Monthly Archive

Over thanksgiving, I had the opportunity to watch way too much television. I’m in the middle of an episode when I caught a commercial for Crayola - one of their “use your imagination” advertisements that is supposed to be very sentimental and endearing, possibly nostalgic.Well this commercial was a little bit more than all of that - let me try to describe it as best as I can. I wasn’t able to find a copy of the commercial online, but maybe someone will and can add the link - because it really should be seen.

Young white girl is drawing - she draws a lion. The lion jumps off the page and the girl is transported into a jungle - trees, elephants, and other animals (all animated to look like they are made of cutout paper or markers, etc.). The ywg is riding an elephant and is now wearing a purple and pink outfit that can only be described as a cross between Princess Jasmine’s clothes and a problematic halloween costume. (Strike one)

She turns around to wave a young white boy - who is also drawing. He’s dressed in (deep breath) and outfit that strongly resembles a British colonial officer’s clothes.

Actually he looks just like those little miniatures above - sans gun/facial hair. (Strike two)

And just when you believe that it’s over - the boy removes what he’s been drawing off the paper - turns out it’s a bridge - and places it in the jungle, over a waterfall. I’m pretty sure there are little stick figures walking across after he puts it up. (Oh yes. Definitely strike three.)

I just don’t understand the thought process involved when this commercial was being produced. Someone thought “I want to encourage children to use their imagination - so I’ll put them in a jungle dressed as colonizers and appropriaters and have the women explore culture while the men build bridges and show the natives how it’s done”?

They thought “in our post 9-11 world, the historical nostalgia we want to bring up and echo is one of colonization, of remembering that our place is to help the less fortunate. the earlier we begin to imagine this, the better”?

Oh wait. They didn’t think.

I understand, it’s one advertisement. But - it’s always one advertisement, one statement, one instance - until these instances and moments become the instituional norm, the foundation that our foreign (and domestic) policy begins to echo, and continues to perpetuate.

I wish I could be more articulate about how frustrated I was about the depiction of the White West exploiting the Other. But I can’t right now. Rest assured, I will be writing about this again.

Of all the races in the United States, white people have the hardest time understanding racial oppression. This is a fact. Much like the men (including myself) in the United States who just cannot understand what it feels like to be a woman who is judged by her bra and waist measurements, white Americans cannot put themselves in the position of racial other-ness on a daily basis. Unless of course they go abroad or to New York, Chicago, DC, Altanta, Detroit, Philly, LA, Houston, or anywhere else with more black people than say, Altoona, PA. This is not to say that white people cannot understand racial opporession. It’s just that, well, most of them don’t. - Philip Arthur Moore; read the entire thing here.

via Racialicious - one of my new favorite blogs!

This is a pretty awesome site. Rachel’s Tavern lists racist incidents that have been happening on college campuses in the last couple of months. I have to say I nearly fell off my chair in reading the story about college republicans at BU who “feel the need to have a ‘Caucasian scholarship’”.

I’ve started this new attempt to enjoy daylight for a couple more hours by waking up a bit early for the next 3 weeks, until the semester is through. I ate breakfast (I never have time to eat breakfast) and changed my major and talked to a friend and then I read this post, which I think is an interesting one.

And reading made me want to write but due to time and all these final papers, I’m trying to conserve - or perhaps just channel- my writing into academia related text only. I have two rants but they will have to be split up into two posts; I only have time to write one for now.

I really hate when straight men and women are talking and all they do is talk about how lucky a straight woman is to have found a “good man”. “He’s so nice and it’s so hard to find a good man these days and he’s so aware” or “he’s so progressive and liberal and talented” or “You’re so lucky to have grabbed a man like that - I bet he treats you so well and respects you so much”, etc. etc.

Recently I find myself hearing this - let me rewind, taking notice of this more than usual. And it pisses me off to no end. I know I’ve done it and now I refrain at all costs because you know what? Those women that you’re calling lucky? They are the amazing ones - the good ones, the talented, liberal, progressive ones and a man who is able to be a part of that woman’s life - he is the ‘lucky one’. Let’s stop lowering the bar for “good men” and “nice guys”  and remember that recognizing privilege is great but it is not something you should be throwing doggie treats at, particularly not at the expense of disempowering a woman. I’m so tired of hearing people glorify men who are accredited for being progressive when they are aware but constantly silent; for being “aware” when they are “nice”, for being “quiet and mysterious” when they can afford to be because they are men.

My dear friend was dating a man on campus and she got that all the time. How fortunate she was to be “chosen” or whatever entitled term to be in a relationship with such a progressive straight white man. To her: I’m so sorry I fed into that - I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to catch myself everytime I glorified his choice over yours.

I don’t know how I feel about writing a post on body image, but I’ll keep it personal and refrain from speaking of it generally. My whole life I’ve always been described as “skinny”, “really thin” - who “eats like a bird”, who is asked about my eating habits and health. Doctors have referred to my body in one particular way: “slightly above average in height and slightly below average in weight”.

Let me sidebar here and say a couple of things. Talking about my body, about thinness, about health — those are all privileges that I have - things I can think about pretty frequently, even amidst other issues. I spent a little too much time looking at Indian Barbie dolls and got too disappointed when I was unable to find an abundance of body image or disordered eating sites for women of color, let alone South Asian women. This post isn’t about fixing that, of course. It’s just…here.

I’ve gained some weight in the last 4 months. More and more I find myself studying or sitting in class and habitually poking my waist. I can go minutes at a time before I realize why my other hand isn’t free to do anything else. It isn’t that I never talked or thought about weight before - I grew up with my mother’s stories about constantly being heckled by everyone in her family because she was a “chubby tomboy” - how was she going to find a husband, how was she going to settle down, what would she look like at the wedding. I watch her struggling to pursue a healthy body versus a seemingly healthy image. My mother is an amazing woman. But that is entirely another post.

I went shopping today and I thought of this binary that is being created in mainstream body image discourse for women (white women actually because who the hell is talking about women of color - yeah that’s right. no one.) - either it’s what I’m used to seeing on television or in movies: really thin really white women or ambiguously ethnic but still fair women and the occasional thin black woman who is super feminine, etc. etc. And then on the other hand there’s this “love your body for what it is”-Dove campaignesque-clothes for all sizes attempt to counteridentify.

So I stopped in the size of the store that I am used to stopping in and suddenly realized - I hate this. I hate shopping by number and feeling like I’m somehow “losing” if the jeans I try on don’t fit. I just want comfortable jeans made for long legs that don’t let my full ass hang out of the top of them! So I did. Ok, no it wasn’t the most accomplished thing I’ve done, no it wasn’t world peace. But dammit, I put on those jeans that were 3 sizes larger than what I’d been wearing 4 months ago and I felt great - I could breathe I could start going from victim to system blame and tell myself that I’m ok. And just because no one is validating this brown skin and this large butt and these small breasts and these thick thighs and thin ankles and awkward shaped nose, nothing is going to keep me from feeling inadequate anymore. And that. felt. awesome.

I’ve only written one postcard to postsecret, despite my many secrets. And it said: I got over you because I was tired of feeling ugly.

Finally I can start feeling good about myself without being driven by someone else.

So I bought 2 pairs of jeans that accommodated this working-class pocket and decided that even though it isn’t a new year, it doesn’t mean I can’t resolve to take care of myself, and remember that self-affirmation is so much a part of feeling loved.

So, my last post on Oriental Barbie was wonderfully expanded upon by tekanji over at shrub.com.
For my feminist theory class, we were reading a passage from Grewal and Kaplan’s “Scattered Hegemonies” that problematized the binary of “global” and “local”. Using Barbie as an example, questions were posed as to why Barbie is sold in India but not Cabbage Patch dolls - why only North Indian clothes are put on Barbies, not South Indian. Why Barbie is dressed in “traditional” clothes, but Ken remains in Western clothing. Clearly, I have to read the full essay that answers these questions. And when I find time, I will.

What more is there to say? I’ve become slightly obsessed over the way Barbie is represented in India. Let’s make a bit of a comparison, shall we?

“This Collector Edition Barbie^® doll wears a traditional costume from far away India. Her modern, Indian sari is a rich, fuchsia color, accented with a beautiful shawl. Her accessories include delicate golden sandals, long drop earrings and a simple hand ring. From her thick, braided hair to her distinctive make-up, she’s a classic Indian beauty.” - Dolls of the World website

This particular Indian Barbie was released in 1996 in the U.S. Isn’t that interesting? Look at her. She looks pretty brown to me. Yes, she still is not representative of the majority of Indian women, but what Barbie is representative of any woman? She’s actually wearing a sari, and it isn’t showing off every part of her body. Granted, the little Taj Mahel in the back is just tacky, but look at it compared to the Diwali Barbie.

Wow. Look at that close up. She kind of resembles Aishwarya Rai.

I’m going to go to worse before I go to somewhat better. Sirindia.com posted this up - apparently there is a series of Barbies released in India called “Barbie in India”. The description on a couple of sites that sells the doll reads (are you ready?): “Barbie dressed in traditional Indian attire. Barbie comes to India & falls in love with the Indian way of dressing.” Try to picture what that means and then let’s take a look at the doll itself:

Wow Barbie - You sure loved more than the clothes! You even managed to find someone to dye your hair black!

I will say this. The relationship between local and global, and what is the global and local in each context is, hell, I’ll say it: fascinating. The Diwali Barbie sells the exotic to a Western society eager to be a part of the foreign mystery that is India and the Indian woman. It sells Barbie as the United States has understood it with an “ethnic twist”. And I’m not denying that there are Indian families who are so happy to have a Diwali Barbie to buy their young girl - disidentification is part of the process. Barbie as an entity is able to sell purely on this idea of disidentification. I owned a couple of Barbies when I was young - I cut their hair, I put them in toilet-paper saris. I couldn’t identify but I couldn’t not identify - I tailored the norm out of desperation in wanting to be normal. To be the socialized ideal.

I don’t know when there will be a time where Barbie’s representation of South Asia will stop being problematic, and that’s because Barbie is a problem, period.

photos from: www.zilltech.com/, lildolly.bloxode.com, and www.alltimegifts.com

Just writing a little note to you to say a few things. I know I’ve mentioned you in previous posts regarding the language used to describe you as well as how they seem to have made a mini-Ash version of you in the new Diwali Barbie. But in the last 48 hours your name is the reason why my blog has suddenly received so many visitors. According to my blog stat search results, it seems everyone is dying to know if you’re going to marry your celebrity friend Abhishek Bachchan, now that you’ve recently made a new bollywood film with him. I have to say, it’s a good thing you’re considered one of the most (if not the) most beautiful women in the world - I should be grateful, considering you’re Indian.

Let’s talk about that for a second though shall we? Umrao Jaan, eh? You went all out thinking you could remake such a classic film and I’m sure everyone was so happy you had the opportunity to replace Rekha. It’s funny because I just saw this movie for a class recently - the original version that is. Seems like a couple of men try to sell her off to a family before a brothel, but you know why they can’t? She’s too dark. They’re more interested in her friend, because she’s fairer.

That’s an interesting dynamic isn’t it? That part of her fate rests in the fact that whiteness is privileged in this context? It sure is a good thing it isn’t now! Oh wait - that’s right, I’m sorry. Your green eyes and white skin probably restricted that theme from coming up in the new movie huh. At least you are vocal about being ashamed that Indian women continue to lighten their skin - hell, you said it on Oprah!

I’m not blaming you, in all honesty. Lord knows you did a great job in Devdas - even your cameo in Bunty Aur Bubli made me hold my breath a little. I’m just resentful about the way you have been manipulated as an icon of foreign and exotic beauty - you are an(other) commodity for the West to exploit and ravish over. You don’t look very Indian, I’m just going to say it. When was the last time a South Indian or a dark-skinned North Indian woman was considered beautiful in Europe or the states? Maybe that woman from America’s next top model. I wonder if she lost the blue contacts (maybe she was influenced by you!), especially after voicing how proud she was to be a dark skinned Indian.

I wish we could sit down, have a nice cup of chai, and talk about where you really stand in all of this. I know your celebrity status and everyone’s obsession with the pale-exotic isn’t your fault - you’re just a good Indian girl on your way to international success. No one can blame you there.

Just remember who you represent, please?Maybe ask an interviewer or two to stop asking you how you feel about beauty and sensuality and the Kama Sutra and switch to..I dont’ know…politics. art. something. The challenges you had to face in becoming Miss World even.

Take care of yourself - I think of you everytime I hear someone talk about how sexy mysterious Indian women are and when I see that Indian barbie with green eyes.

-obw

I just got back from an overnight retreat for work - it turned out to be far better than I thought possible. Granted, it got worse before it got better. I felt very alone - being the only South Asian when I expected there to be a total of five was overwhelming.

I just haven’t been well, I realize.

There isn’t a way for me to start from the beginning but let me say that the semester has been fine. I have a fine routine. And work is hard. And school is hard. And it’s hard to see friends. But it’s all doable and fine.

Every time I have been a little too comfortable with a routine, my routine gets thrown off. Being a big believer of the workings of putting ideas out there, I think it gets thrown off because I leave the door slightly open for chaos to sneak in. So my routine was kicked to the curb a week ago, and I simultaneously arrived at the most stressful part of my semester (that between now and the first week of December).

Routine was found again quicker than I originally anticipated. I have been known to struggle emotionally for months at a time but this time, after this particular detour, I did the most mature thing I could think of. I announced that I was done and didn’t wait around for answers that wouldn’t be clear. Then I walked away from the direction of new beginnings and possibilities and headed back to my fine routine.

And then I realized, I am no longer fine with my fine routine. And it is because I am resentful about the sacrifices I have had to make in order to steadily make it through the year. I am resentful about white people dominating my conversations in class. I am resentful about feeling stupid because I don’t understand theory the way other people do. I am resentful that my work, despite the fact that I am a full-time student, has consumed my energy, emotionally. For what? This is a rhetorical question of course. The “doing your work” that Lorde so consistently refers to is as simple as that. Doing one’s work. And that means struggle and education and sacrifice. What else is there to say?

This. Last week, in the midst of my detouring I made the mistake a woman of color should never do. I let my wall chip away. I let my guard down because I thought that things would work out differently and I ended up feeling stressed and stupid in a pile of rubble.

How does the woman of (an)other color build back her wall? She becomes more bitter, less hopeful, more pained, less inspired, more agitated, less reserved, more thoughtful, less vocal. She turns her sadness into focus, her daydreams into unattainable privileges, her oppressions into new bricks.

And then she remembers that damn right she is going to make people around her work harder to get to know her. Because she has gone too long being walked over, being ignored and silenced - and since such invisibility does not disappear when she steps out into the world, she is entitled to her feelings of skepticism and distrust and her feelings of wanting safety and respect from those that she loves and love her.

Until such a wall is built again, I will, as my mother suggests, “tap into my reserves” - use the last bits of energy I can muster up these days to focus on writing papers and attending meetings. And then I will see where I am at.