Have you ever felt as if you were in a tug of war between two worlds?  Or even questioned traditions and customs that you at first grew to accept without really enquiring whether there is any validity behind them?  Maybe you worked your hardest to achieve something that you wanted only to be criticized and doubted?

If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, then you will find yourself relating to Amrit Singh, the protagonist of Ocean of Pearls.  I am usually drawn to films that focus on the South Asian diaspora but are in English. Ocean of Pearls falls into this category and is now easily one of my favorite movies of all time. No matter if you are South Asian or not, you can easily find yourself relating to the situations that befall on Amrit in this movie.

The award winning film focuses on Amrit, a Sikh doctor from a very religious and traditional Sikh family. Amrit moves to Detroit to serve as the potential new face of an extremely promising organ transplant program.  Growing up in the Western world and then facing the dilemmas that his new job soon start to wear on Amrit. He begins to think that maybe the strict religious rules of his family may not be appropriate for the world that he lives in.  He encounters numerous racial obstacles in his path to success that hinder him from achieving what he hopes and attaining the recognition he deserves. After a while, Amrit decides that in order to accomplish anything the way he wants, he must take a drastic decision that his family and traditions condemn.

Amrit finds himself dealing with changes in every aspect of his life: his career, his family, his relationship, and most drastically, his values.  Ocean of Pearls explores the journey that Amrit takes to find himself when all he has known until now is confusion.

Ocean of Pearls is realistic and can appeal to a whole range of individuals, especially South Asians who often have to find a medium between adjusting to the way things are and the way their parents think things are.

You can check out the trailer below:

Ocean of Pearls is Directed by Sarab Singh Neelam

I can still remember the feeling of embarrassment and contempt I felt at my culture when my 5^th grade teacher refused to take any of the food I made because she thought I had a disease that afflicted my hands. That “disease” was my henna. Growing up in the suburbs meant to conform to the cookie cutter mold; being different was not a good thing. My henna, my mum’s Indian clothes at Open Houses, and the smell of spices permeating from my house were all frowned upon. I did not care though. I wanted to fit in so badly, so badly that I would happily give up anything. What was the price for my spot in the assembly line you ask? My culture.

As a child, I wanted so desperately to be a part of 90’s American culture. I pretended to know all the words to the latest Backstreet Boys and NSYNC songs. I got dressed up and fumbled my way through awkward middle school dances. I ate sloppy Joes and made sure to make a mess of my face and shirt. I entered talent shows and did renditions of Britney Spears “Hit Me Baby One More Time.” I harassed my parents for the latest fad: Giga Pets, Doc Martens, Pogs, etc. I did everything I could think of so my friends would think I was one of them. While I was hard at work on my self-transformation, I completely neglected my Indian culture. I shunned Bollywood. I scoffed at kids who came to school in Indian clothes. I made fun of girls with henna on their hands even though, secretly, I envied the beauty and color of it. I argued incessantly with my mum about why we were eating Gujarati food every day. Was it too much to ask for to have a pizza or some other typical “American” meal? My mum and I got into countless debates and arguments about my lack of enthusiasm for the Indian culture. She didn’t understand why I was trying so hard to hide a piece of myself, and I didn’t understand why she was sabotaging my quest to be a REAL American.

When I visited India a few years ago, I saw the overwhelming display of culture surrounding me, and I was utterly consumed by it. Temples made from pure white marble, chiseled by hand, and with more love and devotion than I could imagine were everywhere. Food stalls emitting heavenly smells of freshly fried Jalebi sent my nostrils into frenzy. Motorcycles, cars, rickshaws, and bicycles navigating roads filled with cows, goats, dogs, cats, and chickens left me awestruck. Bollywood songs blasting from small radios inside sari shops that offered the loveliest outfits in the most vibrant hues imaginable were on every corner. The vibrant colors, the beautiful textures, the scrumptious smells, and the never-ending love I saw made me stop in my tracks. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I spent half of my life trying hard to be something I thought I wanted to be, and in one breathtaking moment everything I thought I believed in was thrown out the window. What had I been doing? Thinking back to that moment, I have no idea why I ever thought adopting a culture was better than trying to understand the one I was a part of.

Living in one culture does not mean that we have to give up our other culture. The trick is to find a good balance. As a South Asian female living in America, I’ve struggled to assimilate my whole life. Instead, I should have been learning to be comfortable in my own skin. Life is not about fitting into a neat little box. It’s about gaining wisdom and strength from experience. At the ripe age of twenty-two, I think I have finally begun to understand that a balance between my American culture and my Indian culture is possible. Like a patchwork quilt, each aspect is unique and wonderful on its own; but only when it has been sewn seamlessly together can a beautiful and inspiring picture be made.

Directed by: Nina Paley, Sita Sings the Blues. 2009. 82 min

I’m not usually a fan of animation. If Pixar is not involved, I generally don’t give it another glance because I tend to automatically associate animation with the child-orientated cartoons that my 22-year old brain has deceivingly convinced itself of not enjoying anymore. However, I came across Sita Sings the Blues in a film class of mine about a year ago. This feature length animation depicts the ancient Hindu epic, Ramayan, and being the horrible barely-practicing Hindu that I am, I felt the slightest bit guilty for not being entirely familiar with the source material. But this article really isn’t about my insecurities – it’s about the incredibly creative and humorous interpretation of Nina Paley’s version of Ramayan.

The film employs several different animation styles (including rotoscope and silhouette) to weave the tale of Sita and Ram while also incorporating Paley’s own personal narrative – the motivation for the film. Paley is neither Hindu nor of Indian descent (more on that later), yet she spent some time in India following her husband who took a job there. In the process of visiting New York, she discovered him to have sneakily and abruptly divorced her. As a consequence and a coping method, as much art comes to be, she used Ramayan as a way to create a film that expressed her own interpretation as it related to her life. And so much of the film, despite expectations of accuracy to the sources material, presents a personal and highly original piece of work.

The story of Ram and Sita — a long and complicated tale, boiled down to love, kidnapping, loyalty, and particularly in this version, womanhood –  is presented through the narration of three silhouetted figures. Much of their commentary has a contemporary sass and humor – largely credited to the voice actors who participated in a mostly unscripted and opinionated discussion. Some of the best laugh out loud (not to be mistaken for the average fake, text filler, lols, but the real thing) moments are due to the organic and relatable  conversation that the narrators provide for the film. These shadow puppets are not only aligned with traditional Indian shadow puppetry, but their discussion is a reflection of the strong history of oral culture in India – that is the tradition of passing down stories from generation to generation.

Another creative feature of this animation ties directly into the title – Sita Sings the Blues. Literally, a story of Sita ‘singing’ the blues (which is really the voice of late 30s jazz singer, Annette Hanshaw) is interwoven into the rest of the tale. It’s particularly interesting to see the singing and dancing, which directly aligns with Bollywood style (and is a common feature of animations as well), and yet Paley utilizes the voice and music of an old-fashioned American female blues singer. (The rest of the music in the film is used in the background throughout and is in Indian style.)

As I mentioned earlier, there were critiques about this film. Among the complaints, conservative Hindus and left-wing academics both, questioned Paley’s ability to portray such a sacred text and conservative Hindu groups in particular, were offended by the Sita slanted interpretation in which Paley chose to tell the story. And academics were more concerned with the fact that Paley as a white woman was attempting to represent a subject, which in their opinion, she had no authority to represent. Ultimately, in a case like this, where there is a person who creates art from a source material outside of their own culture, and furthermore when said source material holds a great amount of cultural weight and notoriety, opposition seems inevitable. Personally, I think Nina Paley has done a terrific job of writing, directing, and animating this film. Maybe my love would slightly be diminished if I was more familiar with the Ramayana and felt that this work was somehow blasphemous to the original, however I have to argue against this idea of cultural possessiveness. That is, we are obviously living in a globalized world where art, along with everything else, is becoming easily accessible to everyone with free time and an internet connection. Immigration, outsourcing, travel, tourism – all of these trends have become reality of our world, and are complicit, contributing factors in the creation of this film. I’d say it’s definitely a good thing – just don’t use pop culture or one person’s perspective as a cheat sheet guide to literature, religion, history, etc.

It’s a niche film, but visually stimulating, quirky, and thoroughly entertaining. And a bonus – it’s free! The whole movie is available on YouTube, and according to Paley’s website for the film, she has released all copyright claims to advocate a “shared culture,” where art is distributed to the community and made accessible to all.

I spent this last weekend at home with a good friend of mine. Over drinks, we talked about a variety of different things, from school to our jobs to our mutually reclusive dating lives. We lingered over that last one for a while there. We’re good enough friends for him to ask me about things openly and he did, bringing up my dating history, or uh, lack thereof and asking me why it was so.

Before I could come up with a good enough answer, he provided me with one, declaring righteously, “You don’t seem to open up to people, Shiva!”

I conceded reluctantly to his observation. It wasn’t often that I was attracted to people.

On most days, I revel in the joy of being what other people call ‘multicultural’.  My father grew up in a small, conservative village in South India and then later, migrated to the crazy, metropolitan liberal Delhi life. I grew up in Delhi, clearly a misfit – browner skinned that most people around, with a thick accent that was a mixture of what was considered opposites – my parents’ South Indian-ness and their great command of the English language (my father published English books and my mother was a high school English teacher). I was a misfit right from kindergarten, with my unusually long name, curly hair and very dark skin. At the age of 18, I decided to make this ‘misfit’ label permanent by moving to the US, without much thought really. Surprisingly, I haven’t ever really second guessed that decision.

The effect of this acquired multiculturalism has creeped into most areas of my life and for the most part, made it better. I work better in social situations now that I’ve experienced different kinds. The only area that my life has maybe suffered a tiny little bit, is my dating life.

I’ve had this conversation a bunch of time before where I’ve lamented to my friends about how every guy that I’m approached by is either not Indian enough or not American enough, which basically means Sendhil Ramamurthy is the guy for me (get on your phone, Sendhil, and call me already!). Anyway, during this specific conversation with my friend this last weekend, he pushing his point as if trying to wiggle out of me a satisfactory answer.

“Why do you think that is?” he asked.

“I need somebody to be able to watch Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge…”

He looked confused.

“Bollywood” I said, “Someone to watch Bollywood and love it and then go onto read Socrates and appreciate it just the same amount, and then have intense conversations with me about both of those.”

“Conversations about… people running around trees dancing?” he said

“Yes” I said unhesitatingly.

We stared at each other.

Is it possible to expose yourself to too many good things and then never be able to find anything good enough ever again? Exposing yourself to different cultures is kind of like exposing yourself to different footwear. Let me elaborate.

The first pair of shoes I remember owning, were the ones I needed as part of my uniform for when I started school. I remember looking at them and hating them with their zig zag laces and fancy ways to tie them. I could never tie my own laces and they used to come open halfway through school and many a times I found myself tripping over them and hurting myself before I reached home. I hated them at first, but slowly as I learned to tie the laces, I appreciated how fast they made me when I was running, how my feet hurt a lot less when I wore them instead of my flip flops. Eventually, I grew to love them. Then came, my first pair of flats, that did not feel as comfortable as my sneakers, but again, I grew to love them because of how pretty my feet looked and how I could actually feel the ground when I walked in them. Last but definitely not the least, came my first pair of heels, that I’m still working on loving.

It’s the same with different cultures. When I first moved to Delhi, and found how liberal it was as opposed to South India, I disliked it tremendously. I fell and was awkward, much like I was with my first pair of sneakers, but I found my group of best friends and settled down to like it, just as much as I did South India. Then I moved here, again shocked by how liberal everything was. I wasn’t quite comfortable for the longest time, but then I found sushi and cheesecake, my favorite theatre and art cinema, hiking trails and most importantly, some of the greatest people I will ever know, and found myself getting comfortable.  While, being constantly uncomfortable in one’s shoes can get tiring, I don’t think you can really grow and figure out the best path until you’ve tried walking in as many shoes as possible.

And then there comes that time when you’ve worn so many different shoes and liked so many of them, for different reasons, that when it comes time to pick a favorite, you just can’t do it.

“So this, uh, Dil.. uh, Dil..”

“Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge?” I finished for him

“Yes. That. What is that about?” he asked.

“A guy and a girl fall in love. Then they dance in snow-covered mountains.

“Oh. Do you have it?”

“Yes”

“Do you want to watch it?”

I stared at him, a little bit confused.

“Uh, sure.”

“Let’s watch it.”

I put the DVD in the player, suspicious of my friend’s motives. Was there going to be a lot of pointing and laughing involved, after? I could hear him talking to our other mutual friends – “Look at Shiva. So intelligent in her daily life but then watches crap like this secretly.”

I soon forgot about my friend or anyone else as I watched Raj pulled Simran onto the train and start their perfect romance.

He didn’t whine about the length of the movie which pleasantly surprised me and we got through the three hours without the usual “can we fast forward through this song?” comment that I now expected from all of my American friends.

We finished the movie and I sighed in pure contentment.

“Raj is the perfect man.” I said with finality.

“Uh, except he’s fictional and kind of like a jackass.” my friend said.

I stared at him. “He is not. He went all the way to India for Simran!”

“Yeeaaah, but he didn’t tell her that he liked her and then was mean to her the entire trip and then came to India, just assuming that she would want him at all.”

I glared. “You don’t know anything about romance.”

“No. Uh, I think I can say that because I do.”

For the next few minutes, we argued about Raj’s intentions and women loving bad boys. He argued that movies like DDLJ work to provide little girls with fantasies about their Prince Charming and the wrong message about bad boys being really actually good at heart. I argued that he didn’t understand romance and it would be better if he stayed out of it.

We never really reached a conclusion but before we knew, it was pretty late, and he needed to get back home.

He grabbed his jacket out of the closet and we argued heatedly all the way to the door.

“Raj is an idiot but this was fun, Shiv” he said smiling “We should do it again.”

“Whatever.” I said, shaking my head and smiling “Raj is amazing.”

He laughed and opened the door and then stopped.

He turned around with a grin on his face.

“You know what we just did, right?”

I shook my head, confused.

“Dil…Dil…”

“Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge?” I supplied helpfully.

“Yes. We just had an intense conversation about Dil Aale Dul Annie Le Jange.”

I looked at him, confused.

“And…?”

“And. And..” He paused. “Do you want to read some Socrates together on Thursday?”

He grinned, staring at my shocked face, and bounded down the stairs.

I shut my door slowly behind him, trying to process what had just happened.

A smile found its way onto my face.

Then, I put my feet in the brand new shoes, wiggled my toes a little bit, and finally got comfortable.

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.

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.

by Sunita Dharani

photographs by Thuy Ly

The bonds of family-especially a South Asian family-are as tightly woven as the beads on the fabric of a designer sari. It comes as no surprise that our immediate and extended family members are bound to contribute (perhaps interfere is a better term) in every aspect of our lives. If you need help in deciding on where to go for school, your mother’s best friend’s sister’s nephew will not only happen to know why one university is far superior to another on your list, but they’ll end up incorporating you into their social circle as well. The “arranged” component of arranged marriages work no differently than a game of Telephone from your childhood, as mothers and in-laws whisper about as to who is of marriageable age and who is looking. For better or worse, this same network of relatives and who-knows-who-from-where comes into play even as some of us face the dreaded transition from full-time students to full-time employees.

With the presently tattered state of the economy and a steady decline of job availability, people are willing to take all the help available to ensure that unemployment is avoided. The old adage “it’s not what you know, but who you know” may have even originated from South Asian culture, as it appropriately fits our behavior of utilizing connections within the community for our own professional advancement. Although I have chosen a career in a field where I am perhaps the sole Indian person, this did not prevent my father from marching to his best friend’s office and asking if he was aware of anyone willing to hire a college graduate. The next morning, word had obviously spread within a circle of uncles and business owners that I was seeking a full-time position, and my phone began to ring with requests to fill openings immediately.

Granted my father’s intentions were out of the kindness of his heart, with a dash of naïveté in there, I was concerned about the implications. Even with a college education in my arsenal, what would getting a job through familial connections indicate? While it was not quite old-fashioned nepotism, I couldn’t help but feel simultaneously desperate and unskilled-my first job out of college would be one my father got me.

Would disregarding the network inherently available through family connections be a smart thing to do, or would it be considered defeat in the face of the independence sought out by young job-seekers everywhere? Counselors at university career centers and job search articles all emphasize the same point: network, network, network. However, including those within family and friend connections seems to be almost the easy way of doing so. You avoid the awkward used-car salesman conversations, don’t necessarily have to pass out stacks of Kinko’s printed business cards, and you already have a long list of “references” willing to boast on your behalf regarding your skills. One of the most intimidating aspects of networking is forcing yourself to openly advertise your skills and persuade complete strangers that you are the piece missing from their staff. In the “family network,” such anxiety of meeting a complete stranger is eased with the knowledge that it’s just the aunty and uncle from your parents’ carom circle. They are not prospective employers and you are not an assistant with the potential to destroy their company. Rather, the emphasis of have an intermediary relation between yourself and these people makes both parties simply human. It is here that some type of relationship already exists in precedent to a possible professional one, and it is that same relationship which may be heavily affected if the situation turns out unfavorably. For example, you may walk into the person’s office, intending to simply inform them that you appreciate their offer for a position at the company, but when the well of leads for jobs elsewhere goes dry, you humbly end up accepting to work for that person. Three months later and a much better professional opportunity strolls along, putting you in the uncomfortable position of having to tell your father’s friend’s sister that you have found a better suited work environment than the one she has graciously given to you. This position was not earned in the first place, so how does one go about, essentially, ‘breaking up’ with a familial connection?

The best, and most beneficial, manner of approaching this relationship is no different than any other: start with clarifying your honest intentions. If you are solely exploring your career options, let the person know you are only available to work for the summer and will be starting another separate opportunity in the fall. Rather than negatively impacting any previous relations you may have had with the person before working for them, remember to keep your personal ties separate from your newly formed professional ties with the person-allowing one area to seep into the other can only result in a mess when you do end up leaving.

The purpose of networking at its most basic level is to spread your name and skills in the professional world. If your first step in doing so begins in the office of someone your parents happen to know and have chai with, remember the silver lining: it is a step in a direction after all.

]]> http://browngirlmagazine.com/2009/05/working-your-family-network/feed/ 0 http://browngirlmagazine.com/2009/05/enter-parents-exit-adulthood/ http://browngirlmagazine.com/2009/05/enter-parents-exit-adulthood/#comments Tue, 26 May 2009 02:20:26 +0000 browngirlmag http://browngirlmagazine.com/?p=992 by Sunita Dharani

photographs by Thuy Ly

The end of the school year can bring about high levels of anxiety for college seniors-professors stacking exams and projects back-to-back, decisions arrive for graduate programs and job interviews, and the ever imminent graduation itself. It is within the past year, especially after the real-estate bubble burst, that college graduates have found a new item of worry to tack onto their list: finding their way back home. More specifically, a dim future of job leads and rising costs of standard of living have forced numerous graduates to rethink striking out on their own after their walk across the stage. As the New York Post stated in June of 2008, approximately 48% of the class of 2008 planned to return living with their parents after graduation, a continuing trend from the classes of previous years, only to increase further this spring as well. Many students are unable to simultaneously saddle college debt in addition to finding a job and place to live. Instead, after four years of living on their own, young adults are packing their bags to return back to their childhood homes and to their parents’ open arms.

The American cultural norm places the expectation upon parents and children to become independent-financially, socially, and psychologically-at a young age. In fact, this concept is implanted into the psyche from an age when children can barely walk. Such a virtue is not entirely encouraged within South Asian culture. On the contrary, Indian parents prefer to keep their children at home for as long as possible, until of course, the inevitable day their child leaves due to marriage. However, for those college students who have managed to somehow escape from home at least for the duration of their undergraduate years, the news of having to possibly move home comes as a shock. A seemingly impossible situation arises: how do you continue an independent lifestyle with the constant glances of your parents in the background? It does become slightly inconvenient when you have one foot out the door on your way to a job interview, and your mother stops you in order to play her worry-filled version of “Twenty Questions.” Not only does she want to know where you are going, but also the why, when you plan on returning, and if you can stop by the Indian grocery store to pick up some nihari spices. While you are busy explaining to her from beginning to end the story of what the next three hours will consist of, one look at your wrist indicates you are already fifteen minutes late for the interview. Such situations extend out from the professional life you pursue to even your personal. Club-hopping and your usual Friday night activities may quickly change to a certain extent, at least to become more accommodating to the wishes of your parents. Stumbling in at 3 a.m. with a stranger on your arm into the front hallway, your father hiding behind the kitchen door with a broom handle is not the most appealing image to come home to.

Michelle Singletary, from the Boston Globe, recommends sustaining that same level of independence between all adults in the household. For example, having the children pay for a portion of rent, discussing their options in regards to rules of the household, as well as determining how long the stay is intended to be. While the last thing a new graduate wants is to be living at home till she’s 25 years old, parents will take it to be beneficial for all parties.

“I think it’s great if my son returns home,” Sana Virani. speaks of her son’s plans to live at home temporarily until he lands a steady job. According to her, and many other South Asian parents, living at home as adults will allow for an improved relationship and also help forge a new bond . Sana’s husband, Atif, agrees that he will now be able to spend time with his son that was previously unavailable while he was in school. They agree-including their son-that boundaries will be set up so that neither one of the parents infringe upon their son’s privacy. After all, he is an adult, they say.

Perhaps in these sluggish economic times, for those young adults who are tempted to simply live with the bare essentials and 14 roommates rather than move-in with mom and dad, a peaceful arrangement can be reached. Approach your parents with the mindset that you will be expected to behave as you would be on anyone else’s property. Treat the transaction as that-a business deal between two parties, so that in the long run, you are able to live in peace and independence without griping about the conditions. If things don’t happen to work out, there is always the possibility of obtaining 14 other roommates to share a place with.

]]> http://browngirlmagazine.com/2009/05/enter-parents-exit-adulthood/feed/ 1 http://browngirlmagazine.com/2009/02/diversifying-our-times/ http://browngirlmagazine.com/2009/02/diversifying-our-times/#comments Sat, 28 Feb 2009 04:59:56 +0000 browngirlmag http://browngirlmagazine.com/?p=768

Dev Patel and Freida Pinto on the Oscar Red Carpet for Slumdog Millionaire.

by Fauzeya Rahman

This year’s Academy Awards will be like any previous year.  We’ll see the usual red carpet scene, celebrities either looking fierce (or not so much) and awards will be given to the top movies of the year.  Unlike previous years, however, there’s a good chance we could see a movie whose storyline came straight out of the slums of Mumbai win best picture of the year.

“Slumdog Millionaire” has received both critical acclaim and widespread popularity.  Its success has been analyzed by hardcore film buffs and casual moviegoers alike.  Whatever its appeal is for the individual viewer, the movie succeeds in bringing the South Asian identity out from the sidelines into the forefront.

It is very rare to see South Asian characters in popular sitcoms or movies in the States.  Whenever there was the rare Desi cast, they were always portrayed as a recent immigrant with a heavy accent, usually as a taxi driver or a similar profession.  Needless to say, it was hard to identify with Apu from “The Simpsons,” and most of us never really saw much of ourselves portrayed in Hollywood.

Kal Penn in the hit series "House".

Flash forward to 2009.  Aishwarya Rai is starring in the new “Pink Panther” movie.  Snoop Dogg collaborated for a track in the Bollywood flick “Singh is Kinng.”  Kal Penn is a household name (well, in households with teens or 20-somethings present).  There is a definite fusion and collaboration that is taking place, a clear step in a new direction.

Seeing as how Asians account for 13.5 million of the U.S. population, a stronger presence in pop culture is to be expected.  Rather than having the token Asian fulfilling some stereotype, we’re starting to see South Asians cast in major roles in TV and in movies.  We aren’t 100 percent at accurate representation, but slowly we’re getting there.

Lakshmi Menon in an ad for Banana Republic.

One big difference (and improvement) is that South Asians aren’t solely represented as “exotic” anymore.  Take Lakshmi Menon for instance.  She’s appeared in Banana Republic commercials, has modeling contracts with Hermes and Givenchy and has walked in runway shows for top designers such as Michael Kors and Vera Wang.  She’s achieved great success not only as an Indian model, but as a model in general.

This wasn’t always the case for Indian models.  For model/host of “Top Chef” Padma Lakshmi, during her modeling days she was usually featured in ethnic clothing in exotic locales.  As the advertising and editorial world is heading towards greater diversity, we’re starting to see differences in our everyday lives.

So what does this all mean?  Well for starters, maybe the younger generations growing up seeing such diversity will be uninhibited in choosing their career paths.  They will further break down barriers and stereotypes and we’ll be seeing fellow South Asians filling more non-traditional roles, further erasing stereotypes.  Maybe we’ll see more Bollywood and Hollywood collaborations on the big screen.  Maybe rather than being seen as “exotic,” we’ll be seen simply as we are.

by Sunita Dharani

The life of a typical South Asian young woman in the States is filled with attending classes, juggling a job or two, perhaps a few extracurricular activities and hobbies to fill the downtime, and of course, nagging from the parents. It appears that once a woman hits that brink of post-high-school maturity and a pre-career-woman seriousness, the piercing question of “when are you getting married?” is repeatedly thrown as us. After having spent a significant portion of their lives in the United States, the generation of South Asian-American parents have come to gradually-and with hesitance-accept dating and the concept of their children ‘looking’ for whoever it is they will end up with. However, there are those of us who have been badgered to at least consider that prospect of having… an arranged marriage to a “nice, Indian boy.”

Even as I write this very sentence, I have just finished deleting an email sent from family friends in India with the picture and contact information of a complete stranger, deemed to be what my family thinks I ‘need’ in a husband. Fortunately, mine have managed to abandon the topic of “fixing” me up. But abandoning the topic itself only leads to questioning the intrigue of it-a method that reveals marriage as the ultimate social contract, used over centuries to keep power within families, expand kingdoms, and even determining one’s status, arranged marriages have once again become popular. In a time where both men and women are getting married into their 30s, the divorce rate is over fifty percent, and the rate of single people in the U.S. is the highest since the 1970s, an arranged marriage seems to be a pragmatic solution.

It is the perception that an arranged marriage is the equivalent of a forced marriage that is inaccurate-at least in the 21^st century version. Today, an arranged marriage consists of the family of the single person to actively seek out a significant other for the man or woman, but with both their consent and their wishes in mind. In fact, the process first begins with the person writing out a list of the traits they desire in their prospective mate, such as education level, family values, and specific concerns regarding children and the family dynamic. From that point onwards, family and friends use their contacts to put out the word in their communities, and the photographs and proposals begin pouring in. Author and former lawyer Reva Seth, drawn in by the high incidence of arranged marriages in South Asian communities and in  her own family, chose to spend some time researching the benefits and pitfalls of such a process.

In her book “First Comes Marriage,” Seth boils down the benefits of arranged marriages into basic principles that anyone looking for a significant other can attempt to follow. As she herself found her husband after only seven dates, Seth acknowledges that the concept of any “arranged” relationship can cause hesitation. According to Seth’s years of research, including over three hundred interviews with women in arranged marriages, certain principles that guide successful partnerships are key in any type of long-lasting relationship-whether it’s arranged or not. The process of an arranged marriage, Seth states, allows for women to establish a clearer idea of what they want in their future husband-a picture that is far more concrete than “must have a connection.” Whether it is the high intake of the fairy tale ideal or changing standards of women when looking for a relationship, simply going out and expecting love to appear is both unrealistic and a disappointment. In an arranged marriage, the expectation both parties have of each other are already outlined before the commitment occurs; you are informed of what to expect from the other person. She notes that when approaching finding a husband who has similar values rather than just a similar CD collection, the chances of divorce drops down to less than 10%.

From the sounds of Seth’s interviews, the solution of an arranged marriage appears to be less stressful (and far more scientific) than the dating world facing singles in the United States. However, as with any cultural phenomenon, there is always a dark lining on the bright horizon. Ameena*, a Houston pharmacist who was married off to her husband of 25 years by her parents, was forthcoming with the reality that exists in arranged marriages-whether they are from decades ago or occur today. “I did not meet Shekar*, I had only seen a picture of him that his sister had brought to college,” she says of her initial exchanges with the prospective family. Over the course of a single week, Ameena found herself selling her skills as a housewife to her future-in-laws, but not finding out much about Shekar in the process. Instead of finishing her degree, she spent her days in the kitchen of her in-laws, cooking and cleaning. Did she feel forced into the marriage?

“Not entirely, but there was a sense of ‘if you don’t say yes, what are the chances you will receive another proposal?’ There was a stigma that if a girl was still unmarried after a certain age, there was something completely wrong with her-either she was ugly, or she couldn’t cook or clean.” The chance of a marriage resulting from love did not exist. I asked Ameena if the principle of “love after marriage” was applicable to her situation or even a remote possibility for those who chose to go into arranged marriages. “For some women who are lucky, they begin to love their husbands and a mutual partnership develops, but there must an understanding between both. Other women are not so lucky; they enter the relationship as a wife and remain stuck to that role the entire time. It is not love that grows, it is almost a type of worshipping of their husbands.” Does happiness exist for her? Ameena has a look of concentration on her face that lasts for a few moments before she finally answers-with an air of hesitance-”sure.” For her, happiness can be found in her marriage when Shekar looks to her as a person equivalent to himself, not simply someone who does his laundry and makes sure the bills are paid. Love, for her at least, is not a goal in the relationship.

Whether they are matters of love, happiness, or the pursuit of “forever,” the modern, Westernized female can benefit greatly from the principles found in arranged marriages. Centuries of empirical evidence have shown the social and economic implications of this coupling system, and in deviating from the traditional form and integrating the practice of “arranging” a relationship into the 21^st world, perhaps a realistic fairy-tale ending can be found within reach.