I am going to write the South Indian girl's guide to living with a white boy (or girl? I don't know enough about living with white girls). Based purely on anecdotal evidence.
Here are a few things.
1. They will try to put their big feet on everything- on tables you might eat off, on you, on the nice chair you do your best to keep clean. This might even be with shoes on. Or even worse their mum will do this. And to keep things pleasant you will have to swallow that shriek of outrage and gently maneuver them out of that position.Or suffer.
2. You will have to be polite when the mother of your relatively aware white boy wants to put on a safety pin in solidarity with People of Colour. I understand white people are anguished about Trump as well, and maybe everyone in your church is wearing a pin, but church full of white people, with one token Indian named Bob is part of the problem. I will make this a while chapter- things the white mum or your white boy may say or do. How to navigate without losing your mind, the goodwill of this nice older lady, or making your white boy feel terrible for being the progeny of old white people. My take is he can't help it. Just as I cannot stop my nearly 70 yr old Indian father from saying racist things without meaning to. All I can hope for is that he doesn't vote for Modi again .
3. Food- there will be an entire chapter about food.
How to turn his endless bottles of salsa into the tamatar-pyaaz component of your sabji or chicken curry.
How not to turn purple when your nice Southern boy suggests putting a ham hock, or some sausage in with your lentils to give it some fat.
How not to cry inside when he takes your biryani, puts cheese on it, wraps it in a corn tortilla, and eats it with chipotle sauce.
How not to murder someone when they look at the paneer you made, all on your own, from glorious full fat milk, from American cows as big as Indian cars, and say "It's just like Tofu right?" NO IT BLOODY WELL ISN'T. Just like how not all white people are the same....
There will also be some ranting about pound cake and it's incomprehensible popularity.
4. You will have to train them into getting used to you stealing their towel occasionally. Actually I don't think a lot of other people do this. This is not a brown girl thing, it might just be me.
Also- housekeeping and gardening. I grew up with grandparents who were enthusiastic gardeners but I have never encountered anything like the suburban American's passion for lawn maintenance. Just seems mad.
5. A relative that you encounter only at family gatherings, like Thanksgiving and Christmas which are coming up, might ask you if Indians pay income tax. Yes. And we have had the concept since before this country was called America. Next?
Showing posts with label US of A. Show all posts
Showing posts with label US of A. Show all posts
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Friday, September 2, 2016
Stray thoughts and something of a rant.
I woke up to something about Gloria Steinem on my Facebook feed. Gloria Steinem, famous feminist writer, who said girls were with Bernie because that's were the boys were. Following which Madeline Albright joined in to also wag her finger at young women who might not vote for Hillary, saying they would go to hell for not standing with a woman. Hillary Clinton- who is most certainly not standing by a lot of women by continuing to be associated with Bill Clinton- notorious harasser of women.
I want to see her stand by women like Monica Lewinsky, barely out of school when the President of the United States coerced her into being a little silly. Someone whose life has become public fodder in the worst way, and probably will be infamous till she dies. How on earth are you supposed to survive this? How are you supposed to beat off the President of the United States, arguably the most powerful person in the world? Shouldn't we be protecting young, and older women, from this kind of predator instead of parading him about for his political value. Stand alone, without him, and tell me again about your feminism. I would listen.
Today there is a massive strike across India. I am excited about this because we need to stand together and fight. We have the numbers, if only we could collect somehow and exercise them. I'm not at home, and despite the questionable ways in which nearly every union functions, I think unions are terribly important. We need checks and balances to the system. Our government can't be allowed to run away with every sector of our economy and just hand it to a small group of industrialists. Why on earth does the BJP want to privatise the railways? At least with the Congress their economic policies were outlined in terms of classical neoliberal theory. The BJP don't seem to bother with trying to rationalise anything- cows and Bharat Mata ki Jai is all.
It also made me annoyed that so many of my Indian friends appeared to be complaining about being unable to get to work. Think a little bit about why people are striking. Join them. Show some solidarity with people less better off that you at your amazing arts collective, or great IT job. A higher minimum wage will help a lot of people out, and you want people to eventually have enough money to buy the nonsense that you are selling right? Many more were out at brunch (which is probably why Nandan Nilekani lost that election in Bangalore- people who might have voted for him seized the opportunity of the election to go on a 3 day weekend break instead). I saw pictures of people at the Oberoi, enjoying high tea, celebrating the bund; the incongruity of which might render you speechless so here I am to point the finger for you. I like high tea, and the Oberoi too, no actually I have never been at the Oberoi though I imagine it is nice, but there is a time and place.
I want to see her stand by women like Monica Lewinsky, barely out of school when the President of the United States coerced her into being a little silly. Someone whose life has become public fodder in the worst way, and probably will be infamous till she dies. How on earth are you supposed to survive this? How are you supposed to beat off the President of the United States, arguably the most powerful person in the world? Shouldn't we be protecting young, and older women, from this kind of predator instead of parading him about for his political value. Stand alone, without him, and tell me again about your feminism. I would listen.
Today there is a massive strike across India. I am excited about this because we need to stand together and fight. We have the numbers, if only we could collect somehow and exercise them. I'm not at home, and despite the questionable ways in which nearly every union functions, I think unions are terribly important. We need checks and balances to the system. Our government can't be allowed to run away with every sector of our economy and just hand it to a small group of industrialists. Why on earth does the BJP want to privatise the railways? At least with the Congress their economic policies were outlined in terms of classical neoliberal theory. The BJP don't seem to bother with trying to rationalise anything- cows and Bharat Mata ki Jai is all.
It also made me annoyed that so many of my Indian friends appeared to be complaining about being unable to get to work. Think a little bit about why people are striking. Join them. Show some solidarity with people less better off that you at your amazing arts collective, or great IT job. A higher minimum wage will help a lot of people out, and you want people to eventually have enough money to buy the nonsense that you are selling right? Many more were out at brunch (which is probably why Nandan Nilekani lost that election in Bangalore- people who might have voted for him seized the opportunity of the election to go on a 3 day weekend break instead). I saw pictures of people at the Oberoi, enjoying high tea, celebrating the bund; the incongruity of which might render you speechless so here I am to point the finger for you. I like high tea, and the Oberoi too, no actually I have never been at the Oberoi though I imagine it is nice, but there is a time and place.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Tragic realisations
I might have to come to terms with the fact that I do not like Japanese food.
I have a very dear Japanese-Swiss friend. We used to go to a restaurant called Sushi-train, in Geneva, about once a month. There I ate rice, with fried bits of fish on top, and rice wrapped in seaweed with cucumber, and let myself think that sushi was something I could do. And Claudia, twice as polite as everyone else, on account of being both Japanese and Swiss, left me my illusions.
Now I am in the U.S, and living with another sushi enthusiast (C and I were joined at the hip for 4 years), but this one will call me out. We've tried a whole host of Japanese restaurants in the area. J has a dear friend whose father was born in Japan to an army-dad. J himself enjoys fishy foods of all descriptions. So we find ourselves eating sushi a lot. And it always leaves me with a very odd feeling.
Branching out to other kinds of restaurant-Japanese fare has not been successful either. I do not like cold soba noodles, which appear frequently on menus. I like warm soba noodles, when made spicy and with peanuts- so basically Thai style. I do not like miso soup- it is so odd. I do not like tofu- though I know I must learn to love this, as a mostly vegetarian person trying to get by in the U.S without dying of boredom. I do not like soups with raw, or semi-cooked eggs in them. I thought I loved ramen but I do not like broths where I can smell the fish above all other things, and soy to me is not a flavour. I have not tried chawanmushi- an egg custard with bits of fish and scallions, but I hope to next time. I want to love edamame, but eating more than 2 (one edamame, two edamame?) leaves my head throbbing. Teriyaki chicken leaves me cold, as does hibachi- neither is interesting enough for me to use up calories over them.
I do like gyoza- but you have to be a monster to deny a pan-seared dumpling. Shumai, again a dumpling. All dumplings are amazing, and I don't know if loving these is enough.
I don't like Japanese food. And I am sorry to have to admit it.
I have a very dear Japanese-Swiss friend. We used to go to a restaurant called Sushi-train, in Geneva, about once a month. There I ate rice, with fried bits of fish on top, and rice wrapped in seaweed with cucumber, and let myself think that sushi was something I could do. And Claudia, twice as polite as everyone else, on account of being both Japanese and Swiss, left me my illusions.
Now I am in the U.S, and living with another sushi enthusiast (C and I were joined at the hip for 4 years), but this one will call me out. We've tried a whole host of Japanese restaurants in the area. J has a dear friend whose father was born in Japan to an army-dad. J himself enjoys fishy foods of all descriptions. So we find ourselves eating sushi a lot. And it always leaves me with a very odd feeling.
Branching out to other kinds of restaurant-Japanese fare has not been successful either. I do not like cold soba noodles, which appear frequently on menus. I like warm soba noodles, when made spicy and with peanuts- so basically Thai style. I do not like miso soup- it is so odd. I do not like tofu- though I know I must learn to love this, as a mostly vegetarian person trying to get by in the U.S without dying of boredom. I do not like soups with raw, or semi-cooked eggs in them. I thought I loved ramen but I do not like broths where I can smell the fish above all other things, and soy to me is not a flavour. I have not tried chawanmushi- an egg custard with bits of fish and scallions, but I hope to next time. I want to love edamame, but eating more than 2 (one edamame, two edamame?) leaves my head throbbing. Teriyaki chicken leaves me cold, as does hibachi- neither is interesting enough for me to use up calories over them.
I do like gyoza- but you have to be a monster to deny a pan-seared dumpling. Shumai, again a dumpling. All dumplings are amazing, and I don't know if loving these is enough.
I don't like Japanese food. And I am sorry to have to admit it.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Movies one weekend in November
One of my New Year's resolutions is to write more. So am cleaning up old blog posts and letting them loose into the world. Also I may not watch or read anything without leaving at least a line or two about it. So prepare for many opinions in 2016.
November 2015
I have a paper due in a week. Procrastination in full swing. I have baked two batches of muffins, and watched several movies. The first batch of muffins was excellent- Banana Double Chocolate Chip Muffins, no butter or oil but applesauce instead. I was suspicious of applesauce- seemed like a bizarre American ingredient to me to begin with, but now I am a convert. I boiled up a bunch of apples that were going bad, because J is always buying too much fruit in the hope that I will help him eat it. He is not in luck. I eat fruits when they are cut and served to me by adoring grandparents after dinner, but not otherwise.
The second batch of muffins was supposed to serve as breakfast- so they had oats, bananas, cinnamon, cashews and applesauce. These did not turn out so well. They were far too runny, and deflated a bit while cooking. They were also weirdly grey. The almond extract I threw in at the last moment made the whole thing smell ever so slightly artificial- not because the essence was off, but because not even almonds smell that strongly of almonds. I gave up on these, but J has already eaten more than half, so despite their shrunken grey form I assume they are acceptable. Also he does not know where I have hidden the chocolate ones.
This weekend we started Lamhe (1991). J gave up rather soon, when Sridevi launched into her second dance, so about ten minutes into the movie. This film is nearly four hours long, and most of it is songs. Endless painful songs that do nothing to advance the plot. The creepiness of this man who falls in love with a woman, and then her daughter 18 years later was too much for us to handle. Anupam Kher is spectacularly annoying in his buffoonery, and Sridevi's high-pitched chirping was intolerable. As were Anil Kapur's sweaters, even if it was the early 90's. I did not finish this, I wanted to, but some time after watching Waheeda Rehman get on a roller-coaster with these mad hatters I gave up. Painful.
Humpty Sharma ki Dulhaniya (2014) was a more successful foray. Despite being ill-disposed to Varun Dhawan I found him quite tolerable. J lost patience with the Alia Bhatt character, but returned to watch every song, and practice his dance moves. I enjoyed some parts of the movie very much and was troubled by others. What did this girl study and what was her plan for after she got married? Big blank considering how smart she seems to be. Ashutosh Rana as the dad was most attractive. The sub-plot involving the plan to trick the fiancé into confessing his homosexuality was very nicely done. I was not expecting anything good to come from that set up, having been burnt by countless homophobic jokes in Hindi movies before, but this was a delightful change. For this alone I exempt the movie of criticism for the ridiculous plot and exasperating conclusion. And then there was Humpty's English poetry. In that moment I was in love too.
Nosferatu (1922)- we watched this on Halloween at a little local theatre, where they decided to allow the movie to be accompanied by an orchestra, performing music of their own composition. The music destroyed the movie, was completely off time, and included random bit of sentences, like "Beware the furry one" and "Aaaaieeeeee". I'm sure if there had been silence in the hall the movie would have been a lot spookier, as it happened, it was just tiresome. We did eat dinner in a great Chinese restaurant afterwards though. The waiter was high, and kept hiding J's beer bottle from him at the table (v bad at hiding).
Save the Date (2012) stars Lizzy Caplan. She is wonderful in everything, and even though the movie is a bit of fluff it is fun, and doesn't have the single cringe-inducing moment. Alison Brie is great too, and I look forward to seeing her in more things.
Heartlands (2002) was my find of the week on Netflix. I love Michael Sheen, almost as much as I love Lizzy Caplan. I loved them both before Masters of Sex, and so much more since that show. He was also a most excellent guest on Craig Ferguson's show, where they talked about medieval theme parks, and the importance of living without irony. Michael Sheen plays a man who learns his wife has taken up with the captain of their darts team, hops on the road to Blackpool, and has adventures on the way. The darts team captain was a familiar face as well- Jim Carter/Mr Carson from Downton Abbey. I would watch this again, when looking for a pick-me-up.
November 2015
I have a paper due in a week. Procrastination in full swing. I have baked two batches of muffins, and watched several movies. The first batch of muffins was excellent- Banana Double Chocolate Chip Muffins, no butter or oil but applesauce instead. I was suspicious of applesauce- seemed like a bizarre American ingredient to me to begin with, but now I am a convert. I boiled up a bunch of apples that were going bad, because J is always buying too much fruit in the hope that I will help him eat it. He is not in luck. I eat fruits when they are cut and served to me by adoring grandparents after dinner, but not otherwise.
The second batch of muffins was supposed to serve as breakfast- so they had oats, bananas, cinnamon, cashews and applesauce. These did not turn out so well. They were far too runny, and deflated a bit while cooking. They were also weirdly grey. The almond extract I threw in at the last moment made the whole thing smell ever so slightly artificial- not because the essence was off, but because not even almonds smell that strongly of almonds. I gave up on these, but J has already eaten more than half, so despite their shrunken grey form I assume they are acceptable. Also he does not know where I have hidden the chocolate ones.
This weekend we started Lamhe (1991). J gave up rather soon, when Sridevi launched into her second dance, so about ten minutes into the movie. This film is nearly four hours long, and most of it is songs. Endless painful songs that do nothing to advance the plot. The creepiness of this man who falls in love with a woman, and then her daughter 18 years later was too much for us to handle. Anupam Kher is spectacularly annoying in his buffoonery, and Sridevi's high-pitched chirping was intolerable. As were Anil Kapur's sweaters, even if it was the early 90's. I did not finish this, I wanted to, but some time after watching Waheeda Rehman get on a roller-coaster with these mad hatters I gave up. Painful.
Humpty Sharma ki Dulhaniya (2014) was a more successful foray. Despite being ill-disposed to Varun Dhawan I found him quite tolerable. J lost patience with the Alia Bhatt character, but returned to watch every song, and practice his dance moves. I enjoyed some parts of the movie very much and was troubled by others. What did this girl study and what was her plan for after she got married? Big blank considering how smart she seems to be. Ashutosh Rana as the dad was most attractive. The sub-plot involving the plan to trick the fiancé into confessing his homosexuality was very nicely done. I was not expecting anything good to come from that set up, having been burnt by countless homophobic jokes in Hindi movies before, but this was a delightful change. For this alone I exempt the movie of criticism for the ridiculous plot and exasperating conclusion. And then there was Humpty's English poetry. In that moment I was in love too.
Nosferatu (1922)- we watched this on Halloween at a little local theatre, where they decided to allow the movie to be accompanied by an orchestra, performing music of their own composition. The music destroyed the movie, was completely off time, and included random bit of sentences, like "Beware the furry one" and "Aaaaieeeeee". I'm sure if there had been silence in the hall the movie would have been a lot spookier, as it happened, it was just tiresome. We did eat dinner in a great Chinese restaurant afterwards though. The waiter was high, and kept hiding J's beer bottle from him at the table (v bad at hiding).
Save the Date (2012) stars Lizzy Caplan. She is wonderful in everything, and even though the movie is a bit of fluff it is fun, and doesn't have the single cringe-inducing moment. Alison Brie is great too, and I look forward to seeing her in more things.
Heartlands (2002) was my find of the week on Netflix. I love Michael Sheen, almost as much as I love Lizzy Caplan. I loved them both before Masters of Sex, and so much more since that show. He was also a most excellent guest on Craig Ferguson's show, where they talked about medieval theme parks, and the importance of living without irony. Michael Sheen plays a man who learns his wife has taken up with the captain of their darts team, hops on the road to Blackpool, and has adventures on the way. The darts team captain was a familiar face as well- Jim Carter/Mr Carson from Downton Abbey. I would watch this again, when looking for a pick-me-up.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Gandhi Jayanti
In today's news
1. A 90 year old Dalit man was set on fire for trying to enter a temple. Also in Utter Pradesh. The gift that keeps on giving.
2. People are still yammering on about the Oregon shooter, and prayers, and whether guns were allowed on campus or not - will not one acknowledge that barely a fraction of mass shootings in the US have been carried out by women, and not a single one on school campuses. White men with guns are the problem. Stop the guns. Or just preemptively lock up white men.
3. Meryl Streep is not a feminist- she is a humanist. She is an idiot. And there ends my love for her.
4. Bon Jovi, despite repeated appeals, will go ahead with his show in Tel Aviv. So there go any feelings for him as well.
5. The ILO has been fucking around with me for days, proposing a work contract, and then taking away the work contract. If the International Labour Organization will not treat potential consultants like they have the right to an opinion who will? (No one. Young, brown, third world consultants have no right to expect any better.)
6. #Joaquin is coming for us on the East Coast- or so I am told. But I have seen enough spurious storm warnings in the United States to know that this could also be nothing. It will rain, and Americans will cry about how infrastructure might fail, and will stockpile food as if the world is coming to an end. Everything is always more potentially apocalyptic here.
7. It is Gandhi Jayanti. And Modi's face is everywhere. It feels like the cruellest irony. This life is not to be borne. Not today.
As you can tell I am angry. I suppose that is not in the spirit of Gandhi Jayanti either.
1. A 90 year old Dalit man was set on fire for trying to enter a temple. Also in Utter Pradesh. The gift that keeps on giving.
2. People are still yammering on about the Oregon shooter, and prayers, and whether guns were allowed on campus or not - will not one acknowledge that barely a fraction of mass shootings in the US have been carried out by women, and not a single one on school campuses. White men with guns are the problem. Stop the guns. Or just preemptively lock up white men.
3. Meryl Streep is not a feminist- she is a humanist. She is an idiot. And there ends my love for her.
4. Bon Jovi, despite repeated appeals, will go ahead with his show in Tel Aviv. So there go any feelings for him as well.
5. The ILO has been fucking around with me for days, proposing a work contract, and then taking away the work contract. If the International Labour Organization will not treat potential consultants like they have the right to an opinion who will? (No one. Young, brown, third world consultants have no right to expect any better.)
6. #Joaquin is coming for us on the East Coast- or so I am told. But I have seen enough spurious storm warnings in the United States to know that this could also be nothing. It will rain, and Americans will cry about how infrastructure might fail, and will stockpile food as if the world is coming to an end. Everything is always more potentially apocalyptic here.
7. It is Gandhi Jayanti. And Modi's face is everywhere. It feels like the cruellest irony. This life is not to be borne. Not today.
As you can tell I am angry. I suppose that is not in the spirit of Gandhi Jayanti either.
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