Vote for Imli!

Take a minute and vote for this adorable pup:

http://tinyurl.com/mcrobn

Imli is a 4 month old Shih Tzu with infinite energy and she brings joy everywhere she goes! She’s a pup of a poor medical student, and she definitely could use just the weekly prize Also, a significant part of any winnings will be donated to charity!

Please vote! You can vote once/day! You’ll be blessed and smothered with hugs and Imli will kiss your face till its wet!

The One With the Strange Soup

Tune Jo Na Kaha, from New York (rendered by Mohit Chauhan)

I had the chance today to return to my campus after the span of a year, which is a long time when you consider the chunk of time we as students spend in our college campuses. I always loved my college campus. As I’ve written elsewhere, I also grew to be deeply affectionate and grateful for my college itself, and the time I spent there was something I’ll never regret. My best memories are of the wonderful people I met there, my best friends, who are still such a constant part of my life.

And so, invariably, while walking those familiar paths I know so well, while taking the shortcuts and walking in and out of hallways and meeting dear professors and old colleagues, a deep nostalgia set in. Walking past the flowerbeds, around the fountain, down to the quad and past the green fields…walking past benches my friends and I had often accosted, past hillsides we had rolled down or just sat and chatted, past halls where we’d gather to do our homework, past the campus coffee house…past all these places that brought to life so many memories. I could almost see us there, almost see ghostly selves wandering around with me. I was struck with this deep longing of going back to that time. I wanted so much to be, once again, one of these students who walked around with a sense of belonging and a sense of ‘owning’ the place, which was something that had once belonged to me. Just for a day, I wanted to be the college student I was eighteen months ago, running around with a hundred things to do, holding on to a gigantic book and constantly smiling and waving at acquaintances as they passed me by. Stopping for a quick chat with a friend at the fountain. Taking a breather in the late afternoon at the park and watching the ducks go by. For one day, I wanted to go back to that time, or rather, to that feeling. It hasn’t been that long since I left that phase of my life, and yet, I already wanted to revisit it.

I got back to the car and, while driving around the campus, impulsively decided to visit a Chinese restaurant that was a favorite joint back in the day. A few of my friends loved this place, and I loved its dumplings and hot and sour soup. I wasn’t especially hungry; I simply wanted to relive that time, that taste, those late night take outs. I just wanted to vividly taste that past.

So I walked in and ordered dumplings and the hot and sour soup, and some veggie lo mein to go. All for still the same low cheap student price I remembered. And I sat down, contented and retrospective, to wait.

Ten minutes later a plate of the most unhappy dumplings I have ever seen were brought out. The soup looked attractive, but the dumplings were dumpy and soggy. Nevertheless, I dug in with enthusiasm. The dumplings lived up to their appearance: they were less than mediocre and not at all what I remembered. I had to slosh them in soy sauce for some flavor, and even then I managed only three. Turning more hopefully to the soup, I took a big gulp, almost burning my mouth, tasting something that can only be described as gelatinous water mixed with chili. It was, honestly, terrible. I only managed a few more bites before I just gave up completely, and sat there trying to figure out what had happened…

Did this food, which I once enjoyed so much, deteriorate in its quality? In one year, especially in the past economically turbulent year, had the owners compromised on the taste of their dishes? Had the chef changed?

Or was it that over the past year, my experiences with authentic food all over Asia and tasting true Chinese food had completely changed my expectations? Had the food always been this bad and I just didn’t know better?

I can’t tell you which one is true here, but while I sat there debating this, I took one more bite of the soup (since I hate wasting food) and the intense heat was like a slap that made things clearer. I’m always asking for signs and lessons from the universe and here was a huge one staring me right in the face. I had spent the afternoon mourning for a phase of my life that had passed by for good. I had been indulging myself in nostalgia, wishing myself back to a time that I had already moved on from. And the terrible food of this restaurant, which was just part of that mosaic from the past, was a reminder that I can’t go back. Here, in an unappealing manner on my plate, was clear evidence that I could never go back, and that my life had moved on (as it should).

It was in no way a sad realization. It came in the form of a calm, matter-of-fact, sensible voice, and it made sense. Yes, my collegiate life was beautiful…it had its ups and downs, its emotions and its upheavals, its celebrations and its joy. But…its over. And in the time that has followed I have had experiences of a completely different kind, amazing, wonderful, influential experiences that have changed my life. I differ greatly, in a very good way,  from the girl who came in as a freshman into this campus. I changed over my years as a student, and when I left, I continued to change, and life continued to move, faster than I could ever have imagined. It did for all of us, we all changed, we all moved on, and in the last month I had had the pleasure of seeing all my dear friends and being proud of the lives they are leading, the people they have become. I am grateful for and proud of the person I myself am today. I am wiser, I am calmer, I am more at peace with who I am than that child scurrying around campus. I am at terms with my scars, even proud to show them off, and so much more confident about where I am leading myself and all I want to do. Sure, I am moving onto another phase where I have again so much to learn, where I’ll crash and burn, where I’ll start from scratch and struggle and suffer, where there will be umpteen challenges…but it is still my future, and I will still be eager to be in it.

I can’t ask for the past to come back. I can cherish my memories, but I can’t, and I shouldn’t, try to relive them. That period should be remembered with joy, but never with longing or with a pointless desire to return, because my world has moved on. Just as we shouldn’t regret the past, we also shouldn’t hold it by its coat strings and beg it to take us back when the brilliant surprise of our future is waiting solemnly, hands entwined with the present, waiting for our attention. After all, that is where my attention is deserved.

It doesn’t matter what the real reason behind the disappointing taste of the soup or the dumplings may have been. The fact, I know, is that it wasn’t meant to taste the same to me. That time had changed, that person had changed, and so the taste, too, had changed. It was a sign, or rather, a marker in time.

And so I took a last look at the left overs, smiled, and left, driving away from the city in the late afternoon sun, peaceful with this new knowledge and a true sense of closure.

Heard on TV…

Arz Hai…

मेरा प्यार कोई गैस का बल्लूँ नहीं हैं, जो उड़ जाये
मेरा प्यार कोई साइकिल का टयर नहीं है, जो फट जाये
मेरा प्यार तो बुडापा है…
एक बार आता है, तो साथ लेके ही जाता है!

mera pyaar koi gas ka balloon nahin hai, jo ud jaye

mera pyaar koi cycle ka tire nahin hai, jo phat jaye

mera pyar to budapah hai…

ek baar aata hai, jo saath leke hi jaata hai!

Ha hahahah hahahahahah ahahaha

This had me entertained for some time.

Happy International Women’s Day!

Every day SHOULD be Women’s day, but the sad truth is that it isn’t, and what’s even sadder is that the one day given to us by the world kind of passes away like any other day. It shouldn’t be this way. Celebrate who you are and what you mean to this world! Women are beautiful, intelligent, strong, compassionate, passionate, nurturing, incredible organisms, and we forget about everything we do and everything we are all too quickly!

http://www.internationalwomensday.com/global/

At the same time, it is all too clear to each one of the women who can afford to celebrate this one day, that we are in the minority. Around the world, women are being abused, assaulted, raped, subjugated, oppressed, tortured, tossed aside, ignored, made invisible. Young girls in Afghanistan are slowly returning to their blue ghostly shrouds. Women in Venezuala are screaming for help against domestic violence and receiving nothing in return. A nine year old rape victim and her mother in Brazil have been excommunicated from the church for abortion, while the perpetrator received no such retribution. Inequal pay and benefits continue to be a reality in North America. For young women in India, a drink in a public place can become a courageous act of rebellion, after the public abuse of conservative groups last month. In Darfur and Congo, women are being raped multiple times and left to die, the prime victim of the genocide. The cases go on and on, splashing our newspapers and televisions each day for only a brief moment after which these women…their names, their faces and their stories will disappear. Their stories, just like the small stories each of us have from our daily lives, become insignificant after a day, a week, maybe a month.

http://www.amnestyusa.org/violence-against-women/stop-violence-against-women-svaw/page.do?id=1108417

And so, it becomes even more important for us to celebrate this day. To shout it out from the rooftops, to make a fuss, to make our claim on this day. Because, after all, we are blessed: we can. And we must celebrate for all of those women who cannot, whose beauty, strength, intelligence are being taken away in a brutal, violent, unfair manner, who are never allowed to explore their potential, and for whom their identity as a woman is a terrible, painful, dirty burden rather than something to be cherished. And, we must celebrate for the women who paved the way, who had the courage and the audacity to lead the way and allow for us to stand where we stand today.

As we continue with our busy lives today and tomorrow and the day after…maybe we can take a moment to admire ourselves and our accomplishments. And maybe the next time we face discrimination, unfair practices, and inappropriate behavior because of our gender, we’ll fight a little bit harder, take it a little bit farther, do a little bit more, stand a little bit taller. Because while we can do little for all those women whose human rights have been denied across the world, we can continue to fight with courage and tenacity for what we know is our right. And with those small struggles and battles, we will have created change.

I wish you with a quote…

The history of all times, and of today especially, teaches that…women will be forgotten if they forget to think about themselves. (Louise Otto)

…and a satirical video that is both hilarious and frightening to me. Hilarious because it parodies harshly a world where women must ‘know their limits.’ Frightening, because I know that this world still exists, and this kind of thinking still predominates our society.

Let us never stop crossing our limits!!

Tip of the Hat to Limbaugh!

Its a truthism!

Limbaugh:

We believe that the preamble of the Constitution contains an inarguable truth: that we are all endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights, among them Life, Liberty, Freedom, and the pursuit of Happiness.

Colbert:

Of course, Life, Liberty, Freedom and the pursuit of Happiness is not in the preamble of the Constitution, its in the Declaration of Independence. And, it does not contain the word Freedom.

Which is why I’m giving a tip of my hat to Rush Limbaugh for changing the Constitution. The liberals all want it to be a living document. Well, Rush just took it one step further and made it a Wikipedia entry. He does not care what the Constitution says, which is final proof that he is the true leader of the Republican Party.

Just one, of course, among many excellent jokes on Limbaugh’s behalf…

And, on a completely different note, mmmmm custard filled Chinese buns. You are the Boston Creme Donut of the Far East.

STA Internship: Please View!

My friend Brendon is applying for the STA World Traveler Internship Competition, and he needs ratings and views on YT as part of his application. He is an excellent candidate and I really think he would be amazing for this internship! Please take just 3 minutes and watch/rate this video! Its entertaining and very well made too! And…there are some veryyyy interesting parts

Click! Click! And pass it on!

Delhi 6

I know there are a lot of negative reviews on Delhi 6 already, so I’ll try not to just add on those. Most of what those reviews say are fairly true. At the same time, my taste in movies tends to be very different from the mainstream and I look for different things, so I don’t really trust these reviews. Let me tell you instead what worked and didn’t work for me in Delhi 6.

*I loved the character development. That has received much criticism…the first half does seem extremely draggy because of how long it takes to develop each character. I also don’t like the pace at which this was done, but I do like the characters and the fact that Mehra made the effort to give us a peek into each of their lives. And the city comes to life with that. I’ve lived in Delhi, but never been to these alleys and walled parts of the city, so it was like a whole new world to me. It was especially interesting to me the way they developed the connections between the religious groups prior to the insanity.

*I hated the way Mehra uses Rahman’s music. I mean, seriously, WTH. You have an amazing soundtrack but Mehra messes it up big time. The background score stops randomly. The songs come at the strangest time and stop suddenly. They come at inappropriate times (except maybe the Ramleela and Arziyan). The songs could have really added to the story and if used well could have made a huge impact. But , just like Rang De Basanti, I felt like the songs were grossly misused. And he just puts pieces of music wherever he feels. A scene that should be serious suddenly gets a funny tune to it (and I get it, he wanted the music to seem sarcastic, but why don’t you let the audience decide if its ironic/stupid or not? We don’t need music to tell us ‘hey, the proceedings in this scene are kind of ridiculous in a subtle way, so make sure you get it’), and a good scene with the right music flowing through it will suddenly change its mind. He could have also made much better use of the natural sounds of Delhi.

*The cinematography I can find no fault with, really. It was gorgeous. It really captured Old Delhi. It captured its alleys and the close houses and just the hustle and the bustle of daily life. Loved it.

*Now to the story. I actually think the script was great. It was innovative and really creative. I felt the same with RDB…I didn’t like RDB because of its eventual message (freedom fighters against the British and youth protesting against their own government: NOT THE SAME THING. The solution shown to fight the power: DRAMATIC AND USELESS!). But the story was very neat because of the way it intertwined real events and real people with fiction and added twists and turns to the whole mix to fit Bollywood.

That said, I think Mehra made some mistakes. First, he went really, really slow in the first half. Secondly, he could have really made use of some plot twists in an excellent way, but he never did. For example, the fact that Roshan is a product of two religions…I would have liked to see how that was able to happen with his religious grandma and how that impacted him, but let alone that this wasn’t even used well till much later in the movie (and then, too, in a bad way). Or the untouchable storyline…its like Mehra introduced it, dangled it, and then took it back in a rush. Thirdly, he gets so abstract that its a real impediment to the pace of the stroy. I mean, I know this sequence wasn’t important, but the Dil Gira Dafatan scene is really a great example of how Mehra took his abstractness too far and unnecessarily, and it just harmed the movie.

*Characters. I’ve already said the small characters were really unique in themselves and I appreciated that. But the main actors: um…big mistake? Abhishek Bachchan is not a bad actor, I respect him and I’ve really appreciated certain roles he’s been in. But dude, he did not fit the bill. He was too cool, too suave, too relaxed to fit in. I don’t have an issue with his attempts to pull of being American (which he was fine with, with his past, he may as well be!), but just the fact that he seemed terribly miscast as Roshan, from a to z. RDB was a success because each of the actors had an intensity…even Aamir despite his established screen presence managed to have a rawness/freshness to him. Abhishek was very Abhishek. He seemed to work up his intensity as Roshan to a point…and then suddenly, he caught himself, as if a voice inside him said, okay dude, that’s enough, lets back off. The ‘parvachan’  part is a great example: it just didn’t work because Abhishek couldn’t make it work. On the other hand, a similar kind of didactic message by Atul Kulkarni in the end: WOW. That was immensely powerful. Abhishek couldn’t convey the pain, confusion, anxiety, anger that his character should be feeling at any point. A great contrast is the very powerful scene with Deepak Dobriyal (Mandu) in the second half, where Deepak does such an amazing job in conveying Mandu’s emotions and angst…and Abhishek fails. Part of that blame goes to the the script and the direction. Mehra only let Roshan’s character go so far, and then reigned him back in. That wasn’t fair. You get a sense that this is a guy who grew up abroad but is trying to balance his traditional values with his upbringing, and he has this strong sense of justice and what’s sensible and what’s not. But then, right when that was put to the test, he backed off. Right when he was about to say “this achoot business is nonsense,” he just huffed and walked away. Right when he was should have said “let’s stop this religious nonsense” he played billiards. Even when he eventually does find his balls, it just seems off. I feel like the script writer’s Roshan and the Roshan we saw were completely different…

Sonam Kapoor didn’t really get much meat except looking pretty and spunky, which she did fine. I don’t really have much to say for her, which also means that she didn’t really leave an impact. Divya Dutta left a stronger impact, but then the woman is naturally a finer actress anyway. I wish she was cast more…

*Another problem with the direction is the choppiness. I felt the same way with RDB. This is like several times worse. Scenes are separate entities glued together with Fevicol. They jump and only rarely flow into each other. Thus, some scenes are awesome and you’re totally into it, and then you get this crappy, poorly acted/directed scene and its all huh again. I thought the Ramleela interspersion was a great idea: POORLY used. I mean, he could have done so much with that, and it was really brilliant, but I almost feel like he felt exhausted after just coming up with the idea and just let it be fit in willy nilly.

*The dialogue’s okay, and some does stay with me so I guess those must be good The main scenes were lacking in strong dialogue, and I found myself thinking back to some great films that deal with a similar issue with such amazing acting/lines (Nana Patekar: yeh dekh uska khoon, yeh dekh mera khoon, rang ek hai ke nahin? bol?)

*The ending: I won’t give a spoiler, but I’ll just say, it didn’t bother me that much. Its been generally disliked, but since the story was already so zany I guess at that point I just wanted them to wrap it up, and I didn’t care how. It was pretty Bollywood-ish though, after all the abstractness Mehra tried to throw around. And um, not okay how you just tried to squeeze Big B in. That bit was GRATING. Slash that out and the movie redeems itself 10%. Part of that is my dislike of Amitabh speaking.

*I didn’t know much about the Monkey Man when it happened, and I’d read up on it when trying to decipher Hey Kala Bandar (side note: who else thinks its hilarious that Abhishek actually resembles this creature? I don’t mean it in a bad way, but you have to admit it! Was that purposeful? ) I thought the use of this recent, very famous news item was really neat. I liked how Mehra took this real life item, and then took other issues that are very real and true in present day India, and fit everything in. Really, that was impressive, and hats off to Prasoon and Mehra. To bring in issues of religion, caste, superstition, and middle class structure/beliefs all in one story…wow, what an undertaking, and it was too difficult to be done well. Everything was brought up, and it made me think, and then it wasn’t followed through well enough, leaving me wanting more. It was unsatisfactory.

And two more points. Firstly, I appreciated that the movie made a very real point about India that while things have changed for the better in many areas, in other areas they’ve really remained stuck in a time capsule. And, at fault to a large degree are the people, who are holding on to idiotic superstitions, who are stupid to swallow any thing the media and the politicians tell them, and who are generally apathetic but rush blindly to pick up their bats and axes as soon as there’s a good ol’ riot in the makin! At the same time, it also captured the qualities that make India beautiful…the sense of family in the community, the culture, the nuances of daily life, the sights, the smells, the relationships, all of which Indians abroad always miss and ache for. For me, the fact that Waheeda wanted to stay and die in her home land and in her house makes perfect sense. Theoretically, it should also make sense to me why Abhishek would fall in love with this place…except, I didn’t buy it. I didn’t buy his argument (or lack thereof), and especially when he said “its the people who make it work” at some point in the movie (hasn’t someone said this before? somewhere?), I was extremely irritated. Um, the same people who are rioting and just [SPOILER] tore down a friendly neighborhood sweet shop that they had frequented for decades over a completely farcical/nonsensical issue [/SPOILER]? I could have bought this with better dialogue, acting, and argument, but as it stands it just made me all annoyed. Especially because I view this movie as someone living abroad who has similar experiences when I return home, and I feel the same anger/frustration and also time, the same nostalgia/happiness/the same pull. Fighting for sanity and justice should be a reason to stay back, not ‘because, like, generally, these people are pretty cool, and like, they make it work.’ And the romantic thread/reason, also sucks because it was SO NOT working.

Secondly, I appreciate that Mehra makes an effort to make me really think, and he pushes the envelope in trying to expose for all to see the farce that is being played out at various levels in the country. The political games and the cunning, shrewd and selfish politicians behind them, the naive, superstitious and downright idiotic public and the simple ways in which of them can be swayed, the sad truth that for all our growth, we still sell our daughters and purify our bodies if they touch an untouchable.  He really does do that, and for that Mehra deserves his accolades. But maybe its because its too many things in one show, or that he hasn’t really figured out how to string everything together, or he hasn’t been able to get the actors to give their best, or perhaps he’s a little arrogant and thinks it’ll be easier to pull it off than it is…but it doesn’t stir up any emotions in me as the audience. I mean, with RDB, maybe it did do that with some people, but I felt more stirred up and passionate and had my eyes wide open after Ratnam’s  Yuva. He doesn’t make me feel empowered, or involves me in the movie to a degree that makes me want to just start shaking things up and learning more and changing the world because of what I’ve seen/felt. Is that too much to ask from a movie? Maybe, but its an important art form, and good art should move you. Movies like Mr and Mrs Iyer, Bombay, Zakhm…have all moved me and have actually affected my perception of the world. Mehra brings up issues that should do that, but somehow his finished work doesn’t manage to actually do that. As an example, Zakhm also does the job of exposing politicians for feeding on public furor, on incensing the public for their own gain and revealing how we all fall for it…and in the movie Ashutosh Rana and Ajay Devgan and everyone else do an amazing job of carrying that through, and the story and the direction flows so well that you really buy it and feel wronged along with the characters. That’s what I wanted from Delhi 6.

Whoa what a long review. I must feel like writing after all that movie watchin’! Despite the negative elements, I still recommend it: its not a heavy movie, in case anyone fears that, and its definitely watchable if only for the storyline behind it all.

Oscars and Other Things…

I loved the Oscars. I love the new structure…with previous winners congratulating each nominee and announcing the winner. I think that’s such a nice touch and it clearly means a lot to everyone nominated. I’m a devout Oscar-watcher but it was getting really tiring last year so it was good to mix it up. Hugh Jackman was great, but I’d have liked more funny bits. Some things I didn’t love this year was the shorter original songs (and wtf with the mix with John Legend and Rahman?) and also the absence of clips. Overall, this was the first year where I really agreed with almost all the wins. I though Lance Black’s speech was beautiful and the highlight, next to Sean Penn’s. Loved Rahman’s grace and eloquence, and everyone knows that Pookutty’s speech was great too. I jumped up and down when Rahman won! For me, SM is far from his best work, but just to see him recognized on an international stage and something that clearly means a lot to him was great. I was glad that the whole team came up on stage for the Best Picture win: the kids looked adorable! Overall, it was definitely India night and I felt proud. I don’t care what people will say about SM: you can have all kinds of arguments against it, but you can’t deny that this movie has made waves unparalleled to anything else on an international scale. Its very impressive, and you must laud them for at least the swear, toil and dedication it took to make this movie.

And as for “its a foreign movie, so why is India celebrating so much?” and all the arguments being made by certain bitchy, envious populations : that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Firstly, isn’t the fact that one of the best music directors in India and the world is being recognized very important and worth celebrating? Or the deserving Pookutty? Or the lyricist Gulzar? You know why people are whining? Because the people who’ve dominated the industry are not associated with it. Big B is completely comfortable in roles centering around the underworld (because, of course, that isn’t the underbelly at all is it? Underworld must be a misnomer!), but suddenly a movie comes out which has Anil Kapoor reprising him on Kaun Banega Crorepati and its creating international waves and he’s not associated with it? Well, something has to be freaking wrong with it! Mukesh Bhatt isn’t giving the music for a movie that has the spirit of Bollywood? Oh no! It can’t be good! We can’t celebrate an Oscar for that now can we?! Disgusting. Secondly, dude, this country for once is celebrating instead of rioting against a movie which involves a Muslim boy falling in love and eventually getting a Hindu girl. That alone is a whole new cause for celebration. Even if its a shallow reason, people aren’t burning down theatres and screaming murder, and to me that’s a miracle. And, lastly, um, why bitch at a celebration at all? In times like the ones we live in, does it matter why you’re happy as long as you’re happy? Just quit whining already.

I thought it might be fun to make a post highlighting my favorite Rahman songs through the 16 years that I have followed him loyally. I haven’t had time yet but hopefully this weekend I’ll be able to sift through my giant Rahman library and make some difficult choices

On a completely different note, here’s a great reason to love a whole different celebrity who is thankfully the true King of Bollywood and who supported SM (or at least didn’t go around criticizing anything about it, and presented at Golden Globes), and who despite having a lot and being proud of it (some say arrogant, I say self-assured) never forgets who he owes it all to. The great Shah Rukh Khan. The reason I’m driven to post this video: this man just flew in into Mumbai Int’l Airport to the usual crowds. He’s due for major surgery in a few hours and hasn’t seen his family yet. He’s probably in great pain from his numerous problems and especially the shoulder injury he’s getting surgery for. Lest you forget, he is the biggest star in the country with a devoted (understatement), humongous (understatement) fan following. And the dude stands their answering dumb questions from reporters, genially and with good humor and patience, for a several minutes till he finally gently says he should get going for his surgery. And he asks for blessings and prayers and thanks them all, and even says that he takes his bodily breakdown as a payment for all the love he recieves for his work. I mean, how awesome is that. Few celebrities bother to stand for the paparazzi even for a few pictures, and he makes an effort to actually NOT be rude and give them time, and give eloquent answers. I remember him saying once that he doesn’t mind the media because they’re doing their job just like he does his, and the media makes him or breaks him, just like his fans. Clearly, he meant that.

http://www.bollywoodhungama.com/broadband/video/Special-Features/au2L9R78/3/SRK-On-Top.html

There’s Something Very Wrong…

With the majority of Indian men.

Jugni, by Rabbi Shergill (aka the only Indian male voice that I can bear right now)

This is an angry rant. A very, very angry rant. I’ve been nursing a headache all evening and sleeping, occasionally waking up and trying to understand what’s really bothering me to persistently cause my brain to hurt like this. Today was not an overtly tiring or busy day. I had a presentation in Tsim Sha Tsui, checked out progress on a suit I’m getting tailored, ran some errands and came home just as my head started to ache. But somewhere in the night I realized the same thoughts are running through my head and the same images, and the culmination of all of it has been so overwhelming that I’ve had to wake up to write this post and get it all out.

I realized that I’m pissed off because something that I never thought really got to me that much has finally gotten to me, and justifiably so. I am sick and tired of being leered at. I am sick of being stared at by every freaking South Asian man as I make my way through Tsim Sha Tsui. I’m sick of lecherous, creepy looks and of stares that make me afraid. I’m sick of ‘hello madams’ and ‘can i have your number’ and smiles that make my skin crawl, smiles from men who are clearly thinking at that very moment that they are the hottest stuff to grace the earth and this woman should be grateful they’re flashing this horrible smile at her.

I’m sick, disgusted and exhausted with it.

Let me make something clear for all the arguments that not-rape is all about (though I shouldn’t have to). For all those idiots who think that its about the way a woman dresses, let me tell you that I am a very conservative dresser by any standard. On most days I walk around the city in business clothes, full sleeve shirts and business cut pants and skirts. I don’t usually wear make up. I don’t walk around suggestively or smile at random strangers. Almost every time I’m in TST I’m running from a meeting or to a meeting, and I always have my headphones on to block the world around me. I’m not a gorgeous woman. By most standards, I’m quite plain in my looks, and my figure is very Indian in its curves.

None of that matters. South Asian men will spot me from a mile and give me a look, a wink, a smile, try to talk to me as I pass by. I may as well have transported myself to any town in Punjab, UP, or Bihar, or some village in south India.

And that bothers me even more. What do I worry about the most when I go back to my motherland? These men. These stares. The leering. The eve teasing and the smart ass comments as you simply walk down the streets. A big part of what made my trip back home uncomfortable last April (and in December) was this same thing. My brother would walk with me, fuming and bursting with anger at all these men, ready to kick the balls of each of these idiots, muttering in anger, until I made him stop telling me. Stop talking to me about it. Stop telling me how low this is, because I know. I could feel the eyes, I could feel the thoughts behind them, and it left me feeling abused. It left me feeling dirty and troubled and unhappy in my own birthland.

And the same thing happens here, when that same class of people get lifted and trans located, and the same mindset and thinking prevails. Its okay to stare at women like this, as long as they’re not your mother or sister. Its okay to behave this way. Who gives a damn what they’re feeling like? Its a consequence of a sexually repressed culture, and of much more that’s wrong with the country and the culture today, that I just can’t begin to explain and understand.

I am so amazed at the women who live like this day in and day out. What I value most about my life in the States is my relatively higher level of comfort in this aspect. Sure, these men exist there too, but as long as you steer clear of certain areas, you could walk out in a bikini and not be assaulted by a million eyes. And yes, the same problems exist there, but I don’t associate it with my culture directly. I don’t go to Little India in Houston or the Indian areas anywhere in the States and expect to be leered at or stared at or whistled at. For some reason, it just doesn’t happen. Is it the fear of repurcussion that’s greater? Is it the fact that in general the culture isn’t so sexually repressed? I don’t know. But I feel safe in the States. And I can’t imagine how women deal with this on a daily basis throughout the year and their entire lives.

They do, and then shit like this happens. The Mangalore pub incident is a perfect example of the hypocrisy of the country. Men are free to do whatever they like and behave in any rotten manner, but women must follow this ridiculous moral policing. Jug Suraiya discusses it in his column:

“Both radical Islamists and what might be called radical Hinduists, share one thing in common: their deep-rooted fear and antipathy to anything that smacks of the empowerment of women. Women going to schools, women getting jobs and becoming economically independent, women joining politics and become politically independent, women going to pubs and showing that they are – or at least, want to be – socially independent.”

It makes me so angry. My blood boils when I think of the different moral codes a**holes have set up in India for the genders, and how these incidents show a very low, absolutely illiterate, disgusting side of India to the world. Quit complaining and whining about Slumdog and whatever underbelly it shows the world. How about we first see just a simple day when a woman can walk in the street in six yards of cloth and not be raped in the mind of almost every man she passes? Men can treat women as objects of lust wherever whenever, but as soon as a woman steps into a bar she’s verbally and physically abused? Or the policing gets far enough to control who she talks to?

What kind of messed up, deranged world is this?

Every Indian woman I am friends with has stories to tell. We have stories to tell of childhoods marred by incidents of eve-teasing, molesting, behaviors that would make any father’s and brother’s blood boil. We have stories to tell of teenage years whose innocence was destroyed by men who made sleazy comments, committed lewd acts, who stalked and whistled and winked and leered at every corner. They vary in their extremity, but we all have a story to tell of how we were routinely made to feel low and dirty in our own country, by our own countrymen.

I know that in my anger I am generalizing and stereotyping all men. I wish I could be more rational about it, but unless you’ve been in the sandals of an Indian women, you could never understand. You can’t understand how it feels. After finishing a meal with a group of American friends I left a restaurant and as I was leaving a middle aged South Indian man gave me a lecherous stare I will never forget. I quickly averted my eyes and started talking frantically with a friend ahead of me. She’d noticed, however. She asked me if I had and when I nodded with frustration she said “you should have stared back at him girl! Shown him how it feels!”

Would that have helped? I don’t think so. I think in the sick, deranged mind of this man, my bold stare would have just added to his feelings of self confidence. It would have fed his ego so he could continue to taunt other girls in this way. Whenever I’m walking anywhere in TST with any of my friends, I suffer the same embarassment. I don’t have to look to see the stares, I feel them, and I also know of them by the sympathetic glances my American friends give me. By their occasional “wow, that creep was really staring at you! eww,” or their quick realization that I want to get away from this place as soon as possible. The other night a friend and I were returning from a meeting in Wan Chai and stopped for the light to change. A group of Indian men stood outside one of the bars negotiating prostitutes for the night (I kid you not). We stood about five feet away and as we discussed with each other how uncomfortable the situationalready was, it became ten times worse as, and I could have predicted it, the men glanced over at me with a defiant look. The light changed and we rushed across.

Just as I would never travel or live alone in India, or let any girlfriend of mine do it, I don’t walk alone in TST. I avoid walking in any Indian-concentrated areas in HK alone at any time. And I think about how sad that is, that I should have to avoid my culture and my people like this. A walk into the Chungking Mansion to get groceries is troublesome. Not just for me, but for any young South Asian girl. She could be wearing a burkha and they would still be leering and trying to catch a glance of her face. I have walked past masjids with its crowds of Muslim men (who should stare at no woman in this manner) and have noticed no difference in the behavior (which reminds me of a joke by a female Muslim stand up: “In Mecca I felt someone grab my ass and told myself: I’m in Mecca, surrounded by my Muslim brothers. It must be God.”) I have been in mandirs and had the same experiences.

And some days it just gets me. Days like today, it overwhelms me and it swims through my brain, the images and the sounds and the words. On days like these, all the stories come back to me and flood my brain, and I’m thinking back to my mother, to my aunts, to my cousin sisters, to my girlfriends. I’m thinking about my daughters. I’m thinking about my future and about how the men who repel me the most in the world are men from my culture. I worry about this anger and this hatred within me, and I feel helpless. What can I do? Seriously, someone please tell me. How do you deal with this? The Indian men who pass by here who DON’T think I’m an irrational, exaggerating bitch who’s just dissing all Indian men, and who actually UNDERSTAND and KNOW (I know there are some out there, because I have family and friends I love and trust, but who I just don’t place in the same world that these men must come from), what should a woman do? How should she deal with this? How should she protect herself, what should she tell herself to handle this?

Because I’ve done the most obvious: just avoided it. I’ve also just tried to banish these incidents from memory (doesn’t work). I’ve tried walking with blinders on, in a sense, looking down or straight ahead, my music loud and my eyes refusing to flit around, but I tell you that is not easy. And you still can’t avoid it. I’ve tried the stern, cold, bitchy stare. I’ve tried the shocked, disgusted look. But how do I help myself? Do I block these memories with effort and continue to do that at a regular basis? Even if I do that, what about my fear and my repelsion of my own countrymen?

Something is very wrong with my culture and my country. When a woman can be respected as a Goddess in one breath and brought down to the level of a slut with a look that matches that same breath, then there is something very wrong with the very moral fiber of this country. When a woman gets unwarranted attention and fears for her safety and her well-being just taking a normal walk in a busy place in broad daylight, then there’s something that needs deep change. Indians have lost perspective somewhere. How can Bajrang Dal and Hindu fundamentalists or Muslim fundamentalists focus on policing the women when men can’t take two steps without being aroused by every woman that walks by? How can the males not need any moral policing? Azar Nafisi discusses in Reading Lolita in Tehran how the Taliban’s rules worked: the nape of the woman’s neck and even her wrist is arousing to men. Ergo, a woman must cover these up. If she doesn’t, if it peeks out and comes to the attention of any man (who, poor thing, is aroused), then SHE must be punished. Its HER fault he was aroused. A man behaves in a disgusting, degraded manner, and the woman is to blame. What freaking justice is that? The same that requires women to sit behind men in certain temples (and follow after men in all the rituals), because if women sat ahead, they would ‘distract’ the men from prayer.

How can ANYONE find these arguments sane? How can anyone support them? I can’t fathom this kind of reasoning and I don’t understand what my sisterhood can do when this kind of fantastical rubbish becomes reality!

When you really begin thinking about it with all this in perspective, the women of the Amazon tribe really were onto something. I hope they really did exist, and to be honest, I can completely understand why they would.

(This rant makes me feel better, but thinking about another unavoidable afternoon in TST tomorrow doesn’t.)

But that’s not what gets me…

What hurts the most

Was being so close

And having so much to say

And watching you walk away

And never knowin’

What could’ve been…

(Rascall Flatts, What Hurts the Most)