This post was originally published on SAADA.org and republished here with permission.

I grew up in Jamaica, Queens with some of the bravest girls to walk this planet. The girls I knew were quietly fierce and pioneers of the urban landscape. Most lived in heavily-populated West Indian communities in Queens (South Ozone, Jamaica, and Richmond Hill), and self-identified as Trinidadian, Guyanese and on occasion, East Indian.

Most of us knew each other from high school or friends of friends and bonded over the traumas of adolescence, girlhood, boys, parents, immigrant life, becoming American, and a shared experience of marginalization. We came of age together and redefined teenage rebellion in a quiet, yet powerful way.

Biggie Smalls, Wu-Tang Clan, Beverly Hills 90210, and Brad Pitt formed the backdrop of my ’90s life. However, my experience as an immigrant teenage girl from Queens, NY, was very different from life portrayed in popular media. I didn’t live in a nice house or hang out at the mall with my friends or have a unique talent that I could count on. Instead, I rolled with a crew of girls who merged mainstream American culture with the urban immigrant lifestyle in which we were embedded.

Our style and perspectives were unique: we had long, dark, flowing hair that took an hour to style and had pins, hairspray, and more pins to hold up poufs or buns or ponytails. Our eyes were lined in Maybelline and our lips were shades of Revlon red—dark maroon for some and brick-colored for others. We smelled of sweet dollar-store perfumes and wore nail polish that we painted ourselves while watching MTV. We had nose rings and arms of bangles and unsmiling faces. And while other girls were buying neck chokers, press-on nails, and slim fitting Levis, we were shopping on Jamaica Avenue for huge gold-plated Mickey Mouse earrings and colored shells for our beepers.

We were a different kind of teenage fashionista: hip hop meets urban Indian girl. Most of the crew wore baggy jeans tucked into socks that fit into Timberland boots, the yellow ones like the rap stars wore in their videos. Never mind that the baggy clothing drowned out our feminine frames; that served a purpose. I owned plenty of oversized sports shirts with the names of athletes that neither, I nor the crew could identify in a sports line-up. Our look was often polished off with a name-plate on the neck or a name ring on the finger and a Jansport book bag on the back—the ones with strings hanging out so that people knew you could afford some things. Having money and being vulnerable was a dangerous combination in some parts of Queens, especially for those of us who ditched school to have adventures and make friends—and sometimes enemies—before returning home to our families and curfews.

Some of us carried Newport cigarettes and lighters in pockets, and maybe brass knuckles. I remember the first time a girl named Naomi showed off her brass knuckles. I stared at it like she’d introduced me to a pistol. Shortly after that I tried to buy brass knuckles at a grimy store where Sutphin Boulevard and Jamaica Avenue met. That intersection was one of several immigrant hubs where tired service workers caught buses, shopped for fresh fish and vegetables, and others snatched necklaces to pawn at one of the many resell shops along the avenue.

The guy didn’t sell it to me.

“How old are you?” the storekeeper asked, skeptically. He was pretty unkempt and looked tired.

“I’m in high school.” I figured he might sell it to me if he thought I was somewhere around 16.

“You got an ID, baby?”

His nails were dirty and he smelled of cigarettes. He was an immigrant like me but from a different place.

“No.”

“You’re not old enough, baby, I know.” He said and gave a perverse smile.

He was exactly why some of us wanted brass knuckles.

There were plenty of common themes among the girls in the crew: immigrant families who worked hard, fathers who drank too much alcohol, mothers who yelled, and siblings who were kind of annoying. With one another, we took turns expressing our self-determination and bitching about restrictions on our liberty. Our lives were no 90210. In fact, most of us had barely ever left New York since arriving from the places where we had been born. Some had never left Queens. Raised in a close, collectivist culture, we cared about our families but felt that they didn’t get us.

“Yo, we’re American, don’t come up in here with this old school bullshit!” Shelly shouted loudly, hands waving wildly as she sat on a shaded corner of the block on 169th street, minutes away from the high school where classes were in full session. She’d been complaining about her parents’ restrictive curfew and unreasonable demands, like helping with cooking and tending to her siblings after school and on the weekends while they worked. The rest of us nodded in agreement while burning cigarettes between our fingers. Other realities transcended our differences too, like our minority status and the way that we seemed to be different from Asian girls and African American girls and Hispanic girls and Caucasian girls, and the ways that we were sometimes marginalized because of it.

Like any group, there were also differences and inequities among us. Most of us held beliefs about which one of our countries was better and therefore which type of girl was better than the rest. Sometimes we repeated the stereotypes we heard about girls from Trinidad and Guyana. When that happened the confrontations were swift and the arguments were well-defended before they were dismissed.

Some of the crew lived in decent houses owned by their parents and some lived in dingy apartments that only illegal immigrants could afford.

I was an illegal immigrant.

My family’s apartment was a tiny one-bedroom in one of the apartment buildings in Jamaica, at the intersection of 89th Avenue, near Mary Immaculate Hospital before it closed down. I shared a bunk bed with my brother and sister while my parents slept on a couch in the living room. I never told anyone that my mother and father had spent a day and night cleaning that apartment and killing dozens of mice while my siblings and I stayed with my aunt and uncle a few blocks away.

We were not model minority members. Instead of going to class, doing homework and planning for futures in science and engineering and/or childrearing, we filled our brains with the sounds of Method Man, Onyx, TLC, Shabba Ranks and the number for the local Chinese restaurant that delivered. Sometimes we jumped turnstiles to get onto the subway and used our school transit cards to get onto the Q112 bus, far, far away from school and the places we knew. Pretty daring for a group of Indian girls who were raised to be “good girls” and to do as they were told. We found ourselves hanging out in Jamaica, Brooklyn and once or twice, we took the train to Jackson Heights where plenty of East Indians lived, exchanging smiles with each other as passengers boarded for school and work and we made our way to the next adventure.

We followed the pages on our beepers with return calls on payphones that led us to plenty of other teenagers like ourselves. Sometimes we found each other in nicely decorated living rooms with pictures of awkward-looking Indian children on the wall or on side tables. There was plenty of underage drinking and other risky happenings at these underground “hooky” parties, but the crew and I stayed in line as much as possible—except when our anthem played:

Lord, have mercy
(Kill dem)
Dem want I, dem want I
(A fool dat)
To come a dem funeral
Dem ting say, dem ting say…

The risk of getting caught or “busted” was always on our minds but didn’t stop us from flirting with danger. Our parents, while protective, were the kinds of parents who exercised the right to slap or use a belt when angry—sometimes in the presence of others. I once witnessed one of my homegirls get slapped in the face; the way she grabbed at her cheek after it happened made me feel awful. My mother did the same thing to me after a meeting with the dean of my high school. That time the shame stung worse than the slap.

The crew and I quickly learned how to navigate our environment and the varying degrees of danger. We knew where and when the cops swept Queens looking for truants. One time my best friend and I got swept by the cops. We had been in Richmond Hill hanging with some friends and were walking back to the bus stop when the 106th precinct cops rolled up on us.

“What are you doing out of school?” the cop asked.

We were quiet at first then uttered something about ending the day early.

“Lemme see your program cards,” he demanded.

“Sorry officer, we don’t have them.”

“What school do you girls attend?” the cop continued.

The lie rolled off the tongue with such ease that our parents wouldn’t have recognized us at all: “John Adams High School.”

He put us in the backseat of the police car, un-cuffed and thinking he was doing two mischievous girls a favor.

Five minutes after he dropped us off to John Adams High, we walked out the exit and made our way home.

I was glad that my mother hadn’t been phoned that day. Another time the dean would contact her and things would be very different: She would stop vacuuming the floors of the penthouse apartment she cleaned and apologize to her boss for leaving early. That time I’d see her face and the Maybelline eyeliner would stream down my cheeks as I tried to explain what had happened.

These kinds of stories about South Asian American life have mostly been ignored in American history. Instead, myths about the model minority and the “upwardly mobile” South Asian American persist, overshadowing a life of common immigrant struggle, disparity, marginalization and quiet resiliency. Within this, the stories of South Asian American women have also been replaced with notions of the “passive Indian woman” and the “dutiful mother.” These stereotypes devalue and minimize the complexity of the lived experiences of Indians across the diaspora.

So here is part of my story, as I have lived it.

Odessa Devi Despot, PsyD is a graduate of NYU and holds a doctoral degree in psychology from Yeshiva University. She is currently Director of Diagnostic Testing at Oakland University and an adjunct faculty member at the Michigan School of Professional Psychology. Her research focuses on identity development, multicultural and feminist issues, and relational psychotherapy. She is a writer and activist and was previously Board Secretary for the Indo-Caribbean Alliance (ICA). Odessa has contributed articles for the Caribbean Star newspaper, South Asian American Digital Archive (SAADA), and presented at various professional conferences. She recently completed a manuscript based on her life as an undocumented immigrant girl growing up in Queens, NY, tentatively titled, “Indian Girl.”

By Odessa Despot

Odessa Devi Despot, PsyD is a graduate of NYU and holds a doctoral degree in psychology from Yeshiva University. She … Read more ›

Kevin Wu, previously known as KevJumba, is an American YouTuber, from Houston, Texas, with more than 2.68 million subscribers on YouTube and more than 323 million views. His content consists of vlogs, social commentary, musical parodies and more. Wu also streams on Twitch and has released original music as well as freestyles. His most popular YouTube video is titled “Nice Guys” with Ryan Higa. Wu has also worked with many individuals including A-Trak, Chester See, David Choi, Globetrotters, Iyaz, Jamie Chung, Jeremy Lin, Ryan Higa, Wong Fu Productions, and more. He has also appeared in movies such as “Hang Loose,” “Revenge of the Green Dragons,” “Man Up,” and more. Wu is one of the first original YouTubers gaining popularity in 2008 and even had another channel, titled JumbaFund, now known as Team Jumba. Continue reading to learn more about Kevin Wu’s journey!

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We really enjoyed the project ‘Underneath the Lights.’ On the track “WHY U IN LA” the lyrics, “Don’t know who I might be, it might surprise me. I could be a hypebeast, That’s nothing like me, It’s so enticing.” How do you feel this speaks to the idea of self-discovery? What have you learned about yourself, diving back into making content?

I love that song we did. The artist who sang those lyrics his name is Zooty. I really provided the energy and direction for the musical piece, but I give credit to my producer Jonum and Zooty credit for the lyrics. Both guys are a slightly different generation, gen-Z, whereas I grew up as a millennial. I find that I left a lot on the table when I left YouTube at 23, so when I work with gen-Z I have so much that I want to give. Coming back to YouTube this time around, it’s all about self-reliance. Coming from movies and television, you have to depend on people to get a better product. But with YouTube, I’m going back to my roots and putting my wit and effort into every part of the process again (writing, directing, performing, producing, editing). I want the result to be authenticity and a homegrown feeling.

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When you started your YouTube channel you were known for your vlogs and social commentary. How do you feel about the new age of content creation — where content is in surplus but individuals aren’t feeling the content?

It’s hard to say whether or not individuals are or aren’t feeling content — the taste is just so wide now. It’s like living in Los Angeles; food is very competitive, and when picking a restaurant you have every ethnic variety and even fusion foods. I imagine opening a restaurant in LA to be very competitive and the attention to detail in what you make has to be authentic or hit a certain demographic. I feel on the Internet, YouTube does a decent job of catering to your sensibilities, the so-called algorithm. However, the personal connection you get with content creators has somewhat been shifted, and now it’s become more interest-based (ie gaming, how-to, music, politics, etc.)

How do you feel the original algorithm has changed, and what do you miss most about that time?

I don’t remember talking about algorithms back in 2010 to 2012. People watched their favorite Youtubers because their homepage included their subscriptions first and foremost, and then if your subscriptions hadn’t posted anything new, you would typically check the most popular page. Then trending became a thing and now you have algorithms generating your timeline based on a bunch of data. I think it’s forced creators to think externally and hanging onto identities i.e. what are my interests? Am I a gamer? Am I a streamer?

We parodied your music video for “Nice Guys” for our orchestra music camp skit back in high school. If Chester, Ryan, and you, had to recreate “Nice Guys” today, would you focus on the concept of self-love for the current generation? We also really loved “Shed a Tear.”

I definitely think self-love would be a very nice theme. Recreating it would be nice, actually. I think it’s hard to get three people to all be in the same room again, especially after leading different lives. But “Nice Guys” was something special for each one of us, and Chester See deserves a lot of credit because of his musical talent. It’s made me realize today the impact of music. I really enjoy the expression of music because it forces you to be more artistic, versus just saying what’s on your mind. Like poetry, or hearing harmonies.

You’ve worked with many individuals and groups in the past including, A-Trak, Chester See, David Choi, Globetrotters, Iyaz, Jamie Chung, Jeremy Lin, Ryan Higa, Wong Fu Productions, and more. If you could create content with any group of individuals who would be your dream collaborators?

At this stage in my life, I really enjoy coming back and rekindling those creative connections and checking in with previous friends or acquaintances. Doing a video with Ryan Higa, Jeremy Lin, Chester See, David Choi, Wong Fu, Jamie Chung, those would all be very fun. But the first step would be to just see how they’re doing. So that’s the closest thing to a best case scenario for me. I’m not trying to force any collaborations at the moment (haha!). Unless it’s convenient.

As an NBA fan you expressed you would like to talk more about basketball on Ryan’s “Off the Pill Podcast.” How do you feel watching sports and has playing sports helped you become more in tune with yourself?

After going through a lot of physical adversity after my car accident, reconnecting with sports has been really helpful. I played basketball for a while and I’d like to get back into soccer. I wanted to talk about basketball on Ryan’s podcast because I was still dipping my toes into Internet content/social media and didn’t want to talk too much about myself at the time.

As a content creator how do you balance not letting validation get to your head and authentically connecting with your audience?

We all seek validation. It’s innate, but it’s about where you seek it. Nowadays I remember to validate myself first, by starting with my mind and body. After a while, you can get a sense of when you need validation versus being totally unconscious of it. Sometimes that sense of validation is important, so we know to check in with our parents, or see if a friend needs positive feedback. To connect with the audience, that’s like number five in my priority list (haha!). Having an audience can be scary; you definitely want to be in tune with yourself first.

How do you deal with comments consisting of “I miss the old KevJumba?”

I just smile. I miss the old KevJumba too!

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As live streaming has become a new form of content now, how have you enjoyed live streaming on Twitch for the Head In The Clouds Festival both in 2021 and 2022? We really enjoyed seeing Ylona Garcia sing “Nice Guys!”

It’s fun, I enjoy live streaming and I really appreciate 88rising and Amazon Music for inviting me both years to be the host for their livestream.

What was the decision behind putting your family in your videos?

I put my Dad in my videos accidentally; we were on a ski trip. I think people responded really positively in the comments, and then I just sat down had a conversation with him on camera, and it became a hit. After that he just became his own character. I think I tend to come alive more when I am interacting with someone on camera.

We really liked seeing you upload videos to Team Jumba. Is the mission still to donate earnings to a charity that viewers suggest?

At the moment, no. The Supply, which was the charity I donated to before, has since shut down. I also don’t make much money on YouTube anymore, since I was inactive on my channel for a while, so that format from 2009 will be difficult to replicate.

We really enjoyed the ‘KevJumba and Zooty Extended Play,’ specifically the track “With You in the Clouds” featuring fuslie. How has Valorant inspired your music as well as other forms of content creation?

The album was really experimental. I find the personal connections I made in gaming to be the most enlivening. “With You in the Clouds” was inspired by TenZ and, since he’s such a legendary figure in the pro FPS community, we had to do a worthy tribute. I think paying tribute to the things you like is a really great way to think about content creation.

How do you feel your childhood experiences in Houston, and playing soccer, have shaped you to chase your dreams of acting? How have you enjoyed acting in comparison to YouTube?

I love acting. It’s a wondrous lens at which to see your relationship with others. I find that in studying acting, you are often really studying the human experience or the mind. It’s like learning psychology but you are on your feet, or you are reading great theater. Playing soccer and growing up in Houston don’t really contribute directly to why I enjoy acting, but I very much enjoy coming from Houston and thriving in soccer. It made me commit to something and seeing how consistently “showing up” can really ground your childhood and prove to be valuable, later in life.

How do you feel we can uplift each other across the Asian diaspora and unify to create ripple effects of representation?

I think listening is probably the best thing you can do. Just genuinely hearing about something, or someone, helps you really invest in them during that time that you are there. So I think that’s probably the first step.

What made you go back to school and finish your degree at the University of Houston in Psychology?

No one reason in particular. I was also studying acting at the time back in 2017-2018 when I completed the degree, so it was just testing my limits and seeing what I could balance. I finished it online.

What are your upcoming plans?

Just experimenting on YouTube for now. Making videos with my own effort.

Your first video was uploaded back in 2007 and was titled ‘Backyard,’ where you are dancing to a song called “Watch Me” by Little Brother, off of the “The Minstrel Show.” We also really enjoyed your video with Ryan Higa titled “Best Crew vs Poreotics.” Are you still dancing these days?

Yes. The body does what the body wants.

Lastly, what do you hope individuals take away from this interview with Brown Girl Magazine?

Nothing in particular. I try to let my mind flow when I answer questions. I may have jumped to conclusions before fully investing in some of the questions, so I apologize. If you are reading, I thank you for your time and patience. I also thank Brown Girl Magazine for putting together a vast array of questions that allow my mind to stretch and work out a bit. I hope you find a stronger connection to your own truths, and I hope I did not disturb those in any way. Regards.

Photo Courtesy of Kevin Wu

By Arun S.

Arun fell in love with music at a young age by way of his middle school music teacher Mr. D. … Read more ›

It is the strength of both British and South Asian cinema that every few years, and with increasing regularity, a film comes along that is able to successfully and thoughtfully bridge the highs and lows of both cultures. With the recognisable cross-cultural DNA of films like “Bend it Like Beckham”, “Bride and Prejudice” and others before it, Shekhar Kapur brings to the silver screen an honest and comedic representation of East meets West with “What’s Love Got To Do With It” — an exploration of love and marriage across international norms. 

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Written and produced by Jemima Khan, the film draws from elements of her own experience of marrying then-Pakistani cricket star and now ex-Prime Minister, Imran Khan, and relocating to the country for 10 years.

“Particularly in the West, Pakistanis would quite often be seen as terrorists, fanatics and backwards,” says Khan, as she reminisces about her time spent in Pakistan over Zoom. “My experience of living in Pakistan was very colourful, vibrant, and fun. I always felt like the rom-com side of Pakistan was more surprising than anything else.”

It isn’t your usual ‘boy-meets-girl’ tale. On the contrary, they’ve known each other forever; the fabric of their lives intertwined. Kaz is a British-Pakistani doctor of “marriageable” age, opting for an “assisted” marriage set in motion by his own desire rather than parental duress. 

“I think we’ve replaced the term “arranged” with “assisted” because South Asian parents now trust their kids more to make the right decision for themselves,” said Shahzad Latif, sitting next to Lily James, who nods in agreement. “It’s still a process. Some parents may have more confidence in their kids than others, but we’re getting there.”

Zoe – played by Lily James – is a professional documentary maker living on an inexplicably fancy houseboat (bit of a stretch for somebody having difficulty funding projects, but, at this point, a crucial ingredient for London rom-coms). As a white British woman, her method of finding love isn’t one that involves parents or family.

“It was a no-brainer for me to be part of the script,” says a smiling James in response to whether any culture shocks were encountered during filming and table reads. “Pakistani culture is so rich and colourful, and it was important for me to showcase this side of the country. So no, no culture shocks per se, just more singing and dancing in comparison to British culture!”

Zoe’s camera is the vehicle through which the film examines Kaz’s “contractual love”, as she trawls dating apps while following her best friend down the assisted aisle.

Emma Thompson’s Cath plays the comedic matriarch to Zoe, eager to witness the conclusion of her daughter’s swiping days by being with someone suitable. She’s found a family in Shabana Azmi’s Aisha Khan – a more layered mum — one that is embracing both tradition and modernity. It would be fair to say that Azmi successfully sells cinema-goers on the difficulty of that struggle.

“Today’s society is slowly coming to terms with providing children the space they rightfully require and deserve to make decisions,” says Azmi, reflecting on how scripts and films have evolved over time. “Gone are the days when parents would blackmail their children into marrying the first person they come across. Just because they are their kids doesn’t mean they are actually children. They are adults with views and minds of their own.”

Kaz is then introduced to Maimoona (Sajal Aly); a shy introvert from Pakistan, unsure about the idea of moving permanently to London. She’s dealing with internal battles of her own; battles between personal desires and societal expectations.

“Maimoona may not have verbally said much, but her face said everything,” explains Aly, looking beautiful and radiant as ever. “She is torn between what she wants and what society silently shoves down at her and eventually, she goes with what the latter expects.”

The film navigates between London and a fabricated Lahore filmed in the suburbs of the British capital; a feat that comes as testament to the film’s production design. Kaz and Zoe’s jaunts across Lahore, backdropped by its magnificent architecture, set the stage for Pakistani music legends to shine, including the mesmerising voice of Rahet Fateh Ali Khan. 

And if this wasn’t enough, Nitin Sawhney and Naughty Boy add further melody to the film’s music, as they talk about their experience of creating appropriate tunes such as the foot-thumping “Mahi Sona”. 

“It was a great process and experience to create an appropriate language and expression of music which added elements and flavours to the film,” says the duo enthusiastically. “It’s also an ode to our South Asian heritage.”

Even though the tone of “What’s Love Got To Do With It” is distinctly feel-good, the film thoughtfully explores the unconventional ways that relationships may be built, and what multiculturalism can teach one another. Is it, in fact, more sensible to be practical about relationships? Is it possible to learn to love the person we’re with? Is love really the only ingredient needed for a successful marriage? Why was Kaz’s sister shunned for marrying outside of their culture? And do Western relationships draw more on the ideas of assisted partnerships than we realise?

A clever reference is drawn from the moment Prince Charles shattered many royal dreamers’ hearts with his dismissive “whatever in love means” comment upon his engagement to Princess Diana, thus proving that these notions may be closer to home in the West than one might believe.

James and Latif are a charismatic pair, with Zoe married to her independence and Kaz gently questioning her prejudices. The film is also a vivid demonstration of British talent, with Asim Chaudhry playing a hilarious yet questionable rishta uncle, comic duo Ben Ashenden and Alex Owen appearing as a pair of TV commissioners with a briefcase of ridiculous ideas, and Nikkita Chadha as the confrontational Baby — the film’s feisty rebel, in love with dancing. 

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“It’s incredible to be part of such a diverse and stellar cast,” smiles Chadha animatedly, while sipping on tea at Soho House in London. “My character is defiant and nonconformist — perfectly conflicting with the name “Baby “. I’m really excited for everyone to watch the film.”

Divorce is still stigmatised in South Asia — a theme often carefully avoided in desi films and television. Khan gently addresses it as a twist in the film – with a reminder that be it love or assisted marriage — amicable and mutual separations are a possibility.

As a complete package, “What’s Love Got To Do With It” deftly wraps up all the emotions associated with love and family in its joyful, musical, and vibrant 109-minute runtime. With its cast, music and direction, this classic rom-com is set to make you laugh, cry and, even more importantly, make you think about the multi-dimensional nature of love within and across cultures. The film is now showing in cinemas worldwide, and we highly recommend it.

Photos Courtesy: Studiocanal/Working Title

This piece is written by Brown Girl writer Queenie Shaikh in collaboration with Marium Abid

Desk bound by day and travel bound all other times – Queenie thrives on her weekly dose of biryani and chilli paneer. She recently released her first book called The Poor Londoner, which talks about comical expat experiences people face worldwide. With degrees in Journalism and Creative Writing, her work and research on gender inequality in the travel industry is taught in universities across the globe. Her travels and everyday fails can be found on Instagram (@thepoorlondoner) and YouTube (The Poor Londoner).

Originally from Karachi, Pakistan and now blended into the hustle-bustle of London, Marium is a trainee technology consultant, by day and sometime also night, and also finishing her bachelors in Digital Innovation. In the midst of striving to be someone, she enjoys dreaming about the impossible (impossible according to desi standards and sometime Harry Potter impossible as well), and writing about them. She enjoys baking, decorating things and a cup of chai!

By Brown Girl Magazine

Born out of the lack of minority representation in mainstream media, Brown Girl Magazine was created by and for South … Read more ›

Indian-American commercial real estate and land consultant Anita Verma-Lallian launched Camelback Productions at an event held in Paradise Valley, Arizona, Jan. 7. Billed as the state’s first women-and South Asian-owned film production and entertainment company, it will focus on South Asian representation and storytelling, according to a press statement issued by Verma-Lallian. The announcement follows “Arizona Governor Doug Ducey’s $125 million film tax credit for film and TV production that was introduced in July 2022, “ the statement added.

 

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The Jan. 7 private launch party and meet and greet introduced investors and supporters to what’s ahead for Camelback Productions.

Noting the “major push to see minority groups represented in the media over the past few years,” Verma-Lallian said she wants to see more South Asians represented. “I want my children to see themselves when they watch TV. I want my daughter’s dream to become an actress to become a reality. Skin color shouldn’t be a barrier to that.”

The event opened with remarks from Phoenix Mayor Kate Gallego, who has served as the city’s 62nd mayor since 2019. She welcomes the company to “the greater Phoenix community.” She expressed confidence that “the team will attract some of the country’s top talent to the Valley.”

Guests at the event included actor and comedian Lilly Singh, actor Nik Dodani, Aparna of Netflix’s “Indian Matchmaking,” Bali Chainani and Anisha Ramakrishna of Bravo’s “Family Karma” fame, and Paramount+ executive P. Sean Gupta, to name a few.

 

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The company is Verma-Lallian’s first venture into the film industry. She is known for providing full concierge services for land seekers and developers of all types of sites and assists investors in discovering viable properties in the Phoenix area through her company, Arizona Land Consulting, the statement added.

Named in honor of the iconic Camelback Mountain in the Valley, Verma-Lallian says she wants her production company to have the same indestructible foundation. Camelback Productions plans to begin its first project later this summer.

By Brown Girl Magazine

Born out of the lack of minority representation in mainstream media, Brown Girl Magazine was created by and for South … Read more ›