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 a fist-pumping, pouf-loving Jersey Shore fan.  I got into a “fight” over Twitter last week with my friend defending Snooki’s honor (after this New York Times article).  But after hearing about a “Asian” version of Jersey shore – filmed in Los Angeles’ Korea Town, tentatively titled “K-Town” and a possible Persian version, I wondered if my own ethnic group was worthy of its own television show, examining its eccentricities?

Could there be an Indian version of Jersey Shore?

We all know there are Indian strongholds in pretty much every major American city, New York, Chicago, Atlanta, etc.  Urban twenty-somethings with their own cliques, parties, and activities very similar to the subculture depicted on the Jersey Shore.  Even Indians born and raised in America live straddling both cultures and many choose traditionally Indian immigrant professions (entering medical school or the family business) and Indian culture (Indian food, music, and movies).

There has been much debate about whether the kids on Jersey Shore represent traditional Italian culture in the Northeast or whether the “guido” culture depicted on the show is offensive to Italian-Americans. Assuming the culture depicted in the show is accurate (I was born and raised in the suburban Midwest so I won’t pretend to have firsthand experience beyond True Life episodes), I see a lot of similarities between Indian and Italian culture in America.

The first season of Jersey Shore showed a visit from Vinny’s family, Vinny being arguably the sanest, smartest member of the cast.  His mother brought trays of food and cleaned the entire house.  Of his mother, Vinny said, “She cooks, then cleans, then eats by herself in the dark, a typical Italian mom.” How many times have we seen our mothers take care of our families in a similar way? Living close to home or with parents is often encouraged and Vinny announced on the reunion show he saw no reason to move out of his parent’s home.

As Joel Stein’s recent article on his hometown of Edison, NJ being taken over by “Guindians” as he called the Indians who resembled “guidos” with gelled hair and gold chains, a subculture of music and dance loving Indians already exists.

Reactions are mixed on the possible debut of “K-Town,” with a cast of young Asian-Americans. Jezebel.com commenters were alternately proud of Asians moving beyond either a nerdy or hyper-sexualized stereotype in Western media and horrified that another ethnic group would subject themselves to the same ridicule heaped on the Jersey Shore crew.

So would an Indian Jersey Shore be a step backward?

Certainly the Jersey Shore cast has been the butt of jokes in the media for months.  The show’s breakout star, Nicole “Snooki” Pollizzi, was recently profiled in the New York Times Sunday Styles section, in a piece that characterized Snooki as an immature, unattractive child.  Late-night talk shows and even politicians have used the show as an example of the downfall of America’s youth.

I think a happy medium is possible between debauchery and Indian stereotypes.  Dev Patel, star of Slumdog Millionaire, recently lamented the lack of visibility of Asians in Hollywood. “Asian actors tend not to be sent Hollywood scripts that are substantial or challenging,” Patel told the Daily Mail. “I’m likely to be offered the roles of a terrorist, cab driver and smart geek.”

I think it’s good for the Indian community to gain visibility in popular media, warts and all.  At least it will prove we are not all terrorists, cab drivers, or geeks.

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!

Kal Penn on the hit TV series House.

Kal Penn, born Kalpen Suresh Modi, has made us laugh in many movies from his humble beginnings in American Desi all the way to Harold and Kumar. He has even tackled more serious roles such as “Gogol” in the Mira Nair film The Namesake. Currently, he plays a doctor on the hit FOX show House. Things you may not know about the actor: he’s a vegetarian and taught a lecture course at the University of Pennsylvania called “Images of Asian Americans in the Media” and a seminar called “Contemporary American Teen Films.”

Manu Narayan with Jessica Alba and Mike Meyers in The Love Guru.

Manu Narayan performed under the glamorous lights of the Broadway stage for the lead role of “Akaash” in the smash Bollywood Dreams. Just this last summer he played “Rajneesh” in The Love Guru opposite Mike Myers and Jessica Alba. Take note: he can sing! Narayan graduated from Carnegie Mellon University with a double major in saxophone and voice. He has sung with Cyndi Lauper and even preformed for Queen Elizabeth, George W. Bush, and Tony Blair!

Maulik Pancholy for the Showtime hit Weeds.

Maulik Pancholy, graduated with a Master’s degree in Acting from the Yale University School, and went on to make multiple appearances on popular televisions shows such as The Sopranos and 30 Rock. He even voices the character “Baljeet” on the popular Disney channel cartoon Phineas and Ferb. But, you may recognize him best as James Marsden’s lovable co-worker in 27 Dresses. Keep a look out for him on the silver screen this year and a role on the Showtime hit Weeds.

Information provided by IMDb.

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