For those of you waiting to find a TV show that accurately portrays South Asian life in a big city, there’s finally one coming up the woodwork. Recently, I had the pleasure of talking to Hiral Shah, the producer of a hopeful new series DeSiCiTi, which portrays the lives of a few South Asian women working, finding love and trying to keep their heads above water in New York City. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? Well… yea, it is inspired from several different shows like Sex and the City and Friends but there’s much more to this scrappy little show than meets the eye. DeSiCiTi was nominated for Best TV Pilot at the New York City International Film Festival this year and it was also an official selection at several prestigious festivals like Vancouver International South Asian Film Festival and the 2009 GlobalFest FilmFest. Check out the trailer here and my interview with Shah.

What was the process you went through when pitching the show to Indian networks?  

We went to India with a few contacts.  It was through these contacts and some cold calling that we were able to line up meetings.  Many folks were interested in meeting us since we were female producers from the US and had an interesting project.  Our pitch meetings went well, essentially bringing a portable DVD player to show the trailer and then discussing the project and how it would fit the network.  There was a lot of curiosity however, most folks were not ready for a program that was so out of the box.  They wanted to stay in their “saas baahu” comfort zone and since budgets were being frozen or slashed at the more innovative networks, we were told to come back when they had more money.  It is still a possibility, however in the time since the India trip, we have found markets that are willing to take the risk and appreciate the concept.  It’s surprising since you would think that Indians would support one another, but we have found that more non-Indians have a better understanding of the commercial viability of the program.

How exactly did you all create and develop these main female characters?

It was essentially a brainstorming session where we had an idea of what we wanted then pulled out traits (of people we knew) that we felt would complete the character.

How important are the roles of the men in the show?

Very important.  We don’t want this show to be boxed in as a South Asian Sex and the City.   The male characters play an important role, which will be realized as the episodes are produced.

What kind of impact are you hoping this show will have on viewers of all races, genders and ages?

All of the issues are relatable and create a certain level of social awareness.  We want people to open up to the idea that despite how we look on the outside, we are all very similar on the inside.  Men and women of all ages that have watched this show have loved it for many reasons.  They can find something about someone that they like and relate to.  Something that makes them laugh while also educating them on a variety of issues and how different cultures may handle them, but also showing how similar we all are.

The show, unfortunately, is still in development and has not yet been picked up by any major networks. But with the potential shown at all of these ceremonies, there’s no reason DeSiCiTi shouldn’t be on the air within the year. Lookout for some awesome storylines involving many controversial issues to be tackled with honesty, class and humor. And Bonus, Shah wants most of the episodes to end on a happy note, aka, with a Bollywood dance number. Hey, it worked for Slumdog Millionaire. It’s about time for mainstream Hollywood to see Indian people in a new, non-stereotypical life.

Let’s face it, Indian movies are… not all gems. The songs, the lame dances, the cheese, OH the cheese! That’s what we all grew up to love. But the films on this list have a healthy balance of cheese and maturity that would make anyone take India’s movie industry seriously.

You can read about these films on Wikipedia, but this is a list of why we enjoyed them so much.

January

No One Killed Jessica (Keertana)

Normally I wouldn’t approach these “triumph over evil” type films with a ten-foot stick. But execution and casting push it from unoriginal to inspiring. Considering that it is based on a true story about a woman who goes on a crusade to bring her sister’s murderer to justice, the film already starts with strong feminism. The film does a good job of casting a defiant and disapproving look at the crumbling judicial system in India. Vidya Balan is fantastic as the sister of the victim. She exudes naivety and heartbreaking pain when she finds out her sister has been murdered. And Rani Mukherjee is at her snarky, cynical best as the journalist who decides to help the case. Another plus: the women get to be real, especially Rani. She curses, she is comfortable with her sexuality, she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about her; she’s pretty much my hero.

There are some completely cliched moments like when Vidya’s character wants to stop fighting for the cause but changes her mind after a stern but rousing lecture from Rani and a heartfelt candlelight vigil in her sister’s name. But the movie shows off an improved twist on traditional Bollywood filmmaking.

Dhobi Ghat (Sheela)

Why is this movie worth watching? First off, it’s Aamir Khan outside of his Bollywood persona. It’s Prateik Babbar portraying a (gorgeous) washerman. It’s new comer Monica Dogra doing what we all wish we could do – documenting other sides of Indian life. These three characters represent a new India, one that is progressive, disenfranchised and curious. It’s slow, and reminds me of an art house film. The colors are dark, but so are the characters and their relationships. It’s simultaneously edgy and comforting, exploring a microcosm of what makes Mumbai and that’s what makes Dhobi Ghat worth watching. (It’s also a great way to introduce your friends to Indian cinema before hitting them with the typical Bollywood masala movies)

February

7 Khoon Maaf (Keertana)

This film has a complicated relationship with viewers and critics: either they really enjoyed the hyperviolent themes and morbid story, or they hated it to the very cores of their beings. Obviously, Sheela and I are in the first camp. We were in love from start to finish. No longer is Priyanka Chopra one of those pretty girls who used to make a lot of silly movies about nothing. She’s proved her acting chops in a few smart films now and damn, she is just about perfect as seven different incarnations of the same twisted woman who just can’t find the perfect man. I’m sure we can all relate. Difference is, I’m not sure I would kill someone for always feeling frisky (that one died from too much of his own “frisky medicine” if you catch my drift).

While the men don’t get much face time, some of them make lasting impressions. Without question, my favorites were Neil Nitin Mukesh, John Abraham and Irrfan Khan. They completely embody their terrible traits and it makes killing them the only reasonable response. Neil Nitin such a great performance that it’s impossible not to be wowed. And John Abraham is at his absolute best as a struggling rocker who hits the big time. Irrfan is always brilliant and will make you sick to your stomach when you find out his kill-worthy trait. See this film… Don’t get any ideas, but definitely watch it.

Tanu Weds Manu (Sheela)

I don’t like wedding movies. I mean, not just Indian; any wedding movie from any country in any language will end half way with me rolling my eyes. The only reason I gave Tanu Weds Manu a chance, was I heard positive things about it, and for the most part, didn’t disappoint. Kangana is really funny in this movie, Madhavan proves an emotional rock and Jimmy is a loose cannon. The characters are weird and that makes this a romantic COMEDY. It gets a little sappy at the end, but that’s easily overlooked by the first half of the movie. If you want a cute girls night or even date movie, Tanu Weds Manu is appropriate.

April

Shor in the City (Keertana)

“Karma is a bitch.” That’s the first song you hear during Shor in the City. It’s pretty much the perfect way to describe this film about five lives who face different dilemmas during a festival in Mumbai. So we all know from every Bollywood movie ever made that Mumbai deals with a LOT of crime. And while this film also deals with different kinds of crime in Mumbai, the execution is more darkly funny and twisted, almost like a Quentin Tarantino film but without all the severed limbs.

The five guys are great, especially Tusshar Kapoor who quite literally may never have a better performance. Heroes star Sendhil Ramamurthy is also pretty fantastic as an NRI who comes to Mumbai to start his life over only to get into more trouble. The stories here are all a bit obvious but the way the characters handle their situations keeps the movie fresh. It’s gritty, off-beat, interesting and it breaks the cycle of boring gangster/mob boss crime films.

Dum Maro Dum (Keertana)

When I heard about this film, I was worried to say the least. Another drug/crime noir? A not-so-subtle reference to the movie Hare Rama Hare Krishna? GROAN. But I was fairly impressed with the style of this film. It’s obvious that the point is to show how corrupted the government and police are in Goa (and most of India) but the movie is about several different lives that are forced together by one drug lord and his manipulation.

The cast is pretty great. Abhishek plays the good-guy with a dark past with ease- he could probably do that role in his sleep by now. Prateik is good once he gets to play vulnerable. But along with Abhishek, the shining star of this film is Telugu actor Rana. He has the right balance of quiet anger and heart to be perfect as Abhishek’s foil and partner (in a way). It’s definitely worth checking out, but get ready for an intense time.

June

Shaitan (Sheela)

The movie art turned me off at first. The surreal art portrayed it like a religious movie or another college movie that I couldn’t connect with. I finally came around to reading the summary, I realized it was neither. This is a movie about overindulgence and privilege and it doesn’t let you forget that. It’s a fantastic movie. Bejoy Nambiar is obviously influenced by Western directors, evident in the cinematography. The editing is interesting and use of the soundtrack is well used. The five main characters (I really can’t call them protagonists or antagonists) don’t try to be redeeming. They are just trying to spend their parents’ money on drinks and drugs. There are aspects to their characters that almost make them relatable, but for the most part, their story is alienating. And that is what makes it so fascinating.

July

Delhi Belly (Sheela)

Hilarious. Seriously. I couldn’t stop watching and laughing. Like Shaitan, it’s incredibly smart. Unlike Shaitan, it takes every incident and elicits a laugh from it. I wish I could explain why I think it’s the best movie of July, but without context, my review will mean nothing. It’s the smart kind of funny. There’s latent feminism woven throughout the plot. The music is fun and used wisely. The burqa scene is NOT offensive. The bharatnatyam dancers, the food, the matryoshka dolls, and the five star hotel, I Hate You (Like I Love You), the Disco Fighter. Irreverent and incredibly entertaining. Yeah, those clauses sound about right.

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (Keertana)

Thank you for this movie Bollywood. This is a great look into three very different men who happened to be best friends and how they change each other’s lives in incredibly important ways during a bachelor party/road trip to Spain. It’s sweet, moving, smart, different and even better: It’s really funny.

All three actors here are brilliant. Abhay Deol is the rock of the group. He does a fantastic job of keeping the friendship strong and united. Hrithik is amazing as the stuck up, Type-A personality who learns to let loose with the help of a girl (Katrina Kaif, who usually bugs me beyond all reason but is quite charming here). And my absolute favorite is Farhan Akthar who gets to play the funny guy who has ulterior motives for the trip. He is so vulnerable and his performance is emotionally devastating. The guys have awesome chemistry, the songs are clever and catchy, and the script is so realistic. And there are enough cheesy moments and strange coincidences to still make this an appropriately “Bollywood-y” film. It’s the perfect companion to films like Dil Chahtha Hai and you’ll enjoy it from start to finish.

“Mom, Dad, you don’t get it!”

I’m sure we’ve all heard this phrase leave our mouths or even had to bite our tongues when wanting to say it numerous times.  Growing up in a South Asian household while going to school in a Western environment inevitably leads to misunderstandings and assumptions from both sides of the family.  Finding a balance and assimilating to both cultures serves as a difficult obstacle for many.  For some it appears easy but quarrels over misunderstandings are always present.

Some of these misunderstanding are extremely serious and play a major role in our futures and some of these misunderstandings are just plain annoying and frustrating leading you to want to pull all of your hair out and constantly utter to yourself, “Why me?” Today, you may catch yourself blaming any signs of awkwardness that surface in your present self on these grueling scenarios family members have made you endure during your childhood.

Molly Ringwald's Samantha is embarrassed by her family in Sixteen Candles

South Asian parents begin early when it comes to tactfully placing you in environments where you feel the ultimate experience of discomfort.  There is a reason why as we get older and older, fewer of us still attend South Asian lunches and dinners at banquet halls or restaurants.

Why is this?  Have you ever been out with your family to an invitation at a restaurant and as soon as your folks spot another fairly young looking individual, they immediately announce (very loudly so the other children can hear as well) that they have found a friend for you and that you should sit at a table with your new ‘friend’ and talk and ‘have fun’?  They do not even give you the chance to retaliate because now it would just be plain rude to say you don’t want to since the entire restaurant has heard what you WILL be doing for the next five hours of your life.  Sure it’s easy for your parents to do this, they already have their friends to chat with which you a little angrily observe while sitting in awkward silence with a bunch of strangers that you have only maybe seen once before in your life.  Because of this, it is not uncommon to see South Asians from our generation immediately dodging anyone and anything that our parents can group us with even today.

Somehow we doubt having a heart to heart talk with our parents would change their behavior

It does not stop there however.  South Asian parents can even make you feel awkward when you are alone with them in the comfort of your own home.  Growing up in a South Asian household, long distance phone calls characterized by the iconic speaking in voices that are ten decibels louder than normal phone voices is more than common.  Parents may wonder why miraculously, every time one of these phone calls take place, all their children bolt to use the bathroom or magically have a whole bunch of homework to do that requires undivided attention.  Sure they are your family from the homeland but the distance plays a huge role and for some reason, parents find it difficult to get that being forced to have a conversation with someone who you don’t really know is actually quite difficult.

Situations like these happen every day in the lives of South Asian youth growing up.  We even know when we are about to find ourselves in situations like these.  Why do we still endure the trauma?  Because it makes our parents happy.  They find pleasure and comfort in knowing that they are able to keep their children in touch with what they know and associate with others who are engrossed in our culture.  And we, just like in numerous other cases, follow along, and endure the awkwardness in order to satisfy our elders.

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.

I am super patriotic for someone who claims to care about absolutely nothing.

I wasn’t always this way though. While I was growing up, I was mostly oblivious to the surroundings I was growing up in. Like every other child, I considered my bhutta-eating, carnatic-music learning, elephant-headed god praying life to be the norm. I thought every child grew up that way, so I never really paid attention to the dusty pot-filled roads, the beggars on the streets and the cotton salwar kameezes of my younger days.

My family on the other hand has always been pretty patriotic. When mom was around, we used to get up early both on Republic day and Independence day, after tea in bed (mmm!). After which, we’d glue ourselves to the television and wait eagerly for the parade or the hoisting of the flag with my dad giving us non-stop commentary in the background.

I grew up unfortunately and since the “growing up” set in, I’ve pretty much spent it the same way – treating every August 15th as extra 24 hours I had in hand away from school, which I usually spent sleeping and/or sitting online.

Then I moved to the “US”, became part of the “diaspora’ that Karan Johar targets with his bollywood films and started lapping every “Indian-ness” that came my way.

I spent August 15^th, last year, driving around in a car and inwardly marvelling at how beautiful and awesome and amazing and what not my country was. Sometime during the day, my friends and I stopped to pick up another friend. While waiting for her to show up, I sat in my friends posh, air-conditioned, guns and roses playing car. While waiting, I rolled myself a cigarette, stepped outside the car to smoke and to wait.
Everything suddenly changed.

The guns and Roses got lost somewhere between ugly car horns and sirens. The cool comfort of the car was now replaced by sweltering humid heat. The sun that looked comfortable behind my shaded glasses, was now glaring at me. I stared at the ground that was caked with mud and dirt littered with a number of used paper plates. There was apparently a gathering for the celebration of Independence day here.

And then I saw it – somewhere in between the layers of dirt and broken paper plates, lay hundreds of tiny plastic Indian flags.

I stared at them, the smoke that I had rolled inside my comfortable car blurring my vision a little. I picked up the ones closest to me and tied them to the fence of the park we stood next to. The flags looked battered and bruised.

I stepped back into the car, disturbed. I started to pay attention to the things around me. The old bent-backed painfully thin beggar the stopped outside my window and stared at me with clear brown eyes and asked me if I had any spared money. I looked around me and noticed the clothes and the movie tickets and the cigarettes that I had spent my spare money on and shook my head. The same beggar smiled in understanding and shuffled around to the next car.

I walked through the day, feeling like my blinders had been removed. I hated it. I suddenly started disliking the country that had come to define my complete existence.

I went home that day in a cycle rickshaw. The cycle rickshaw stopped at that usual red light right outside my house. I waited patiently for the red light to turn green, while all these thoughts that I had accumulated throughout the day ran through my head.

That’s when I saw her.

There’s this 15-16 year old girl who works that red light. I see her every time I pass that light, whether I’m in a car, an auto or a cycle rickshaw – she’s always there. She used to come and ask me for money every time I was there and slowly, over time, we’d manage to build a rapport… a friendly banter between us. She always came over when she saw me, even though I most often than not, didn’t have much money to give her. This time, again, she came over with a big grin on her face.

“Oh didi, today you look exactly like Bipashu Basu! Aap toh heroine jaisi lag rahi hain (you look like a herione today)!”

Every conversation with her started out that way. One day I was Kareena Kapoor, another day I was Bipasha Basu. All of these women were 5’10 and probably size zeroes.. so, erhm, she wasn’t very accurate.

I cracked a smile.

“Arre yaar, sachi mein aaj kuch nahin hai dene ke liye(I really don’t have anything today to give you.)” I told her.

She looked at me closely.

“Woh theekh hain. Magar aap theekh ho na? (That’s alright. Are you okay though?)”

I laughed. “Haan, mein theekh ho. (Really, I’m okay)”

She watched me for a bit smiling at me.

“Arre, didi. Aap pareshan mat hoye. Bhagwan, na, sab theekh kar deta hai! (Oh, Don’t worry. God makes everything okay.)”

I smiled at her and nodded, my heart suddenly feeling a thousand times lighter.

“Acha, chalti hoon.” (Okay, I’m going to go now.) she said.

Then she stopped and looked at me, the grin on her face growing wide.

“Aur, sacchi mein aap na aaj Bipasha Basu lag rahi hai!(And honestly, today you look like Bipasha Basu!)” she giggled and then skipped over to the next car.

I laughed out loud as I watched as she walked over to the next car, holding her friends hand and her voice rang clearly as she spoke to the woman in the car.

“Aapko pata hai ki aap aaj Aishwarya Rai jaisi lag rahi hai? (Do you know you look like Aishwarya Rai today?)”

The red light turned green and the cars started moving. I turned my head back to look at the girl.

She sat on the side of the road her hands hugging her knees with other kids, just like her, crowded around her. She turned and looked at the passing cars and just for a moment, her eyes met mine and we smiled at each other.

And then it all made sense.

If you looked at the picture that I saw that day sitting in my cycle rickshaw, you would see chaos. You would see the cars on the road, the farmers herding their cows, the beggars working the street and all those tiny Indian flags buried under the footsteps of all those people.

But if you really, really watched closely, you’d be able to see the tiny spark of hope and strength in all of those things. The hope and strength that made me keep coming back – the hope that let people of a country like ours keep dreaming and the strength that kept one billion of us living together no matter how many differences we found.

And it was all in that beautiful, beautiful chaos I call home.

Like many children born and brought up in the U.S. these days, I grew up exposed to two cultures and two languages.  American was my home, and India held my heritage.  My family shopped at Trader Joe’s and New India Bazaar, we watched “The Parent Trap” and “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai” on Friday nights, and, combining the best of both worlds, the lunch highest in demand during my elementary school years was a piping hot naan pizza.

Language barrier, there was little.  I felt comfortable going to school and chattering away with my friends about the latest flick or most recent development in the playground drama, and I was equally secure yammering on at home about how I really did not want to have masoor dal and band gobhi for dinner (I preferred mutter paneer) and could we please read a Birbal story before bed.

These Birbal stories were, along with all the other Amar Chitra Katha comics, Tinkle Digests, Champaks, Panchatantras, and countless more railroad-platform-market-bought magazines, written in English.  Tales of Angulimala, Jhansi ki Rani, Swami Vivekananda, Tantri the Mantri, Kapish the monkey, and the cherub-esque twins, Ramu and Shamu, sat beside Anne of Green Gables and Harry Potter on my bookshelf, all written in the ‘a, b, c’ alphabet.  The ‘ka, kha, ga’, loops, and lines of Hindi script were seen only a few times a year, in cards sent by air-mail from the other side of the world, wishing us many blessings on birthdays, Raksha Bandhan, and Diwali.

I never found the need to learn to read or write Hindi.  After all, I could communicate with all my relatives just fine in the spoken word.  I could (and still can)recite “Chandu ke chacha ne Chandu ke chachi ko Chandi Chowk mein chandni raat se chandi ki chamach se chatni chatai” faster than Peter could pick peppers and Sally could sell seashells.  My love for Bollywood is unparalleled (I’ve watched the aforementioned “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai” at least 35 times, at some point I wanted to name my future kid Zeenat, and the only Oprah episode I’ve ever watched is the one starring supercouple Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai-Bachchan).  During my summers in India, I devoured “Kasautii,” “Saat Phere,” and “Kasamh Se” with the enthrallment usually reserved these days for Pretty Little Liars and Gossip Girl — neither of which can hold a candle to the convoluted relationships of Indian soaps.

And I’m notorious among family and friends for sleep-talking in Hindi.

Yet, more recently, something had begun to nag at me.  How was it that I was learning how to read, write, and speak another language at school when I couldn’t even send my ammaji a nice, handwritten letter without it having to be translated?  Why was it that I couldn’t read the birthday cards that my bua had sent me when I was little?  I had tried to learn to read and write Hindi during my middle school summers, but efforts were futile as I lost close to all grasp of the 50-odd letters and 12 or so vowel additions every time school started back up.  The multiple “t” and “d” sounds confused me to no end and so I simply let it slide.

I’m not quite sure why this summer I decided to foray into learning the language again.  Perhaps it’s the sense of my childhood soon coming toward an end, as I will turn eighteen and then soon after graduate from high school to head off to spend four or so years elsewhere.  Perhaps it will turn out like my previous attempts, from which I can just barely remember how to write my own name and the words ghatia (useless) and shalgam (turnip).

But perhaps in a few months, I will be writing a nice, long letter to my ammaji, and we can catch up on the latest filmi gyan together.

Brown Girls, what cultural feats have you attempted?  Have you encountered language barriers?  Do you have any tips for me?  Leave them in the comments below!

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.

In the 1980s, The Cosby Show was the most diverse show on television.  In the 90′s, two of NBC’s hit Thursday night comedies, Friends and Seinfeld, were criticized for their whitewashed view of New York.  But it definitely is not the 90s anymore and Zee TV isn’t the only channel to feature Indian actors.   NBC now has Indian characters on all four of its Thursday night comedies.  And Indian actors have popped up on new shows on all major networks this year. 

Maulik Pancholy plays the beleaguered assistant Johnathan on 30 Rock.  Ever protective of his boss Jack (played by Alec Baldwin), Pancholy’s character always offers a bit of comic relief with his frenzied personality.  Pancholy has also starred as the gay drug dealer Sanjay on Weeds.  He is a professionally trained actor as a graduate of Yale Drama School.

As Tom Haverford on Parks and Recreation, 2009 has been South Carolina native Aziz Ansari’s breakout year.  He starred in new king of comedy Judd Apatow’s Funny People, playing Randy. The character is otherwise known as “RAAAANDY,” an energetic stand-up comedian known for his offbeat jokes and outsized personality. The character is so memorable, Ansari is developing a movie starring the character.

Kelly Kapoor, played by Mindy Kaling is one of the most recognizable characters in a large cast of quirky characters on The Office.  Since the show started six years ago, the boy-crazy, gossipy, and celebrity-obsessed customer representative has been making The Office a lot more fun.  Kaling is also a writer for the show and is in talks to develop and star in her own NBC sitcom. 

Community, which premiered this year, features Danny Pudi as Abed, an eccentric film nerd who reveals a new talent each week.  Pudi is half-Indian, half-Polish and has displayed his Polish dancing skills on the talk-show circuit this fall. 

Other new shows which feature Indian characters this year are Glee with Iqbal Theba as Principal Higgins, The Big Bang Theory with Kunal Nayyar as Raj, The Good Wife with Archie Panjabi as Kalinda Sharma, and Royal Pains with Reshma Shetty as Divya Katdare.

Even more projects are in the works — a pilot called Nirvana starring Kal Penn, Outsourced, a comedy about an American sent to work in India, and a US version of the British Comedy The Kumars at No. 42.

These characters are important milestones for Indian Americans in the media.  None of them fit a Western stereotype of Indians — no computer engineers, nerdy doctors, or conservative women.  Thanks to these television shows, the American public is being exposed to a large and influential immigrant group. 

No, I don’t mean shop online or peruse the Home Shopping Network, I mean shop in your own closet! Or your mother’s, sister’s or even brother’s! We all know the current economic situation facing us, the headlines don’t let us forget about the increasing rate of unemployment and business closures. This all makes for very guilty shopping expeditions with many “I don’t really need this…”.  However, I have the perfect solution: shop in your closet and those of your loved ones! Summer is here and for of those who are still in school, this means lots of free time! So pick a day, a closet to “clean” and go shopping! Examine everything you find with lots of thought and how it can be used to accessorize or if it can be fixed up a little into something that you can wear. I have done this over the years and cherish all my finds. Below are some examples of my own shopping-at-home finds.

These three fun clutches are from my mom’s closet and area a good 10-20 years old! They’re genuine leather and are great way to add a bit of color to any drab outfit.

Exhibit A: Bright and Fun Clutches

Exhibit B: Silk Tunic

This was actually a qameez from my mom’s old shalwar qameez from the 80′s (can’t you tell?) But I fell in love the colors, billowy sleeves and interesting neckline. All I did was shorten it a little and I had a fun tunic on my hands! Since the print is so loud and the shirt billowy, this looks best with a solid black belt and a pair of leggings.

Exhibit C: Pretty Jewelry

This ring and bangle are my mom’s from Pakistan. I absolutely love them and feel so elegeant whenever I wear them. My favorite pastime is rummaging around my mom’s jewelry boxes because I always find something great to take! Fun jewelry pieces are a great way to look more “put together”.

Exhibit D: Peep-Toe Suede Heels

I absolutely love these shoes because they give off such a strong vintage feel! Whenever I wear these, I always feel super glamorous and like I’m in 1940′s (although the shoes aren’t this old!). A great pair of heels always makes a girl look fabulous!

Exhibit E: Kohlapuris

Ever since Slumdog Millionaire, all things Desi are hot right now! So what’s a better way to stay cool this summer than a great pair of authentic Kohlapuris from the motherland? Throw these on instead of flip-flops with your t-shirt and jeans combo and add a bit of quirkiness to your outfit!