pasted, impassioned plea from my bear) is up next.

Abhi posted a link on the news tab which I just had to click…Guns N’ Roses? Sweet Child o’ Mine?

Indian-ishtyle??

I thought my brain would implode at the thought but I was hooked immediately. That song (and that group) dominate my memories of my freshman year in high school— mostly because I hated myself for secretly kind of liking it.

Unlike many of you lucky bastards mutineers, I am at work today, so this might be one of the most compendious posts I will ever write (stop applauding, haterz).

For the last week or so, I kept hearing variations on “I can’t believe the year is almost over!”. I was feeling that way myself until I started to pore through our archives. Now I feel like this has been a very long year, one which lasted at least 365 days.

Can you even conceive of a time before Sanjaya? Believe it or not, there was, way back in the beginning of 2007.

Let that sink in.

NOW doesn’t it feel like January 17th—the last day that the mutiny was papaya-free— was a long time ago? Speaking of Sanjaya, he’s on the list. What list? The list I made of interesting, notable or significant posts from this year.

Without further contradiction of my use of the word “compendious”, here they are, for your procrastination and pleasure:

I’m always a bit hesitant to write what might be viewed as a “personal” entry on these pages. I used to have my own personal blog for those types of musings but decided to give it up because of the pressures of a full time job and this blog. I also don’t want to be presumptuous and assume that the vast majority of SM readers care about my life (as opposed to my writings highlighting something of interest or importance to the South Asian American community). That being said, today is a holiday (when SM readership plummets for obvious reasons), and so I figured I’d get away with some personal blogging. Since many of you seemed to enjoy my previous entry about my arduous toils in my basement, I thought I would serve up one more entry based on the booty recovered from the nine tons of refuse we removed from down there over the last three days.

First off, I know some of you don’t believe me when I say I’m a Grinch. Do these pictures finally convince you? I could tell even at a young age that this new-fangled Santa Claus was an imposter:

Leave this one alone. He’s bad to the bone. (Age 1)

And Frosty? Please. The only large snowball I care to associate with is a snow cone with watermelon syrup:

Where is Frosty’s left hand?

India and China are just about to wrap up joint military exercises, 45 years after the border war which put an end to the phrase which serves as the title of this post. The CSM reports:

The decision to hold joint Army exercises, ending tomorrow, in China’s Yunnan Province, is admittedly a small measure. But it is the first time the two armies have cooperated in such a way, and it comes on the heels of rapidly expanding Sino-Indian ties in business and politics…

This being the first Army exercise between the two countries, it has been small. Only 95 Indian soldiers have traveled to Yunnan Province, where they are participating in counterterrorism drills. But the joint exercise is expected to become an annual event, helping each side become better acquainted with the other.

“These are building blocks being put in place,” says Rahul Bedi of Jane’s, a London-based military analysis firm. “It’s a part of the learning process…” [Link]

And what did they name these exercises? Operation Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon? Sadly, no. That would have been the name if only I were in charge. Instead, the name given to these joint training exercises was “Hand-in-Hand 2007.” Hand-in-Hand? These are supposed to be warriors not playmates. For your viewing enjoyment I have posted some of the most exciting pictures from the the last several days:

Chinese soldier teaches Indians that the best way to defend against a sledge hammer to the head is by using the nearest pile of bricks for protection. They swear it works and that Indians should try.

The last two days I have been performing back-breaking, grueling, utterly soul crushing labor…in my own house (well, my parents house). Have you guys ever read a news article about some reclusive old guy who had a lifelong hoarding problem (a.k.a syllogomania) and when police finally entered the house they found a rotting, partially eaten corpse buried underneath a pile of junk that was formerly on one side of the only navigable lane through the house? Yes? Then now you know what my dad is like (known as “Yo Dad” to some who read SM). My dad left with my mom for India earlier this week so I flew home to help my brother clean out the house without any resistance. I wanted to solve this looming crisis before my dad made the local news in the “odd news” segment. Over the last two days we’ve been cleaning out stuff (mostly stored in the basement) that spans back 40 years! I won’t bore you with descriptions of 20-year-old used shower curtains or “Indian luggage bags” filled with spiders. I will take you straight to the good stuff. First, check out these two cricket bats. I remember they were purchased on a trip to India in 1982/3 in Ahmedabad (I was ~7). Notice anything shocking on one of them?

Was I an angry militant batsman as a child?

Can someone please explain this to me? Why would a child’s cricket bat say Hitler on it? I can understand why the one on the right has Sunil Gavaskar’s name…but Hitler?? As best as I can guess, the bat makers meant to spell “Hitter” but misspelled it as “Hitler.” Why did my parents even buy me this cricket bat? This could REALLY come back to tank my candidacy if I ever run for office. This is a closet skeleton right up there with GW Bush’s and Obama’s cocaine use.

The opposition Orissa Congress Party is pissed off and they ain’t going to take it no more. Surely I am referring to some local matter (perhaps involving bauxite), right? Nope. They are pissed off at the online (mostly T-shirt) store CafePress and want to lodge a formal complaint with the United States government so as to put a stop to the highly offensive insanity I am about to describe. We’ve heard this all before from American Hindus, but this one just escalates the absurdity to a whole new level:

Is that a Nehru in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?

Insensitivity towards foreign cultures and sentiments has plumbed new depths. A US-based online shop has kicked up a storm by printing images of the Tricolour, Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru on undergarments.

The Orissa Congress on Saturday condemned the “cheap publicity stunt.” “This is stupid on the website’s part to malign a world leader like Gandhi and a great national icon like Nehru in such a disgraceful fashion,” Opposition leader, J B Patnaik, said, adding, “They should be told through proper channels to stop it. Since the website is US-based, I urge Indians there to lodge strong protests…” [Link]

Did you hear that? “They should be told…to stop it.” I beseech you my fellow Indian Americans to heed the call of this nobody politician from Orissa and demand that we protest against the First Amendment of these United States. If you remain unconvinced then I must point out that the reputations of Gandhi, Nehru, and the Indian Flag are not the only ones at stake. There is far greater disrespect involved here:

Youth also protested against the derogatory portrayal of Bollywood icons, Amitabh Bachchan and Shah Rukh Khan, on similar products. Now, it’s the turn of freedom fighters to air their grievances against the “offensive attacks on national leaders”. [Link]

I guess MC Vikram and Ludakrishna aren’t the only dynamic desi duo doing creative reinterpretations of hip-hop:

I can’t get over their names, Pari and Harvin…sorry, allow me to be accurate—I can’t get over ONE of their names, because I always thought it was a very bad word in Malayalam.

Random Uncle: Molay, what did you get for Christmas?

Three-year old me: Pari!

Random Uncle: *thud* (falls over in horror)

My dad: She’s so funny!

Beyond that, I must say that I was somewhat impressed with the quality of the video (though I’m rarely on YouTube, so I’m sure all the youths of today have ridonkulous video editing skillz of which I am unaware).

Once the backup dancers started..um…cranking…or light bulb-changing specifically, I was surprised at the level of thought put in to this lunacy. Backup dancers! It must have been fun to walk by all THAT. Where’s the “Making the Video” for this, complete with confused non-desis watching on the street corner?

Anyway, it’s Friday and we’re (read: I’m) stressed, so a bit of light-hearted spoofery seems apposite. It was cute enough that I’m willing to forgive Harvin (whom I assume put it on the News tab) for bringing this wee bit of awareness of Soulja Boy in to my world; I was proud of the fact that I had never heard “Crank Dat”, but for you excessively mustachioed kids, I’ll make this very good exception. Oh, who am I kidding. My motive for posting this was zimble—after you watch, I will not be the only one who has the words I used for my title STUCK IN THEIR HEAD all day.

With Mango Jooooooooose,

a

A gravely unique story out of AhmEdabad (I can’t hear you groaning, so ha!):

In India, death is a part of life — and, at one restaurant in western India, a part of lunch. The bustling New Lucky Restaurant in Ahmadabad Ahmedabad is famous for its milky tea, its buttery rolls, and the graves between the tables.

It’s a spot where old men page through newspapers and argue politics in the morning while young couples share candlelit meals and hold hands at night. That the candles sit atop graves only adds to the ambiance.

Krishan Kutti Nair has helped run the restaurant built over a centuries-old Muslim cemetery for close to four decades, but he doesn’t know who is buried in the cafe floor. Customers seem to like the graves, which resemble small cement coffins, and that’s enough for him.

Sure, the customers like it…unlike me, they are apparently not haunted by MJ’s Thriller video! Anyway, trust a desi to bring it all back to auspiciousness:

“The graveyard is good luck,” Nair said one recent afternoon after the lunch rush. “Our business is better because of the graveyard.”

The graves are painted green, stand about shin high, and every day the manager decorates each of them with a single dried flower. They’re scattered randomly across the restaurant — one up front next to the cash register, three in the middle next to a table for two, four along the wall near the kitchen.

I think business is good because the waiters seem fantastic:

The waiters know the floor plan like a bus driver knows his route, and they’ve mastered the delicate dance of shimmying between graves with a tray of hot tea in each hand.

“We’re used to it,” said waiter Kayyum Sheikh. “There’s nothing odd about it.”

If the pop culture ref I used for my title didn’t float your yacht, try this one from tipster Raj, who single-handedly ruined my afternoon by sending us the bad news:

“Oh my God !! They killed Asok, you Bastards!!”

A moment of silence, please, for the adorable, paavam*, wide-eyed IIT alum who will no longer be available for scapegoating and abuse. Wait a second…maybe he’s better off away from Wally, the Pointy-haired Boss and everyone else he (got) worked (over) by.

Asok (pronounced “a-shook”) is an intern in the Dilbert comic strip. He is a brilliant graduate from the Indian Institute of Technology…Asok often solves difficult problems in a few keystrokes, but he is still naïve to the cruelties and politics of the business world. As a result, he often ends up being the scapegoat for his coworkers’ antics. Despite many years as an intern, and performing the functions of a senior engineer, Asok has been denied permission to be a regular employee and the usage of company resources for his work.

It has been mentioned that Asok once lived in the handicapped stall of the bathroom; he later moved to a storage facility (but was only allowed an hour leave for moving by the Pointy-Haired Boss). Asok is also trained to sleep only on national holidays, a trait that he allegedly carried over from his alma mater. In addition, he was trained during his time at the Indian Institute of Technology in telekinesis, using it once to vaporize an obnoxious Texan and more recently to stealthily steal donuts in a meeting, and remove asbestos from the office. As well, he has mentioned that he has the ability to reheat his tea by holding a cup to his forehead and think about fire. Asok appears to be a fan of Indian music: in the animated episode “Art” he is shown listening enthusiastically to a female vocalist singing in Hindi. Recently, the Pointy-Haired Boss announced that Asok died while on a test of a moon shuttle prototype. Asok had planned to reincarnate into his clone, unfortunately Carol had used the jar containing his DNA as a candy jar. It is not known how Asok will return. [viki]

If you are one of the three people reading this post who has not been exposed to the charm of Asok, read on:

Asok: You can use my key to open the box with its teeth.

Dilbert: To open this box I’ll need something stronger than a key.

Between the snow, the looming holidays, sundry drama and Keeping up with the Kardashians marathons, it’s gettin’, it’s gettin’, it’s gettin kinda hectic these days. It’s been heavy in addition to hectic, depending on which thread you’ve been marinating in (despite Abhi’s heroically adorable post about every college male’s dream sitch). Time for some high jinks and hilarity, I say.

The link to this wideo has been sent to me so many times, all that copying, pasting and emailing should be put to good use, right? Who cares. You’re gettin’ some Bharath und Bollywood, whether you want some or not. Don’t blame me, blame SAFO; this concoction has the manicured fingerprints of those over-educated hipster doofuses all over it.

If this mesmerizing mash up doesn’t inspire you to…um…do…something, then perhaps the crushing pressure of high expectations will— soon after Denton-offspring Wonkette posted this vid, a commenter thither wondered what we were thinking, here at Sepia Mutiny. Don’t disappoint everyone now— it’s bad enough that you didn’t go to med school, you sepia slacker. What’s that? Oh. Well if you did go to med school, it’s bad enough that it was overseas. And if you…ad absurdum.

Does stuff like this happen in real life? I thought these scenarios only played out in mid-summer B-movie comedies. From the Globe:

To many women, he is simply “the boy.” They know who he is, even if they do not know his name. They know his story, even if they have never spoken to him.
more stories like this

In the small, all-female world of Wellesley College, Mohammad Usman is famous in this way. He is literally a man among women - about 2,300 women. Usman, 19, is the only man attending Wellesley College this fall.

“A lot of people don’t know his name, really,” said Johanna Peace, a Wellesley junior and the editor-in-chief of the student newspaper, the Wellesley News. “They’re aware that there’s a boy on campus. And if they see him, they’ll say, ‘Oh - there’s the boy.’ “

The boy in question has been living in a dormitory on campus since September, showering in his private bathroom, and, perhaps predictably, becoming something of a folk hero among his male friends. [Link]

You got that? He’s becoming a folk hero. Desis have arrived when some of us begin to achieve folk hero status. So what is it about Usman that let the Wellesley administration let this rooster in the hen house? They actually have an exchange program. Some people want to be exchanged to a foreign school. Those people are stupid. Why go abroad to meet a cute Euro/Australian/South American girl for the summer when you could attend an all-girl school (with more favorable odds) right here?

He wanted to come for the educational experience. (And the women.) He was looking forward to living near Boston. (And lots of women.) To him, this was a chance of a lifetime.

“I thought it would be really fascinating to be the only male at an all-women’s college,” said Usman…

“I want to try new things, and the greatest part of a liberal-arts education is experiencing a wide variety of things. It’s important to me to get the most of my 50 Gs…” [Link]

Brother, we all want to try new things and get the most. I admire your educational ambitions. Once more we are the model minority. But…what do your parents think?

Usman, the fourth child of Pakistani immigrants who own a variety store in the Bronx, enrolled at Wellesley for the fall semester like everyone else. His parents, who dropped him off on campus, were surprised to see so many women, mostly because Usman had failed to tell them that Wellesley was a women’s college. [Link]

Those of you who use gmail and gchat will have seen the news that gchat has gone from monogamous chatting only to full on orgy mode:

Guess who’s coming to dinner?

My reaction to this news is that it’s about time! Not the move to group chat, but the use of Vivek in an example. I mean, if you go into one of the many googleplex fine dining establishments and holler “Yo - Vivek!” you know how many people would turn around? So what took Google so long?

Of course, if they’re going for versimilitude here, Vivek would probably not be going camping with Todd (not unless they were a couple) but instead with a truckload of other desis, especially if Vivek is an IBD. The example should really say something like “Group chat - so 10 desi couples can coordinate their camping plans!” The chat would show people discussing who was bringing the dal, who was bringing the chaval, how many kinds of pickles were necessary for an overnight camping trip, whether a pressure cooker will work over a campfire, etc.

Actually, on second thought, I think we’re better off with the example provided. I don’t think even Google’s mighty servers could survive the surge in load from brown people going camping alone, not to mention brown people coordinating movies, dinners, or weddings. Back to Todd and Vivek it is.