Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts

24.12.13

Nostalgia: A Largely Culinary List

Tamales
Limp, steamed corn husks; a soft second home

Beans
The gelatinous bottom of bean cans, recycling, kitchen control

Tillamook Medium Cheddar
A surprise in the cheese basket of a Delhi grocery store, a space-time catapult

A Waifish Bicycle
From the market home, via the bookstore, to toast and paper and balloon; blue sunglasses

Strawberry Lemonade
A summer appropriate for stickiness, a thirst for freshness

A Big Glass Pickle Jar
A scoby, rice flour, a miscellaneous metal lid drawer, the craft beer takeaway across the street

Tacos
A wrist-to-elbow hot sauce drip on a cold night

Jim Beam
Avenue C, alone, a precious pack of Goldflakes distributed outside, dance-envy

Cilantro
The garden, the grocery store, the battle over coriander comparisons

Avocado
Earth butter, aesthetic wonder, the fruit that birthed a person

29.5.12

Rollin' Mama Blues



What is it about America that obscures all other places
almost to the point of erasure? And how is it that it can
reach you anywhere you are? Irritating, but once you've
found roots in America, all your noble aspirations toward
globalness* become severely compromised.

Yet there is life outside America, folks. It doesn't quite
sound like Kate McTell, but it's there, and it's beautiful
and it's got its own kind of blues.

I, for one, am quite pleased at the prospect of life in
a reachable elsewhere.

Every elsewhere is here to somebody.


*If you are unable to comprehend in the author's tone a fair amount
of sarcasm and self-mockery, kindly step away from this blog.
I fear it will do you no favours.

6.4.11

Here is just as strange...

...as everywhere else.



(Well, yes, I do think I am able to adapt to a wider range of elses than most, thank you for asking, and this, forgive me, was not my experience. But thank you. And forgive me, but may I have another doughnut? No sprinkles, thank you.)

19.2.11

Revealing

Here's what I wrote in response to a rightfully angry, yet slightly off-kilter Salon article, regarding it's confusion on the point of Nir Rosen's controversial tweets in the wake of early news about Lara Logan's assault during celebrations in Tahrir Square last week:

Unquestionable crime, questionable media.

"And your opinion of how she does that job, the religion her assailants share with a few million other people, or the color of her hair has nothing to do with it."

Nothing to do with the heinous crime, certainly, but EVERYTHING to do with the western media's coverage of it.

Which, by the way, is the point Nir Rosen was attempting, in an admittedly crass way, to make. A person's belief in the validity of that point need not necessarily be interpreted as an apologia for the assault perpetrated on Logan.

That people so adamantly interpreted (it) as such smacks of defensiveness. Nobody wants, after all, to admit that the horrible abuse of a white woman celebrity is more worth reporting than the similarly horrible abuse of anonymous non-white women.

Saying that someone's tragedy caught the media's attention because she looks a certain way is not the same as saying that that someone deserved her tragedy for looking that way. Nir Rosen, I believe, was making the former point. He chose a highly inappropriate time to make that point. There is no good time to make that point. He should absolutely be criticized, chastised, even ostracized, what have you, for publicly withholding his sympathy, for implying that her "war-mongering" reportage somehow balanced out the offense against her, and for being such an ass about making his point. But his point, underneath all the insensitive rhetoric, was still not that she deserved the assault, but that her assault would provoke a unique (and in his opinion overblown) media reaction--one that would not exist were it not for the way she looks. This nuance is crucial to me. Victim-blaming is a terrible, sick thing, far worse than being unsympathetic or insensitive, and we should take care in accusing someone of it.

Because let me be very, very clear: that she is blonde, attractive, a celebrity, was allegedly promiscuous, might have made an arguably 'bad call' getting into the thick of riotous celebrations, and 'was in the Middle East, after all' are not and should not be cited as excuses for the assault on her. Any form of "she was asking for it" is unacceptable--no woman is ever asking to be forced upon. In any setting. No matter how she looks or what she wears or what she has done in her past. No aspect of her conduct or personality or appearance should be license for her violation.

The incredibly sad truth, however, is that her appearance might actually have had something to do with why she specifically, over other women in the square, was assaulted. And she is still not to blame. Her assailants probably had no idea that she was a pro-war reporter, but it is possible they took her to be a symbol of what angered them. Anti-American sentiment does exist, some of it highly misguided. Misguided enough, perhaps, to imagine that it is reasonable to exact historic revenge from one woman because she looks American. Just as misguided as those who deliriously took her assault to be confirmation of the bad-character of all Arabs or all Muslims, no matter how insistent on democracy. For it is equally likely that this was an isolated incident. Still, one cannot ignore that this is what someone, somewhere took the opportunity to do at a moment of great political import.

Conflict--cultural, moral, political, historic, "civilizational"--has always been played out on the bodies of women. That is the material point. That is why Lara Logan gets sexually assaulted during a victory celebration at the end of peaceful protests demanding fair government. And that is why Lara Logan is refracted through tabloid tragedy and turned into Exhibit A for the case against the Arab world.

All of it boils down to the same crappy fact: women's bodies are still not respected as absolutely being their own. A fact highly visible these days in the Republican party's charming efforts to redefine rape, and restrict reproductive rights to the point of complete illogic. It is the woman's body: she decides whether it is rape. She decides whether to have sex. She decides whether to use birth control. She decides whether to continue the pregnancy. She decides her appearance, her apparel, her profession. Somebody else may disagree with her choices, call them selfish or foolish or risky. But nobody else is entitled to pronounce judgment on what she may or may not do to her own body.

8.8.10

More talk of harmony and cultural understanding.

One Ms. Vijaykar has just made me aware that the reason Indians reacted so adversely to Joel Stein's July slice of bigotry-lite is because we're embarrassed of our "heritage". Because we supplant it with "bland American customs". Because we don't take the time to explain our culture to them.

Oh! That's why they call us dotheads and ask us if we own elephants and if we have roads in India and if we're 'promised to a landlord or something'. Because we do so little to "patiently illuminate them".

Tch. All this time I was just being defensive, when I should have been spending my time hosting "get-to-know-India" events. My bad.

10.7.10

Warning: Brown Anger Below

For those who have been peaced out from the real world this past week, because of summer, or Country Fair, or heartbreak, or whatever, here's what you missed:

Time Magazine published an opinion/humour piece by Joel Stien about Indian immigration in his hometown of Edison, New Jersey. Full of nostalgia and recycled clichés, there isn’t much in it worth talking about. Except that it unveils in spectacular fashion the rhetoric and logic that still lies beneath the sexy, suit-jacketed face of Post-Racial America. ("Post" in the sense that it exists beyond any awareness of what it is to be “racial”.)

As though it weren’t enough to dislodge yourself from the familiar for the promise of something the world insists is “the good life”. As though it weren’t enough to scrounge together an identity and carry it with you in a suitcase ten thousand miles to a place where you must remake home from fragments, against an entirely unfamiliar backdrop. As though it weren’t enough to have no idea who you are and where you fit and how to BE in the world. As though it weren’t enough to deal with the dissolution of self and dreams. Let's also take on the responsibility of ruining the landscape of American nostalgia.

Sorry, Joel. We totally disturbed your past in pursuit of our futures.

The malls in India really are "that bad".

Alanis Morissette may have thanked us, but we never got a chance to thank YOU, America. Thank you. Thank you for all that you have allowed us. Thank you for your jobs at desks or in cabs or behind counters, slingin’ donuts or ringing up Slurpees. Thank you for trying so hard to decipher our accents when you’re trying to get your laptop fixed, and for putting up with the overwhelming curry smell we bring with us everywhere we go. Thank you for the eight Oscars, for the occasional pop-culture nod, and for the polite literary applause. Thank you for recognizing our skills, and for telling us what we lack. Thank you for advertising yourself to us, and then withholding. Thank you for luring us away from ourselves, and relocating us in a nowhere. Thank you for letting us lose ourselves trying to be good enough for your left-overs.

Please let me know the next time you need to watch soft-core porn or steal and I'll get my shit out of your way. It's the least I can do for someone who has figured out "why India is so damn poor." And do accept my apologies on behalf of my fellow countrymen who have flooded you with violent emails. It seems we can’t even be relied on to play Gandhi anymore. What ever happened to bending over and turning the other cheek? Tch.

[Slightly altered version published in Brown Girl Magazine.]

11.5.10

Gastrointestinal appreciation

The gentleman who works at the campus Post Office recently returned from a trip to India. When I saw him today he said the trip changed his life. He said he couldn't imagine how bland America must seem to me, how void of energy.

"It was fantastic," he said. "Totally worth the dysentery."

24.1.10

Law Enfarcement

This week's Eugene Weekly:


























Unsurprising that this would be the week I'd walk by the bus station and see the following: two security people (or oddly dressed policemen--they weren't in regular uniform, and were wearing red caps) standing back and smirking as a casually indignant Eugenian complained on the phone to someone about the unfairness of being harassed "as a citizen in this government". An apt sequel to "Don't taze me, bro!"

1.4.09

On the Radio

The only person who agrees with me about the latest Bond film is a prolific, hyper-passionate, forty-something national nuisance, ten thousand miles away.