by Farah Mithani – Houston Baptist University

From Pharaohs to Madonna, mehndi has been a form of expressive and cultural art.  Differing from each region, it has been around for years.  Made from a tall shrub called a henna plant, it is used to dye skin, hair, and possibility certain materials.

The most common use and tradition is when an Indian or Pakistani bride is adorned with the rich color of henna on her hands and feet.  Every time I have been to a wedding, I always hear people saying, “The darker your mehndi is, the more your husband will love you.”  The best part about a wedding for me is that the bride’s mehndi is always the darkest out of everyone else.

The ritual of putting on mehndi is usually a pre-wedding ceremony.  The bride’s family will sing and dance to celebrate the auspicious occasion.  The bride’s mehndi is the most intricate, and hidden will be her future husband’s name.

Today, in the Western culture, it is called Henna Tattoo.  However, it is not a tattoo at all because there is no surgical insertion of pigmentation involved.  Since the 90’s, it has become a fashion statement for many, even Madonna.  But it will always remain a traditional treasure in the cultural aspect.

photographs by Farah Mithani

My first time being called brown was in ninth grade. I’d just returned to school after a family trip to India over winter break – a week late as usual because how is a week nearly enough time to see two sets of cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents? My Social Science teacher had, in my absence, convinced my entire class that my extended stay in India was due to my betrothal, an arranged marriage to some haply young Indian man on the banks of the same river that birthed the magnificent Indus Valley civilization. The teacher was an unmarried Chinese man with bad skin and an unhealthy obsession with computer games, to which he’d likely transferred his own relationship woes. (40 and unmarried? His Chinese grandmother surely couldn’t cope).

The story of my betrothal was a running joke among my closest girlfriends, but the strangers amongst my classmates didn’t put it past me. I forgot about this anecdote for years to follow. My teacher had however, successfully planted one thing in me: the seed to identify myself as brown, which, considering my light skin, I’d never done before.

I could never identify with being Indian-American because I never had Indian-American friends. My cousins all lived in India and I’d always opted to wax my eyebrows in Korean-American salons, with names like Angel Tips and Happy Nails, rather than subject myself to the unnecessary pains of threading in Indian-American salons named after women, like Sheetal and Priya’s Beauty Salon. I didn’t hang around the Indian restaurants next to Indian DVD shops; my dad would just bring Dosas home after work and I never knew the man who made them. (My curiosity was born later, after I discovered there was a man who made my favorite Idlies and Sambar, and he probably had a story worth knowing).

My Indian-American identity was a smorgasbord of sporadic memories – the time I saw the film Outsourced (with my white best friend), a project on Indian call centers I’d done in High School (for my Irish Sociology teacher), trips to India when I’d bring back belts and bags and skirts of mirror-work (for my Catholic Italian friends). To me, being brown meant being American in America and Indian in India. The cross-culturalness only existed where I created it, noticed it or defined it, not in the way the few Indian-American girls I knew went to Indian dance class, Hindi class, Gurdwara or to their aunty’s homes. My Indian family lived in India, my parents, brother and I, in America.

As a child, I went through a phase of wanting to be American – not understanding why I lived “their” life but didn’t look like them. That eventually became a phase of wanting to be different and finding my individuality in rebellion rather than roots. Now, I attend a university of global citizens, and I’ve never felt prouder of my culture and at the same time, like such a shallow Indian, knowing nothing of the grammar or history, just the shopping, and glory of switching into broken Hindi when I don’t want strangers to understand me. Should real Indians hear me, they would laugh at my childish vocabulary.

What I deeply appreciate, however, is that my parents raised me with profound values – not cultural, persay (or maybe they were) – and always conveyed them as human values, aligned with my Buddhist faith and a deep respect for all humanity. “Indian” customs of making tea for my parents or being a sweet hostess seemed to be a means of developing compassion, rather than cultural obligation.

I don’t know if I’ve missed a step in assimilation or I’ve truly assimilated. What I know is that I have nothing but pride and curiosity toward my country’s history and culture, which as I further my studies and delve into the arena of journalism, I’m excited to further discover through literature and the women I want to meet and write about. I’m proud of my American life because it’s allowed me the freedom to become who I want, and my parents because they’ve allowed me to develop my values based on this appreciation of common humanity rather than cultural duress. The world is more colorful when I discover it through mature eyes – or if not quite mature yet, then eyes that are guided with a passion for writing and a passion for discovering humanity.

So I’m Indian-Indian and American-American, and I hope one day to be Chinese-Chinese and French-French too. I’ve recently learned that wherever I go, I can discover myself a little bit more in the people I meet and to me, being brown –the paint that comes about when one mixes all the primary colors– describes so many women of different ethnicities, each of whom I can find a bit of myself in. I think India is a country that is also comprised of this array of primary hues, a fabric flecked with golden history and mirror-worked anecdotes of epic legend and neighborly gossip. I suppose I have inherited Indian values in disguise, and this has left me all the more in awe of a country I shall continue to explore, likely in an idiosyncratic way. To my Social Science teacher, thank you. I guess I am brown.

Directed by: Radhika Bordia & Natasha Badhwar, Punjabi Kudi. 2008. 20 min.

This short 20-minute documentary takes an expansive look into South Asian female music artists in England and how they personally relate to their craft. The film captures individual perspectives ranging from the ambitious and strong-minded rapper, Taran Hard Kaur’, to traditional Kirtan singer who started performing in Gurdwaras after immigrating to England from India and searching to make a place for herself in a foreign land.

There were many aspects about this film which brought attention to issues relevant in the South Asian diasporic communities. Although relatively short, it manages to explore some of the complexities of trying to uphold cultural expectations, creating a new life/identity, and reconciling one’s position in society as a female and South Asian. All of the artists interviewed had their own unique story, all connecting back to music and how they all found opportunity and personal growth through pursuing it. Even though they all operate in different genres, there seems to be a common theme of using music to reconcile internal and external conflicts. For example, one of the women was able to finally accept herself on her own terms only after being invited/requested to DJ at a new club – but only under the assumption she plays and is in expert in Bhangra music. Taking advantage of the offer, she used outside expectations in regards to her musical sensibilities and connected to her roots through the process of familiarizing herself with Bhangra and other Indian styles of music. Her process and story, while completely different from the others, shares a similar overall tone of sincerity.

What I liked best about this film is how all the scenes flowed together in a natural, uncontrived way. Often with cultural documentaries, or films in general, the audience is forced or manipulated into absorbing or accepting a specific message. However this film is thought-provoking and easily accessible without oversimplifying or shoving an agenda down the audience’s throat. Although about music, the film (like any good film) manages to transcend it’s concrete subject to make larger, universal statements about succeeding and existing a woman, as South Asian, as a person. Needless to say, I highly recommend giving this a watch – a must for any smart, hip, and beautiful brown girl.

During a November 2009 interview with CNN, Bollywood superstar Amitabh Bachchan said that, “Indian cinema needs to move beyond traditional song-and-dance musicals amid increasing international competition in the Mumbai studios’ domestic market.”

The frequent occurrence of the hero and heroine running through meadows while breaking out in song is severely mocked among the Indian-American community, but at the end of the day, we have to admit that we kind of love it.

The musical format of Hindi movies is what makes Bollywood stand out from all other types of films and is the driving force behind India’s music industry.  Song-and-dance numbers in Bollywood play an integral role in promoting Indian music, as well as the artists who create it, similar to how radio helps to publicize music in the U.S.

It’s true that Bollywood isn’t exactly seen as a prestigious film industry: It lags behind in special effects, the scenes are melodramatic, and the plots are often wildly unrealistic. But, who ever said that Hindi films need to imitate life perfectly? Isn’t that what documentaries are for?

A good friend of mine once said that people don’t go to the movies to watch their lives; they go there to get away from them. I couldn’t agree with that more.  The whole charm of Bollywood films is in their sense of escapism.  Bollywood’s exaggerated depiction of romance even inspired the Facebook group “Bollywood gave me unrealistic expectations about love.’  While that may seem like a negative effect, it actually allows audiences to unwind after a trying day and gives them the hope that happy endings can happen.

This isn’t to say that serious storylines aren’t welcome; only that superficial and provocative ones are not lending any artistic value to them.  ‘3 Idiots’ seems to be the only recent Hindi film that actually addresses issues relevant to young Indians and Indian-Americans.  It moved away from the clichéd romance genre and astutely explored the widespread problem of academic pressure.

But for some reason, Bollywood seems to think that sexing up its products is the way to be seen as a legitimate film industry. Rather than addressing the issues that plague the Indian community, both in India and abroad, Bollywood has chosen to assimilate to global film norms by showcasing scantily clad women and steamy make-out sessions.

The risqué road that Bollywood is currently traveling on counteracts the family bonding aspect of Hindi films. Now, it’s nearly impossible to watch a Hindi movie with your parents without squirming uncomfortably.  Long gone are the days when a song would make a potentially sensual moment come to screeching halt.

Come to think of it, maybe the days of hearing Hindi in these films are also long gone.  Over the past decade, Hindi films have often been titled with English words, but over the past few years, the actual language spoken in the movies has also shifted to English. The film ‘Kites’ is the latest example of how Bollywood is diluting its own culture in exchange for reaching a more global audience.

If Hindi filmmakers did a little more research, they might be surprised at how much of their audience appreciates traditional Bollywood movies. It would be wise of Bollywood to re-evaluate its goals and how it should reach them, instead of hoping to merge with Hollywood and, as a result, lose its unique identity.

There is a saying that if you assume something about someone you make an ass out of yourself and the other person. Though this “clever” comeback may often find its place in recess discourse (along with the ever so popular “talk the hand because my face don’t want to understand”), there is a lot of truth to it. An example of the ass-ifying effects of assuming occurred during this past weekend where upon pulling up to a tollbooth my father was greeted by a “Namaste” from a Caucasian toll officer. Initially, I thought it was a nice gesture on the part of the toll officer to acknowledge Indian culture and heritage. However, her apparent awareness seemed to translate to ignorance in my father’s mind. “Did she think that all Indians speak Hindi” or that “We don’t speak English,” my father asked while ranting afterwards. Though I personally didn’t jump to the same conclusions as my father, I did start to wonder about the significance of ethnic/cultural labels. Are labels and the assumptions upon which they are founded on just another function of humanity’s collective impatience?

The label of “Indian” is obviously loaded with many connotations, both good and bad. However, these characteristics with which we choose to define ourselves are often not congruent with society’s ideas about our identity. For example, when I refer to myself as an Indian it is of a completely superficial intent. I am physically Indian (i.e. brown), but I very rarely align my personal ideals with the socially constructed idea of Indian culture. I am not religious/overly traditional, a pre-med (or an engineer for that matter), a fan of Bollywood flicks, and I don’t speak or understand Hindi. In fact, the extent to which I do not emotionally identify with the “motherland” is summed up in the fact that my friends often refer to me as “the coconut”- brown on the outside, but white on the inside.

However, placing myself within the “white” mold is also socially dangerous. The moment you assign people such labels, you also strip them of their right to be an individual. You also place tremendous expectations on individuals to fit into the preconceived notions of what a certain identity entails, and thus, set forth a cycle of questioning the legitimacy of a persons identity if they do not conform to those ideas. In addition, labels help to foster a more judgmental society, whereupon identifying someone as a certain individual we automatically make many assumptions about their character. Such judgments can be very confining to an individuals personal growth.  If we do live in such a free society, shouldn’t we have the opportunity to define ourselves without the pressures of labels?

When my parents used to tell my brother and me that we would be attending a pooja later that night, we would groan with disappointment and the protests would begin. “We just went to one last weekend, and we don’t even understand what’s going on,” we would whine. This would require me to get off of Facebook and cancel my plans to go to the mall with friends. I dreaded spending my Saturday night being interrogated by “aunties and uncles” about where I was going to college and what I would be studying. Babysitting little kids at a family friend’s Diwali party was hardly any better. While I recognized that I was of Hindu faith and an Indian American teenage girl, those words did not entirely resonate with me.

Last August, I moved into my dorm in Washington, D.C. where I would be attending the George Washington University. I was excited to begin a new chapter of my life where I made all of my own decisions including how I would be spending my Saturday nights. Much to my surprise, I found that after a few weekends of not sleeping, the idea of a college party had pretty much lost its glamour.

You know that completely cliché adage; you don’t know what you have until it’s gone? Oddly enough, that’s exactly how I felt. After a week of consuming salads, sandwiches, and every type of pasta known to mankind, of course I missed coming home to warm Gujarati food on the dinner table every night. More than that, however, I missed that sense of identity that I didn’t quite realize was being fulfilled back home.

Maybe it was watching some of my friends go to church every Sunday or seeing others attend Shabbat at the Jewish center on campus that triggered a feeling of jealousy that they had their own outside communities other than just the girls on our floor. Maybe it was the fact that my Caucasian friend across the hall knew more Hindi than I did thanks to her obsession with Bollywood movies. Maybe it alarmed me that my neighbor knew more about Hinduism as a first semester religion major than I did, or maybe it was the delicious smell wafting through the hall as her roommate ordered Indian food every week. Regardless, I came to realize that simply being Indian American meant nothing if I did not embrace the values and traditions that had been engrained in me since birth.

Between the Indian Student Association, the South Asian Society, and the Hindu Awareness Organization, I realized that there was always an event occurring on campus that could fill the void I was experiencing. I ended up lending dresses to the girls on my floor and attending Garba. By the end of the year, I had attended the Diwali show, Holi, the Holi show, listened to multiple guest speakers from the South Asian community, and even went to a few poojas that the Hindu Awareness Organization had held.

It’s funny how before I began my college career, everyone would tell me that college is the best time of your life and that you will really find yourself throughout the course of four years. At that time, I did not believe them as I honestly thought I knew who I was. After having completed only one year of college, I now understand that college truly is path of self-discovery. It’s amazing how one year away from home can entirely change my perception of three words: Hindu and Indian-American.

The next time my parents inform my brother and I that we are attending some sort of Indian event; they might be in for a shock, and my brother might just be the only one groaning.

Pageants – it’s one of my many guilty pleasures. Though the word alone makes my skin crawl with images of taffeta and tiaras, pageants are one of those social train wrecks that I can’t take my eyes off. Like any good reality show, they have drama, suspense, and a healthy dose of stupidity. These qualities and more were on full display this past weekend during the Pantaloons Femina Miss India 2010 Pageant.

As I began watching, I was struck by the predictability of the show. Like its Western counterparts, the Miss India pageant followed the usual format of showcasing the participants’ beauty in eveningwear and their supposed intelligence in the Q&A section. In addition, professional actors and singers graced the stage to perform routines to the latest Indian hits, which interestingly enough all had a strong western influence.

The similarities between the Miss India pageant and the Miss America pageant are intriguing because they are indicative of the deteriorating state of Indian culture. During the Q&A section, only one girl responded to her question in her mother tongue, Hindi and many of the songs that were performed during the ceremony had a ridiculous rap interlude with background dancers who looked like Kevin Federline. Also, though the participants did pay homage to their motherland with sari-inspired ensembles, most of their sartorial choices looked like they were taken from the racks at Macy’s rather than the roads of Madras.

Though some may argue that this convergence of aesthetic and cultural norms is the natural byproduct of globalization, I think that it is important to pay tribute to the cultural foundations that define an ethnicity. The definition of being an “Indian” may be ever changing, but there are certain traditions that all Indians must acknowledge. Difference is what helps to create personal identity and social evolution. By failing to appreciate our Indian culture we are doing a great disservice to the people around us and ourselves.

What’s in a name? Contrary to Shakespeare, apparently a lot. As my friends and I watched the Super bowl a few weeks ago, the topic of ethnic names came up. Why do some Asians (Indians, Chinese, Japanese, etc.) change their traditional names to western alternatives? According to some of my friends it is because ethnic names can greatly affect first impressions and relationships.

Though at first I disagreed with this argument, one of my friends shared her personal experience with this topic. Her legal name is Bhargavi, but since coming to college she often introduces herself as Gavi. Though it seems like a trivial change, she argued that when she introduced herself to others as “Gavi” rather than “Bhargavi” she found that people were more at ease with her and there was more of a personal connection that was established. She continued to say that when she introduced herself as “Bhargavi” people would seem detached and uneasy.

Phonetic familiarity, apparently, is key to successfully navigating through American society. That’s arguably why the governor of Louisiana (who is Indian) goes by Bobby Jindal (rather than his legal name Piyush Jindal) or why many Chinese immigrants have Christian as well as traditional names. According to another friend, research has shown that there are certain sounds that create a sense of comfort. For example, names that end in the sound “e” usually have kind and comforting connotations (ex. sweetie, cookie… jelly…clearly, I am hungry!).

After talking with my friends I found it extremely disheartening that many Asian immigrants felt that they had to change their names in order to be accepted into our society. Aren’t we the melting pot of the world, the land of social acceptance? As I reflected on my own personal experiences I realized that there have been times where my name (especially my last name) has caused uncomfortable social situations. One moment that stuck out to me was in high school when one of my teachers was calling roll. He would address other students properly by their last name, but when he came to my last name he just exclaimed “the person with the whole alphabet in their name.” Though everyone thought it was funny, I found it extremely offensive. It seems (both now and then) that there is this inherent apprehension regarding the pronunciation of Asian names.

However, in my own experiences, I have found this reaction is not seen with eastern European names (ex. Russian), which are often times as confusing and complicated as any other Asian name. Why is there this double standard? I personally feel that all names should be treated in an equal and unbiased fashion. I also feel that if you can pronounce Tchaikovsky you sure as hell can say Srinivasan.

When I suggested to my mom that I be allowed to wear a sari to her cousin’s wedding in Pakistan this summer, I was surprised to see such a puzzled expression on her face.

“A sari?” she said with a chuckle. “We’ll go clothes shopping together when you come visit.”

In her usual subtle way, she maneuvered the situation so that any outfit I picked out to wear to the wedding would be prescreened and mom-approved. She changed the subject of our conversation to discussing my little brother’s daily antics, and I was left with a head buzzing with thoughts of why my wearing a sari was so out of the question.

I thought back to my first visit to Pakistan in 2008. I remembered seeing the latest styles of shalwar kameez in all the markets and store windows. The women of Karachi formed a vibrant rainbow of shalwar kameez colors and patterns, and there was even the occasional progressive-minded woman boldly strolling by in a T-shirt and jeans – but where were all the saris? How could a garment so traditional become so minute in such a large part of the subcontinent?

My curiosity sent me poring over the internet for articles about the history of the sari. I was stunned when I learned that when Pakistan was founded as a Muslim nation in 1947, the nation’s first lady Fatima Jinnah publicly denounced the garment as unpatriotic. She implied that saris were the traditional dress of Hindus and therefore inappropriate attire for the Muslim women of Pakistan.

I felt a pang of sadness when I read that some elderly Pakistani women still regularly wear saris because they are used to wearing them from pre-Partition days. I thought of my grandma who passed away a few years ago, and how my entire life, I never saw her wear anything but saris. She just wasn’t comfortable in anything else. Her saris were a part of her identity. They were part of all the traditions, customs, and ancient ways of life she carried with her. From India to Pakistan to America, she wore them so instinctively and gracefully. She knew just how to tuck them out of the way when doing housework. She could modestly drape the end piece over her head when reciting a prayer. Her elegance is what defined the beauty of the sari for me, and that elegance is what I wanted to celebrate by wearing one for the first time this summer.

Maybe it is just my naivety as an American-born South Asian girl about all of the social and political etiquettes that silently govern our part of the world, but I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be acceptable for me to wear a sari to the wedding. I understand that because my mom grew up in Pakistan, she has a much clearer understanding of what the accepted norms are there. That’s what she is trying to help me grapple with when she forbids me from doing or wearing something unconventional. I know she doesn’t want anyone to perceive me as backwards or odd. But if I have it my way, I’m going to stick to my belief that what is popularly accepted is not always right, and I hope that on my visit to Karachi this summer, I get my first chance to wear one of these beautiful ancient dresses that have been hidden away in the folds of Pakistan’s past.

Recently, BG had the privilege of interviewing Shivani Thakkar, a talented artist in the field of dance and artistic performance. Many can say they have a passion for dance, but Thakkar has taken that passion and turned it into a full fledged career.

Thakkar was born and raised in Calgary, Canada and began learning classical dance from her mother.  Thakkar’s mother, Sudha Thakkar, is a Bharata Natyam dancer and teacher and has had her dance academy Manu Kala Mandir in Calgary since 1980. Thakkar  grew up learning Bharata Natyam from her mother and was also introduced to jazz, tap, and ballet as a child.

“During my high school years, I took leaves of absence from my academic school to go to Mumbai where I trained with my mother’s guru, Kalamamani Guru Kalyanasundaram Pillai of Sri Rajarajeswari Bharata Natya Kala Mandir. I completed a full new repertoire  of compositions under his direction,” said Thakkar.

When she was eighteen, Thakkar moved out to Los Angeles to attend University of Southern California. She graduated cum laude from USC in 2005, with a B.A. in Theatre and a minor in Film/TV production. Even with all of her accomplishments in her young life, Thakkar continued to keep dance at the forefront of her life.

The years of quality training and her dedication to the art form paid off. Thakkar recently won the National US Online Bollywood Video Dance Competition “Bollypop” which won her an appearance in the recent Hindi film Chance Pe Dance.

“Working in Bollywood was so much fun. The days were long and schedules in Bollywood are much more fluid, changing, and flexible than in Hollywood,” said Thakkar.

Thakkar shot for two songs in the movie. For each song she had about 4 to 5 days of rehearsal and 4 to 5 days of shooting. There were about 50 dancers in one of the songs, from all over the world.

“The second number we shot was “One More Dance” and is the song that takes place early on in the movie, at a disco club where Sameer (Shahid’s Character) gets noticed for by the Big-time Director. Our set was incredible as they had practically built a whole club for the scene. It was gorgeous and very, very cool,” said Thakkar.

Thakkar learned quite a bit in her experience with Bollywood. At the same time she has had the privilege bringing her talent to Hollywood. Thakkar recently had the opportunity to shoot a scene for Step Up 3-D, a Disney/Buena Vista Pictures production, due out August 2010.

“This is the first time in the history of Disney films that Bharata Natyam is featured and I’m excited that as per the shooting script I’m the opening shot of the film. The choreography is pure Bharata Natyam,” said Thakkar.

According to Thakkar, this is the first time Classical Bharata Natyam will be seen in a Disney film or even a Hollywood feature film production. Indian dance, both classical and Bollywood, is slowly making its way through the ranks for Hollywood. Thakkar hopes to be a part of this change.

“I feel fortunate that I’ve trained in both Western and Indian dance and had the opportunity to work in both Bollywood and Hollywood. I hope that this strong background will continue to open doors for me as the field grows and evolves. I also hope that I can bring something new and unique to the playing field,” said Thakkar.

In addition to performing, Thakkar has an extensive list of Masterclasses and workshops she has taught around the US and Canada in both Bharata Natyam and Bollywood. She uses her classes as a way to introduce relevant concepts, exercises and moves from a variety of dance styles.

“Bollywood is becoming a style of it’s own definition, a true fusion between cultures and is quite probably going to be as powerful and recognizable as hip hop as a genre if it continues to have passionate people contributing to it’s development and creative expansion,” Thakkar said.

Thakkar’s busy schedule as a free-lance artist is constantly changing. Her dance work requires her to travel frequently, rehearse, work on different projects simultaneously, go on auditions, and continue training in dance whenever possible.

“During my down time between classes and rehearsals, I also try to squeeze in my hobbies like going to the beach or hiking, cooking, watching and analyzing great films and reading,” said Thakkar.

Thakkar has dedicated a large portion of her life to dance and performance arts. Many young women may have danced much more when they were younger, but as life’s obligations creep up, dancing is put off. Thakkar believes that every girl can keep dance her life, even when she is older, as long as she enjoys it.

“With dance you have to do it as long as you enjoy it. The moment you don’t find joy in it anymore, stop. Dance is about feeling the joy in your soul,” said Thakkar.

Even if you can not take formal classes, Thakkar emphasizes that taking time out of your busy schedule to dance might be well worth it.

“Kick back and have fun with dance. This can be in anyway you find yourself and your soul having fun with dance. For some, this means going to salsa clubs with friends, for others this means putting on your iPod and choreographing various moves. I personally like to free-style in the studio or have crazy dance parties in my bedroom!” said Thakkar.

For more information on Thakkar and her future endeavors visit her website at www.shivanithakkar.com.