tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15077570003795690542024-02-20T06:22:37.006-08:00Agitated AmaranthineFingers clutching end of the world, mi mantita. I read towns like palms. Twisted wrist, soft ache of mans new love, I have nothing to lose but loss itself. Fist curls. Your fuego burns my thumbs. And so I dream of bringing back the 'human' in The Humanities.Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-46859674650546518692012-06-17T17:23:00.003-07:002012-06-17T17:23:59.598-07:00Mujer # 17Because you addressed me<br />
with shrugs, each<br />
arch of back<br />
a warning<br />
<br />
de niña I wanted<br />
only the purpling of lips<br />
insatiably biting<br />
plum flesh<br />
nena<br />
<br />
if only<br />
you understood<br />
the nostalgia<br />
of collateral damage:<br />
bone snapping and<br />
rogue gaps<br />
along fidgets<br />
you too would<br />
lull into my terminal syphon<br />
<br />
rocking, rocking<br />
until spines collide<br />
big bang theory mami<br />
<br />
you a universe of atoms<br />
and i an atom<br />
in your universe.<br />
<br />
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<br />Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-90649011395885673062012-06-12T09:45:00.001-07:002012-06-12T09:45:41.142-07:00Playing Jacks <p class='bloggerplus_text_section' align='left' style='clear:both;'>Because your hands like boats <br>docked into evergreen jumpers<br>and nylon stockings<br><br>Baba didn't tell you so<br>that the multicultural bulletin <br>-shades of tan paper dolls hand in hand<br>were a game of darts.<br><br>That you were just the right shade<br>and the right height to be baby<br>and not a delinquent <br>a vagabond, a loafer.<br><br>That waiting for the bus<br>twirling hair and sucking fingers was<br>not arrestable on the terms of loitering<br>that the road to Winchester Thurston School<br>cut through Black Wilkensburgh<br>Wilkensburgh of cop cars and sirens<br>scraped knee and <i>dawgs</i><br>and drug dogs and Baba<br>was the pack mule and <br>you the cargo<br>the contraband of masala brands<br>that were not quite not white<br>but so close to right.<br><br>Nena he didn't tell you<br>that your nail file was a weapon<br>and playground rounds of cops and robbers<br>was a punishable offense<br>Feds breathing down Mumia's neck<br>when Baba told you speak the truth<br><br>he didn't mean to tell <br>the truth, the whole truth<br>and nothing but the truth<br>hey baby don't lie<br>stick a needle in your eye<br>or tire swing banter.<br><br>When you spoke of Andhra suns<br>and girls under tents<br>you pouted<br>just like you were trained, <i>daahling</i><br>Ms. Dialis smiling, pashmina shrugging<br><br>orientalism was the only drug on the block<br><br>thought it was just all right <br>bros and hos<br>booty shakin' ghetto getup <br>at the school social.<br><br>Nena blinded to the west side<br>school house rocks couldn't be jailhouse rock<br>imprisoned in the privilege<br>of semetrically cut cucumber sandwiches.<br><br>When you were 9<br>cops were your heroes along with mama and baba <br>and the boys on the block<br>who wore baggy clothes as dark as you were<br>in the summer during wintertime<br>were up to something<br><br>not imagining 6 year old Regina<br>was escorted out of class for screaming<br>because she didn't share because<br>you didn't either<br><br>you <br>imprisoned by visions of Amreeka<br>Baba painted for you to protect you<br>from school prisons and prison schools<br>what difference does it make anyway<br>when you are hanging on monkey bars<br>swinging, swinging<br>hiding under jumpers and lace.</p><p class='bloggerplus_image_section'><div class='bloggerplus_image_section' align='left' style='clear:both;'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmYHkfgPnSI3HoXGUe036aLiw6IamuuNH6cuFnyvLXcGFNyNAFQ1NfNidmficLdT0pUmrNKeNctptKLP6Y_mgioxVYQzlB2TeifW1L_9SxVigCR4KMshQ93AYF9RJsrv0iMiv80C5f5s/'></div></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-1322743913153791772012-06-01T09:53:00.001-07:002012-06-01T09:53:52.286-07:00Dear Mr. Republican<br />
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<br /></div>
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I see you across the Mudbox watching me. </div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">See you cross and uncross your legs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It is only out of my vanity do I notice, Mr Republican</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The sweat over your brow</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">the tie around your wrists</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">collars haphazardly pressed</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mr. Republican</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I see your eyes wandering to my ankles</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">noticing the hairs on my shins</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">lace slips between knees, I see the doves in your chest leap. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I see fear in your eyes, make you nervous</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">thought I’d just blend in. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You needed the East through me</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">lauded me for my Bollywood and colors and nuclear deals</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Recognized the only legitimate brown revolution as Gandhi</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">fuck Nagaland, fuck the Naxals</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You forgot the mass burning of White western cloth</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">boycotts as radical- you erased that, forgot about me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Faces interchangeable, masks ready to be torn. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Thought they’d have the same eyes, the same nose</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">same teak wood breasts, same amazon vine arms</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">wrapped around your chest- everywhere women just like me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My eyes burn you. My voodoo doll eyes burn you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My four armed nympho kama sutra goddess eyes burn you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Can’t charm me, can’t charm me</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">can’t bear to know</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">dark shouldered Westerner ‘speak good English too”.</span></div>
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<br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Remember me, Mr. Republican?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Freshmen year, second semester SIS 100</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I bore gifts from Chiapas. Here take this</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">NAFTA signed and kissed besos besos Subcomandante Marcos</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">we don’t need agreements no more in the montanas Mr. Republican</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I watched nudge your twin with plastic pamphador </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“where’d she come from” papi im here to stay. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You’re upset because you confused me</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">for pseudo liberals in navy blue conservative wear. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Assumed my short skirts made me a biddie</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">cant pin me down in your binary</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You gulp, Mr Republican</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">fearing Id start a brown or dyke or even white Revolution</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">cant bear to imagine I pinned shattered mirrors on my chest</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">like Juana Ines de La Cruz</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">turning rubble to rocks to hills again</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">can’t shut me up, cajole me, hold me, seduce me, race me, embrace me</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">tongues click 1 hundred 86 thousand miles per second</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Afraid that my tongue rolls in my mouth </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">REV-VO-LU-TION</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">afraid of the moans and orgasms reached across the table</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">as I read Homi Bhaba, Foucoult, Anthropology as I bounce my knee.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Puzzled I dont grab my uterus in fear </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">as the war against women rages. I smear on war paint,</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">show you my battle scars</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">instead I plan on licking my lips, begging you to resist</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Scared that I measure a man’s balls to the size</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">of my fist. Afraid you won’t size up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Thrusts in the air Im dressed in the words you gave me Mr. Republican. </span></div>
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<br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Thousands of years ago, sky opened up</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">and magma met ocean </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">shrieking lightning bolt screams</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">the earth was borne in 7 days, each day </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">a day of a woman’s cycle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I am nothing but the stuff of big bands</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">diamonds meeting at my thighs.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Humor is all I need- empowerment- a dialectic</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I read the myths on the back of women’s palms</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">tear out the sheets, splatter murals on my back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I want to be the example you give to your children </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">when talking about bad, bad girls.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Im the zapata, the malinche, the mata hari</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">flavored curry you buy at Whole Foods</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We the stuff of Hindu myths are your biggest nightmares</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Revolution, Brother Guevara said, is the most primordial </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">mark of love. So I’m here with love and a condom </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">and a dildo and a drum and a mic</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So I’m ready, Mr. Republican </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">making you nervous, remember my grin</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">purse my lips draw skirt above knees like trees. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Oof Mr. Republican Im ready give me what you got. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Im not easily to please. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-66511698966048372242012-04-25T17:55:00.001-07:002012-04-25T18:35:06.956-07:00play things<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">you poured me cognac<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">just to watch me pull in too-sweet cheeks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">grimaces not supposed to be grimaces<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">tulle skirt slips, bobbing knees<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">unintentioned stiletto cracks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">hallow wind tunnels <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">you make taking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">my hand into your hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">I’ve never trembled<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">like this before<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">-abalone eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">I’ve watched you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">lay into the corners of my lips<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">uncrossing t’s and licking the dots<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">off i’s <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">leaving my tongue deaf<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">and my ears numb<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">you ODB, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shimmy shimmy ya</i>
lovin’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">cool cool cat<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">“too cool 4 skool-mann”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">I almost believed it:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">empty notebooks, pens hollow,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">Crime and Punishment buried under towels<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">I forgot why the longing <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">in your limbs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">the cigarette silence<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">shoes by the door<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">nene<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">I want to <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">resurrect men sculpted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">from torn sheets of music<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">rub my eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">tell them- read<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">the neon mascara psalms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">hidden in my fists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">break the teeth, snap the bone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">pin the shattered mirror<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">to my chest<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">Juana Ines de La Cruz<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">they call me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">but you’d chuckle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">almost knocked off the bench<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">careful<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">the cig will scorch your thigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-size: 11pt;">ya allah</span></i><span style="color: #262626; font-size: 11pt;"> are you
ever still<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">cachinnation clinks glass<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-size: 11pt;">shimmy
shimmy</span></i><span style="color: #262626; font-size: 11pt;"> shaking<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">politely I sip, pursing merengue lips<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: #262626; font-size: 11pt;">watch me pucker, let it slip.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EOU9ElAVe1TdBaaDg2rye2WDmrmq5guewBE-rJguL4CtccKtTbS2kIf91K7sfXz36KBfdJKovH_gbIKfeG0qQJcNkRikbMI7SuSk2zQbOITE20rdcgXu58AR8-28mqajMRiLJdE5lyQ/s1600/derain.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EOU9ElAVe1TdBaaDg2rye2WDmrmq5guewBE-rJguL4CtccKtTbS2kIf91K7sfXz36KBfdJKovH_gbIKfeG0qQJcNkRikbMI7SuSk2zQbOITE20rdcgXu58AR8-28mqajMRiLJdE5lyQ/s320/derain.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-56162366200550397822012-03-20T11:21:00.002-07:002012-03-20T11:30:11.611-07:00Blend No. 27sI smoked cigarettes for you<br />stuttering and stumbling<br />aware of cilia crushing fires<br />that chained and arrested me like<br />a dominatrix cop<br /><br /><em>creo en dios pero hice en malas cosas</em><br />I believe in gods but do bad things<br /><br />I<br />disguised coughs as chuckles<br />you mistook clumsy (a)diction<br />for femme female,<br />plumes curling<br />down opened white collared shirts<br /><br />you held my hand<br />showing me off, my red herring lips<br />pursed- you were so so proud<br /><br />7 minutes gone<br />the PSAs scolded us<br />7 minutes you<br />puffed, sighing<br />7 minutes saved<br />aside for me.<br /><br />What I loved about smoking<br />was the sudden gasp<br />escaping your chest<br /><br />-dropping beer bottles on sidewalk<br />-cold hands, canvas, bare back<br />-skirt slips and arm twist<br /><br />I loved<br /><br />that your lips turned grey<br />and your voice wary, caresses<br />in the folds of your face.<br /><br />Mama warned me to stop smoking<br />why I wheezed<br />“you look like a bitch”<br />but<br /><br />you found<br />the <em>chingada</em> <em>puta</em> in me beautiful,<br />dressed my thorn crown<br />lit black candles and silk scarves<br />immolation was never so sweet.<br /><br />Clouds and clouds<br />you lost sight<br />of furrowed brow and sweat<br />smudged kohl<br />and overlooked<br />yellowing cotton<br />eyes glossing, no oxygen<br /><br />in our dizziness<br />we breathed intifada kisses<br />in a mutual martyrdom <br />communion nonetheless<br /><br />you left to go inside for a jacket<br />“its chilly” you waved<br />the pack still gripped into my arm<br /><br /><em>nene</em>, <em>lo</em> <em>siento</em><br />I smoked them all.Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-73326315032883660502012-03-14T22:35:00.005-07:002012-03-16T13:16:36.652-07:00Weights<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span" >In the midst of cotton nights<br />he moaned across the ocean<br />screeching for the hem<br />of mama Sosa’s sleeve<br /><br />reminiscing a translucent gesture<br />opaque in the confines of his skull<br /><br />I held on for dear life, <i>quierdo</i><br />like sun-dried mud caked under your empty kophers<br />to imagine, to imagine<br /><i>te quería mas de piel mia</i><br /><br />mine.<br /><br />tears that fed trees like milk, calcium<br />grows twigs resilient to piercing greys<br />your eyes never left Sugatra<br />as you peered into me<br />and into effervescent currents<br /><br />claiming that blind, dumb salamanders<br />were your only reality<br /><br />poor poor <i>niño</i><br />and I mean it like you, your people do:<br />noting the slight boy <i>najwa</i> in his eyes<br />water in his waist, stickiness<br />across fingernails<br />hesitant of the rushes you cause<br />as your toes spread in terra cotta<br />clotted earth.<br /><br /><i>mi amor, nada siempre jamas.</i><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />I still cross the same lines<br />you planted<br />into my palm<br />amongst kisses and slight pinches that<br />held the woman inside of me<br />hostage, captive in a cage<br /><br />and<i> habibi</i><br /><br />how I yearned<br />to pull her out by her hair<br />shaking and shrieking<br />in fright,<br />embarrassment , silent<br />excitement<br /><br />to sharpen knives in her teeth<br />and rest her assassin hand<br />between shoulder blades you call home, where<br />blood damns into tributaries<br />beneath peach-blue stretched sky.<br /><br />Trust me <i>puto</i><br /><br />you might as well have the privilege of knowing:<br />I rub the phantom grease<br />off my chin and moan.<br />Clean apron, hunger knife<br /></span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 100%; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span" >you beautiful , beautiful brute<br /><br /><i>ai nene</i><br /><br />to believe the buds in your britches<br />once bucked and bolted<br />against the breaks in my hips.<br /><br />to know the sight of<br />purple breasts<br />caused you to cower<br /><br />but that’s ok because<br />even the most famous artists<br />blush<br />in front of rigid earth, unfinished business.<br /><br />Romance prevails reality intrudes<br />wasn’t it after all <i>sadhana</i><br />that saved my astringent soul?<br /><br />pulling stems from Abrahamic wool<br /><br />I slouch<br />and sigh<br /><br />I have nothing more in my pockets<br />but seeds for the small birds<br />tucked in your chest<br /><br /><i>te quiero<br />te quería<br />te quiero nunca jamas</i>. </span></span></span></div><div><span ><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXRk9ULTPE3kxoOdDJ9FBsnnqpsJWysx-dHe2WcZ5PlX_depNI5Cpa9TD_I9gJE1LlnRbb0IQFs3xXLw_Q7hFynQIYl7HjsTWkIqAmuAfc-4Ez7GzJ9ia83SlNFm7UU-3wolWcXRuKzw/s400/CGAmainLRG.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720590729350237186" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 400px; " /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; "><span >Dedication: To a boy-man (something like that) who halfway forgot his mission as his hands ran up my pleated skirt. Be forewarned nena. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal; "><div></div></div></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-32557429503324017402012-03-13T09:43:00.007-07:002012-03-13T11:06:35.347-07:00The Origins of EarthBillions of years ago, in the folds of pangea<div>Mama said lovers are like limestone</div><div>-one move and they will crash.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I fear your palms</div><div>wandering </div><div>into mine like boats</div><div>my own fingers grow warm, river</div><div>waves seethe in the tips</div><div>your hand slides under worn</div><div>worn thighs</div><div><br /></div><div>little did I know</div><div>my breath against pueblo kneck </div><div>caused sinewy curve</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll take you to zion</div><div><br /></div><div>but realize brutish beauty</div><div> was to my side all along:</div><div>sedimentary chest molds as</div><div>rain drop tips the end</div><div>you dissolve slowly</div><div><br /></div><div> into me</div><div>river sway, pebbles afloat to aquatic </div><div>floor, tucking</div><div>waxing-waning. Winds coo</div><div>against your walls</div><div>I carve you</div><div>until creek and chisel</div><div>merge</div><div><br /></div><div>but earth shifts beneath feet</div><div>my brackish waters fall</div><div>into tierras womb</div><div>you, across the ocean </div><div> stone crevices yearning damp skin</div><div><br /></div><div>you crumble into yourself. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqoNnic7__9um-w5rjCk_s7WJ8p3TxgLglgcOqHX2p2kDAs3NFD8_VhYnB4qdYwIqpoRJuISAPqePndixDrzLRzk_V1xSW_mIGK1QQJn-TE6E7p18wHDc0yidL736IKtV6Nhv_A883oI/s400/Zion-national-park.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719429702834367554" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-80136737059570602172011-11-03T23:03:00.000-07:002011-11-03T23:04:58.135-07:00social media analysis- will this change india?<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bOAIr0Nd0Ac" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div><br /></div><div>MOVEMENT FOR TRANSPARENCY!!!!</div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-58422148672149294662011-10-26T18:07:00.000-07:002011-10-26T18:08:22.240-07:00Comparing two of India's "non-partisan' news sources on Hazare.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9p6Y4ZW5B_MR3egI2fBnUfd5VkShI2pUBLGT0Ajdgg5QhvXVGEdK7-kjbhRuA9o2YNxJ-pPT0Ejk9xRu_vQxakgWGaiEUIXKj2D3ckvvTH0gVsM4BOykf3tpLf53Q6422U7VytGSPxo/s1600/bias.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9p6Y4ZW5B_MR3egI2fBnUfd5VkShI2pUBLGT0Ajdgg5QhvXVGEdK7-kjbhRuA9o2YNxJ-pPT0Ejk9xRu_vQxakgWGaiEUIXKj2D3ckvvTH0gVsM4BOykf3tpLf53Q6422U7VytGSPxo/s400/bias.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667972436339298418" /></a><br /><div>Hmm.... </div><div><br /></div><div>Comments?</div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-62839358383487973802011-10-23T19:59:00.000-07:002011-10-23T20:19:04.909-07:00Neem Green, Bitter-Sweet: India and a verdant revolution.<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-size: medium; " ><span>Tata and I stood amongst slender green stalks of pearl millet, each yellow head bowing against my waist. “Chatlu Raktham Thagtundhi”. </span><span><i>The plants drink blood. </i></span><span>I watched him, head low, millet in palm. </span><span><i>There was another suicide in Kahjada Appa’s field. </i></span><span>He looked out over my gaze. </span><span><i>They found him, his tongue discolored from the chemical fertilizer. </i></span><span>He looked</span><span><i> </i></span><span>over the swaying grain. </span><span><i>The fifth this month. </i></span><span>He looked to a silhouette of a bending women placing seed to earth. </span><span><i>Bhoomi padipoyindi. </i></span><span>So the earth fell.</span></span></div><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" ><br /></span></span></span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1oBCVIUvxkcCosqeFycUtHl6nINhPSu3b8k-3YmhZTyQIVMRCzFi126sqyeWBfg5zY_elExiUEnHMvHJkepEUgKlpxjbWFK_sRUiV-9-nhsqIviT7V7bJ9bvHCHOfL08U_kPs_oZR_4/s320/Screen+shot+2011-10-23+at+11.08.47+PM.png" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666892113154960066" /> <p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent">India’s Green Revolution stands to be one of the most controversial development schemes. As national leadership such as Prime Minister Manmohan Singh laud the Green Revolution (Times of India), a diverse amalgamation of farmers, activists, and NGOs disagree over its impact on rural communities in India. Out of the debate influenced by development discourse, and colonial/ national agenda for rural development, several contested theories emerge and collide, overlapping and exposing postulations of identity and questions about development. In the book <u>Post-Colonial Development: Agriculture and the Making of Modern India</u> by Dr. Akhil Gupta,</span></span></span><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent">we explore the complexity of rural Indian identity and ‘unbundle’ the <span >imperatives of market prices, scientific technology, “indigenous” knowledge, societal hierarchy, and development. By analyzing theories such as Development Discourse and Colonial/ Nationalistic recuperation of “indigenous” through development, Gupta suggests that the very identity of rural farmers of India is dualistic and encompassing of much more than what leading theories of development perceive. Through post-colonial theory, Gupta suggests, we are able to discuss the duality of rural Indian practices</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">of agriculture during the mass-utilization of hybrid seeds and chemical fertilizers as well as unbundle social, political, and cultural complexities that arise from that duality.</span></span></p> <p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="text-align: left;margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">According to Gupta, the purpose of his book in his words is “an attempt to draw together disparate events, contexts, and levels of analysis to think precisely of the overlaps between the discourses and actions </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">surrounding biodiversity of some Indian farmers and the cerebral machinations of highly placed politicians and bureaucrats acting on the world’s stage” (327). By his thesis, Gupta has illustrated his point through ethnographic analysis as well as theory to offer an alternative narrative to (under)development and the global order. Gupta constructs the“post-colonial” reality of farmers through analyzing agricultural methods of farmers influenced by factors such as market prices and bank loans to illustrate a duality of rural Indian identity.</span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" > In the following reflection I will describe and support his line of thought through a case study that evaluates techniques of India’s Green Revolution and descibe Colonial/ Nationalistic perception of the “indigenous,” Development Discourse, as well as post-colonial rhetoric to challenge historically dominant paradigms. In conclusion, I will then suggest as the beneficial implications for framing the dilemma of the green revolution in terms of post-colonial theory by drawing attention to the structural violence that stems from conflicting theories which have enabled for the inability of social mobility and the ‘underdevelopment’ of post-colonial India.</span></span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent">Akhil Gupta, before illustrating the post-colonial duality of rural identity and its value as an alternative theory to the paradigms of development, begins by describing the two historic trends that have influenced development in India. To understand the theories of development, Gupta explores how colonial powers, nation-states, and liberal institutions have viewed developing the “indigenous”. Gupta begins by discussing colonial notions of “indigenous”. India, according to Gupta, was seen as a static society that was both primitive yet naive by Colonial powers. India was either seen as a civilization that needed its culture to be preserved like an artifact buried in a hall of antiquities (Orientalist</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">s) or, according to Anglicists, India “was regarded as a native civilization with disdain” (170). The colonial perspective, either the Oriental or Anglicist notions of the “indigenous” does not take into consideration the societal hierarchy that stratifies India. This point segments into Gupta’s analysis of Nationalistic recuperation of “indigenous communities.” As colonial rhetoric did not draw attention to the changing demographics in India during colonial rule. Gupta quotes Homi Bhaba who so eloquently coins the term “not quite/ not white”. Indian elitists that were too brown to be considered “anglo” yet at the same time these elitists were too “westernized” to be ‘authentic’ natives (170).</span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" >After the Colonial power lost its control over India and the new democracy was able to establish itself, developing the ‘backward’ was certainly of interest of the Indian government. These ‘backward’ people, as the famous post-colonial scholar Partha Chaterjee states, was a convulsion of lower castes and obscure tribal people who were “ considered savage, simple, and primitive.” Although a diverse group with very little in common, these tribes and castes were placed in the broad category known as scheduled tribe and the Indian government felt that it was in need of uplifting (171). This is the foundation for Gupta’s grouping of Colonial and National recuperation as one. Gupta states that although Colonialism and Nationalism are two different political entities, even quite conflicting as illustrated by India’s history, both political constructs have viewed “indigenous” in the same way as a people that is in constant need of saving and liberation through development because as their ascribed identity as an antithesis to ‘high culture’ in what ever way that is defined by the theories(172).</span></span></span></p><p></p> <p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "> <span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" >Like Colonial/ Nationalistic recuperation to the ‘indigenous’ is constructed out of the constant need of salvation for the other, Development Discourse also strives to do the same but outside the confines of colonial or national boundaries. Liberal institutions like the World Bank tend to confuse the difference between ‘indigenous’ and ‘local’. The “indigenous” are fetishized for their so-called naturalistic insight into the protection of the environment and written about as keepers of the fate of the natural world (178). Gupta quotes one of the most famous post-colonial scholars of all in refuting the theory: Gayatri Spivak: “I cannot understand what indigenous theory there might be that can ignore the reality of nineteenth-century history... To construct indigenous theories one must ignore the last few centuries of historical involvement (178).</span></span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I certainly agree with Gupta’s description of past theories and the words of both with Bhaba and Spivak on the dynamic nature of culture. The fact that the previously mentioned theories assumed that the “indigenous” was static and unchanging illustrated the ethnocentricity of each theories’ recognition of the other and how to change them through development.</span> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">A theory like post-colonialism, however, does not see culture as static, but a fluid duality imprinted with historical, cultural, and political significance. Post-colonialism unbu</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">ndles not only the dilemma between “indigenous” and “modernity” but also social hierarchies established by religion (caste system) as well as a global hierarchy of what constitutes as ‘underdeveloped’. The other theories mentioned then refuted by Gupta see development as a positive influence on the “indigenous” population (however the theory defines the ‘other’ to be). Gupta illustrates this throughout the book. One example, however, gets at the very essence of the complexities of the Green Revolution- not only agronomically and ecologically, but also socio-economically and culturally. In this case study, we understand how post-colonial rhetoric allows deconstruction of development and enables us to distinguish underdevelopment conceptually.</span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" >According to Gupta’s interviews, the farmers of Alipur prefer desi wheat for its taste, color, and fine quality. But if selecting this organic, indigenous seed, the farmers must face the following restrictions: 1. the wheat takes longer to grow and might not be ready for harvest for the second round of sowing crop. 2. chemical fertilizers can not be used on desi wheat because it is too tender and would perish under the harsh chemicals. So then the desi wheat would need natural fertilizer (cow manure) in order to mature but it is not so readily available. 3. desi seed is expensive to purchase. Poor farmers rely on loans in order to purchase not only desi seed but the high yielding seed and chemical fertilizer. The bank allows the farmers to take hefty loans while the bank has a collection of selected dealers on hand for the farmers to invest in. These dealers have old seeds. Thus, the farmers find themselves in a vicious cycle of debt because often the old seeds fail and the farmers purchase more and more fertilizer, thinking that thee seeds will grow. If the farmer can not pay his debt in time, the local bureaucracy will repossess his land. The farmer then feels pressure to make his pay and can not take time for the slower desi wheat to cultivate.</span></span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" ><br /></span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKmNe0NygMo5yqC2_kGvQWCfXwd3SQ90bRYzHlkGZlw8uhOIDhKwwa6D38_hTOAuJmixOlgTyVG3xQy4i5CbTIIMABtl_CkzPEB9yJRdbKl6FcbJnb4sjBL9e8pG-RKvZZqxTRL_PGBE/s320/Screen+shot+2011-10-23+at+11.11.44+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666891482801856114" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 192px; " /></div> <p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "> <span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent">This example under the post-colonial lens is riddled with dualities. F</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">irstly, when Gupta asked the farmers how they would fertilize their fields, the farmers would constantly switch between scientific terms such as ‘petrochemical’ as well as humeral Ayurvedic notions of agronomy such as ‘drink’ and ‘thrive’ and ‘breathe’. Here we see a duality that is not mentioned in the other two theories because of their perception that the other is static, or when ‘developed,’ is choosing one over the other as development is seen as change to ‘modernity’. But here Gupta has clear ethnographic insight on how farming in Alipur does not conform to the descriptions of “traditional” or “western” but rather a duality of both. Secondly, this narrative </span><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent">demonstrates that there is a hierarchy among farmers. Some can afford the desi wheat while others can not. Those who can not have no other option but to purchase the hybrid seeds in order to make a living. Even though they do not prefer the hybrid wheat to the desi wheat. This sets up up for point three. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Thirdly- under the post-colonial lens, a structural disequilibrium is present. The persistent local government about exact and on-time payments illustrate the tension that poor farmers face. Their decisio</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">n of seed is not based off of preference, rather, it is by the structural, societal, economic, and cultural restraints placed on him that influence him to purchase hybrid seeds. These are seeds that do not reproduce, illustrating the deep roots of structural violence in the bank-dealer-bureaucracy triangle. Where does the farmer go from here?</span></span></p> <p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "> <span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" >In my state of India, Karnataka, a state in the ‘suicide belt of India’ due structural violence from the (under)development of the Green Revolution, the small town of Raichur, my ancestral town where the fields were once my blankets, became graves. When I visited Raichur last January, ten farmers had committed suicide that month out of the inability to pay their cavernous debts. My grandfather, mayor of the town, grew alarmed and called for a town meeting. Although he understood that the situation was complex because of the inability for farmers to pay off debts and beat the vicious cycle, he could not ignore the 17, 368 farmers across five states who turned to suicide the year before. He called for a town meeting. Farmers from all over the province came to speak of the difficulties of farming and dealing with adamant bureaucratic officials. By unbundling the complexities of a dire and desperate situation, the community of farmers has gotten stronger and is working to mobilize with other villages in the area.</span></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; " ></span><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent">Through a grassroots, dialogue-based campaign amongst the villages, hidden towns like Raichur may be able to find support in those outside its walls. The very self-awareness of a previously unknown phenomena through deconstructing the complexities of underdevelopment is the first step to any attempt of social mobility- regardless of structural violence. </span></span></span> </span></p> <p lang="en-US" align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "> <span ><span ><span style="background: transparent" >---</span></span></span></p><p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span style="background: transparent"><span >These farmers are not benefiting from development instilled by liberal and national policies. Rather, due to the deconstructing nature of post-colonial theory, we are able to evaluate whether the development policies of the Green Revolution are helpful or harmful to a rural community like India. Thus, from an anthropological perspective, the Green Revolution, although produces high crop yield, is a damaging system to a large majority due to the structural violence within the process of acquiring seed for cultivation to grow food. By framing development in post-colonial terms, we can now articulate the positives and negatives of the Green Revolution. Post-colonialism as a lens to analyze the Green Revolution can instill change in the hands of those who unbundle the complexities of such a dilemma. It is what individuals like Vandana Shiva and the farmers of Karnataka and my grandfather who utilize it in order to communicate intellectually, eloquently, and cultural-competently in order to contest neo-liberal structures and the Indian government. </span></span></span> </span></p> <p lang="en-US" align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCO-xqyvpz6UTUp7xmhE9Lkl2ecQLJGRvVIlG6w6zbVvky2vMsbSDnRB9_V0Zvim2MJm9SQ_7P_J5gljR68tooztSq36_j0iRpdPtPbdcSX5Bt4n0PJ1Hq9EeaOxgtH3Yc3t5jBmDsOa0/s320/Screen+shot+2011-10-23+at+11.07.58+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666890199395778098" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /> <p lang="en-US" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "> <span class="Apple-style-span" ><span ><span ><span style="background: transparent"><i>Tata </i><span style="font-style: normal">I greeted him on the phone, imagining him in a soft cotton </span><i>lungi</i><span style="font-style: normal">, shoulders dark from the sun, seed by seed. “Andaru vastunaru”. </span><i>They are coming. </i><span style="font-style: normal">I imagined him tying a </span><i>dhoti </i><span style="font-style: normal">around his head like the other farmers to stay cool from the heat. The town meeting would be a large fair: poppy-colored tents enveloping men who peppered in the words </span><i>nitrates </i><span style="font-style: normal">and </span><i>irrigation </i><span style="font-style: normal">in sentences, curling them</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal">between thick telugu words while sipping chai. “Ra ma ra.”</span><i>Come.</i><span style="font-style: normal"> And so I was with him, smiling through the phone, organizing one after one like pearl millet steady swaying in the wind. </span><i>Bhoomi Bhangaru. </i><span style="font-style: normal">Precious Earth. </span></span></span></span> </span></p> <p lang="" align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-inside: auto; widows: 2; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; page-break-before: auto; page-break-after: auto; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><br /></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-38387204426448083092011-08-04T21:44:00.000-07:002011-08-04T22:26:14.137-07:00Office Tigress: The Cosmopolitan Indian Woman under the Sari<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;font-size:12px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">S</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">tiletto heels click against the dust covered path. She checks her silver watch and turns to me. “We need to walk faster! It is 5! I must help Mama for dinner!” She begins to walk quickly, her grey pleated skirt swinging faster, and then she begins to jog. A young man in a navy blazer waves at her; she waves back and yells “I hope you complete the report!” he nods and she keeps running. The packed bus waits in front of her and she climbs on with the assistance of young women in pencil skirts and men in suits. The bus speeds forward, barely missing a street cow crossing the bustling Bangalore road. I watch Shravanthi pull out a compact mirror and eyeliner and draw a dot above her brow. The college day has come to a close. Tradition takes over by night fall.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54UnIhcxkGl6S1ap6RQ_nMgsJkCULoI9zFwxotGbJYUFvzGZKFKoMNY0i2sQ5LtesYNjU1_Xo3MEFjRLsNFs5Fp9c-GfCgroaTSRFMC6Mkfo3AgnwX9kRWbYBUCHp5hi-bHmxPjNjlX4/s320/chitra-ganesh-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637237083261951218" /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">India is the land of promise. With a population of more than 1.8 bill</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ion people (CIA World Fact Book 2011) and a growing educated middle class, India is one of the best countries for business. In fact, Samuel J. Palmisino, the CEO of IBM and 2011 Forbes Person of the Year (largest outsourcer to India) is quoted for saying that: “why would you invest in US companies when you can do it with India’s extraordinary talent for a fraction of the price?” (Youtube Technology, Innovation, and Deficit Reduction 2011). The CEO speaks the truth. With few governmental regulations, bright, agitated, and eager college graduates from illustrious institutions, and low cost of living, India makes the perfect country for outsourcing. According to research compiled by the esteemed Software Training Company RTTS, an estimated 47 billion dollars have been generated due to outsourcing and the IT boom in India (as of 2007), and it is estimated that an additional 1.3 million jobs will be transferred from US and UK to India and other eastern countries (RTTS 2010).</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Since the late 1990’s India’s IT boom has attracted the attention of the first world. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">Cities such as Bangalore (the birthplace of the IT boom) and Hyderabad, once small cities, have become sprawling metropolises with skyscrapers and the richest industries claiming the best and brightest youth in India. Men and women who were once wearing saris and dhotis now carry brief cases and wear ties and suits. Western dress has become the uniform of the growing middle class. But India, not only the nation of potential affluence, is also a land of rich history, diversity, and culture. Traditionally, strict gender roles and conduct were followed by men and women regardless of religion, caste, creed, region, or ethnicity. “Working is a luxury” my mother says as she boils my father’s evening tea. “We were raised to be good wives. To be support.” But since the IT Boom, more and more women have attended business, computer, and management classes than ever before. According to a study in BusinessWeek, 42.6% of college students in India are women (BusinessWeek 2011). Hindustan Times reports that there has been a 70% increase of females attending college in India and 122% increase of women enrolling as engineering majors since the beginning of the Indian IT boom of 1998(Hindustan Times 2010). But college women face a culture clash: Western ambitions versus Eastern traditions. The conflicting ideals of these ‘worldviews’ have created an interesting identity of young Indian female students and professionals.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As globalization, according to anthropologists Emily A. Schultz and Robert H. Lavenda is the “reshaping of local conditions by powerful global forces on an ever-intensifying scale” (Lavenda and Shultz 2009: 358), young Indian middle class women have formed a dynamic and sometimes conflicted dual identity that is influenced by Western ideals in some environments but adheres to familial obligations of traditional engendered conduct. Whenever I visit my cousin sister Shravanthi in Bangalore, I realize that her position as an Indian woman is more complex that it seems. Like most college students in India, Shravanthi lives with her family.</span></span><span style="font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Shravanthi is twenty years old and is completing her final year of a B-Comm degree. This is the Indian equivalent of a bachelor’s degree in Business Management. She is an office tigress, a well-educated young Indian woman who is determined that one day she will work for an affluent American company after her education. On the prowl, Shravanthi like many female college students in India, prowls and strives for academic and professional success in a once male-dominated world. But she realizes that although she has the opportunity to compete and make her dreams a reality, she must also come to terms that her joint family also ascribes duties for her that she cannot ignore. This is a woman’s journey of cultural hybridity: dowries, dollars, and dating. Welcome to India. Watch your step. You never know who you will be walking into. </span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It is seven in the morning. Shravanthi pulls on her tie as Latha the maid hands her a stainless steel cup of coffee. Shravanthi’s mother boils rice for breakfast in the kitchen while readjusting her sari as my uncle sits at the table, </span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Times of India</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> in one hand, coffee in another. “Today I have class at 9. But I am getting ready earlier because mom wanted me to bring some lentils from the bazaar”. Shravanthi gulps the coffee, waves to her father, and takes the scooter keys from the table. “I will be back!” she calls as she runs down the stairs. She is greeted by our grandfather who lives on the first floor of the bungalow. “</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Yakaada eltunavu?”</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">our </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">tata</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> asks her. “Bazaar</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, tata” </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">she responds in Telugu in a hushed voice as she lowers her eyes, a female custom of respect. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Tata </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">then asks Shravanthi to bring a jasmine garland for </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Nainama </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">our grandmother for her daily prayers. He hands her a 1 rupee coin and Shravanthi tucks the money into her pocket. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">“Vastanu, Tata</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">” she bows and he nods in agreement. We ride the scooter into the busy streets amongst </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">riksha</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">s</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">(three wheeled taxis) carrying children in uniforms to classes, fancy sports cars driven by professional men in suits, and tea </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">wallahs </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">selling hot cups on bicycles. Shravanthi is not the only woman dressed in a skirt and tie. Next to us, two girls on a scooter race past, holding their skirts down as they navigate. When we arrive at the bazaar, we stop in front of a tall building surrounded by motor bikes and cars. “This building is full of call centers” Shravanthi said. Next to the entrance of the building, the lentil </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">wallah </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">sells split peas, lentils, and pulses. As Shravanthi haggles with the seller, I watch two women in suits buy a jasmine garland and tuck the parcel under their arm as they walk into the call center building. Perhaps the women will use the garland for a statue within the office. I ask Shravanthi and she nods. “Yes all offices have deities. Women still pray in the morning. Even if they have work”. We buy a garland as well and hurried home.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">When we arrive, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Nainama </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">takes us to the prayer room and adorns the portrait of Sri Venkateshwara, the household god with the garland. “</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Deva, na pidlu chusko, aya. Munchi abaylu teesko na kutrulu ki, aya” </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">she calls at the pictures as she bows repeatedly. Shravanthi blushes. Our grandmother had prayed that the Lord should bring Shravanthi a good husband to take care of her. As we run upstairs Shravanthi whispers “Shit. I wish she did not do that all the time. It might happen too soon.” Shravanthi hands the bag to her mother and goes to her room. “It is nice that </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Nainama </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">prays for us. But I do not know if I want an arranged marriage” Shravanthi confides in me. She collects her things, it is time for class. </span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As we enter Shravanthi’s university, Dayan Sagar’s College, I understood why. While driving into the parking lot, I realize that every student, female and male, is wearing in western business attire and are intermingling. “Shravanthi!” a boy in black slacks greets her and gives her a hug. “Waqas!” she exclaims. (Hugging publically outside the confines of the college would be considered ‘lewd’ and ‘disturbing’ behavior). “This is my friend Waqas” Shravanthi introduces me. (Note that the mixing of a Hindu woman and Muslim man would be unheard of outside the university environment). We are later surrounded by a mix of Indian women and men who we are laughing and chattering loudly in English. They discuss class assignments and professors’ teaching styles. They gossip about other students and who was secretly dating who (dating is certainly taboo in Indian households). They debate as to which Linkin Park song is better. Some of the girls lean on boys and some boys watch girls in the corner of their eyes as the suited males argue about the Cricket World Cup and puff on cigarettes. But soon the bell rings and it is time for classes. In the classrooms, boys and girls sit next to each other. Shravanthi and I sit next to Waqas and Kumar. Students, Shravanthi once explained to me, are taught not only about economic models and how to understand the stock markets overseas, but also how business culture functions. Shravanthi told me how the professor spoke of efficiency and ‘monochronic time’. He often narrates the fascinating life stories of some of the strongest CEOs such as Indra K. Nooyi (CEO of Pepsi Co) and Irene Rosenfeld (CEO of Kraft Foods). Shravanthi is inspired by the strong women who run multinational corporations. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;font-size:medium;">She aspires to be that one day. She likes what she hears about business culture. “I have the ability to be better than anyone else because I am working at it. I like the idea of a meritocracy. It is free of corruption and unfair privileges some members might receive because of their gender or caste or religion. It seems like the more studying I do, the more I can achieve. It’s in my hands. I like that”. During class, the students compile information for a group project. I watch as boys in suits and girls in skirts debate on this best business plan for a theoretical insurance company. Shravanthi looks so at ease and empowered as she leads her group project. I watch her dynamic hand gestures and her nods as she listens to her classmates. I begin to understand why she loves what she studies: power from self-vigor.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">After class, I ask Shravanthi how she felt about class. “I love it. Business Management is my passion. I love leading people and I feel so independent. I want to make my dreams of working for an American company a reality. I really like my class because I feel that regardless of me being a woman, people will listen to what I have to say because of my intelligence. The competition is fierce. We earn our positions regardless of family background. This is a meritocracy and I like that because I am not placed in a position. People do not tell me what to do or when to do it. I do it because it is my job”. Shravanthi’s face turns grim. “But sometimes I wonder if my dream will come true. You and I and your sister are the only girls in the family. You and your sister live in America so you do not have the same obligations that I have”. I ask her to go on. “</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Nainama </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">expects me to get married to a man from our caste and of our heritage. When I get married, it will be difficult to continue my education and get a job. It is different here, Priyanka. Look at my mom. She married when she was a teenager. It was an arranged marriage and she completed three degrees. But she has a duty to her husband, to her kids, and to her in-laws. She cooks for the joint family. One day, that could be me”. I realize that Shravanthi has more at stake than Waqas or Kumar in her class. Not only did she have to compete with her classmates, she has to compete with time and tradition. But although her future of education might halt, for now she has the freedom of a student and professional. Shravanthi turns to me as I think about what she had just said. “Enough of this heavy talk. Let us get coffee!”</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">- - -</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Café Coffee Day is the most popular café franchise in India. Established in </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">1998 (the same year of the birth of the IT Boom), the chic, modern lounge is the Indian version of the American Starbucks. The décor is sleek, simplistic, and clean. White lounge sofas line the walls of the room. Unlike most restaurants, the cafes are standardly air conditioned. English is the lingua franca as boys and girls loosen their ties and sink into the swanky seats. Baristas effortlessly shake cream and freshly ground espresso beans and serve petite sandwiches. Although the concept and atmosphere may be a ‘Western’, the flavor of the café is discretely Indian. Indian pop rock plays softly, flat screen televisions along the walls display Bollywood dance scenes, and the sandwiches are flavored with Indian masala spices and seasonings. The hospitality is also an Indian phenomenon. Unlike American cafes in which the customer orders at a counter, baristas in India approach the seated Indian youth and cordially ask what services he could provide and grants every whim of the group. For example, if a group of youths want to watch the cricket game instead of the Bollywood clips, the host will change the channel. If individuals want to hear English songs instead of Indian rock, the manager will oblige. Groups of young men and women will sit for hours, long after the coffee glasses are empty. These cafes, like Indian classrooms and offices, are one of the only places in which men and women may speak with each other in public without the company of elders. But with the modern décor and lax atmosphere, Café Coffee day is sanctuary for love birds. It is one of the only safe locales for secretly dating couples. No wonder the mottos of the franchise is “a lot can happen over coffee”. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">For a couple hours a day, young professionals and students can live the Western experience of courting and dating, a concept that is taboo outside the confines of such a place. For a moment, young men and women can experience what Hollywood portrays as “love at first glance”.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">- - -</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Shravanthi and I meet a group of ten young adults- both female and male. The boys loosen their ties as the girls unbutton their collars, exposing their necks. The barista approaches our table. “What may I offer you, madam?” he said in formal English, pen and paper in hand. “She and I will have a double shot mocha frappe” Shravanthi answers. As we wait for our coffee, Pavan, one of the young men asks me about America. “It must be a damn paradise, huh? You can date and meet boys whenever you would like. Do you have a boyfriend?” I laugh. Pavan goes on: “Here we cannot date, but we bring the girls we fancy to the café. Here at least we can be with the girls we secretly love and flirt with them,” I watch him wink at a thin girl with hooded eyes across from him. She giggles and bites her lower lip. The order arrives and Pavan trades seats with Shravanthi so that he can sit with his ‘girlfriend’. Shravanthi, Waqas, and I continue the discussion about dating: “India is getting modern” Waqas said while sipping his cup. “We have brand name clothes” he points to his Dolce and Gabbana belt. “We have fancy cars like Mercedes. More and more women are getting educated. The literacy rate is going up. The cities are getting bigger and bigger, but we fucking youth still have expectations from our families. It is damn hard. Love marriage, although romanticized in Bollywood films, is not at all a reality. I must marry a Muslim girl even if I like a Hindu. Its bloody hell”. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Waqas stares longingly at a girl across the table. Shravanthi pipes in: “Yes and we Hindus have so many damn restrictions of who we can marry. He must be of our caste and our Hindu horoscopes must be aligned in the stars, and everyone in the joint family must approve: grandmother, grandfather, aunts, uncles, older cousins, mother, father, and my brother. That is a long list of people we must satisfy”.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">- - -</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Back home, Shravanthi and I help our mothers chop vegetables for dinner. I ask Kavita aunty (Shravanthi’s mother and my mother’s sister-in-law) and my mom why they did not complete their education or get a job. “Times were different when we married in the early 80’s. We did not have a choice. We knew we were going to get married regardless. At that time, the office was for men. We were raised to be good wives. But it was not too bad. Our husbands were the breadwinners and they bought us things. See this ring? Your father bought this for me on our anniversary. He pays for everything: travel to India, medicines for my father back in my village, and for your education. I had many offers for marriage but your father showed the most potential. He was a doctor with a job across the sea in the United States. He is what we call a good catch (note that hypergamy or ‘marrying up’ was and still is the goal of Indian matrimony because for women it is traditionally their only form of income)” my mother said it in such a matter-of-fact way that I am stunned. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Education, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">my alma mater, I cannot imagine growing up without college and neither can Shravanthi. Shravanthi was placed into an advanced primary school system, one of the best in Bangalore. From childhood, she had been competing with students- male and female alike in hopes of becoming a corporate superstar. “We are house wives and we live our dreams through you” Kavita aunty adds. “But you know, you are still Indian and eventually have obligations to fulfill. Perhaps through working you may support your family, but when you come home you will have to unzip your pencil skirt and tie on your sari. You will have to heat evening tea”. Shravanthi dutifully continues to slice tomatoes, each one as precise of the last cut. I imagine she seethes inside, her mother’s words burning her.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">- - - </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">There are exceptions, of course, the societal standards. Shravanthi and I share a mutual aunt (who moved from India to New Jersey with her husband and son) She, unlike our mothers, continued her education and was granted permission by her husband (my father’s youngest brother) to work at an IT firm. Unlike most marriages, the union between my uncle and my aunt was a love marriage. Although usually taboo, the couple was of the same caste and their horoscopes aligned so the union was as sound as an arranged one. When she used to live in India, she lived on the first floor with her husband and her father-in-law and mother-in-law. Shravanthi and I recall how she would prayer with her mother-in-law and cook for my grandparents. Then, in her suit, she would go to work and return in the evening. When she came home, she changed into traditional Indian attire and cooked dinner for her in-laws and made sure they were comfortable. Our aunt, although had a corporate job, had to take on a different identity in the home and adhere to the female role of h</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ousekeeping and hospitality for her husband and in-laws. This is a model that Shravanthi might one day follow.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXzaDUtjJO54QUYC7hEU-mCPSPj83jjcjzjaFX7nmwhCZ-Zdh0yYWRIoWdLuUpY8RM2WzkXuWg3x0nJhwL8xjY0PizVTAmx8RaR9mvrBERkuAa4Bm1-Jeya627IxfxNNF5bdp0QIcoyA/s320/Chitra_Ganesh_Lenticular_Print.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637236304384781170" /> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Shravanthi already has offers for her hand in marriage. Shravanthi counts the proposals on her fingers and estimates the monetary value of each man after dinner. “Let’s see! There is a doctor, a business man, a lawyer, and a software engineer. But the best of the lot is an Australian university educated business man from a wealthy family who is worth a couple million! Cool huh?” she sighs and falls onto her pillow. “But I am not sure if I want that. What if he is an asshole? What if I cannot meet my friends anymore and cannot work? It depends if he gives me permission. But fuck him, yah? I should do what I want. Besides with my degree I can make so much money and live on my own. Of course when mom and dad get old I want to take care of them. They will live with me, and I do not mind living at home and cooking for them. But you have it lucky. Sometimes I dream of going to the United States and completing my Master’s Degree. Then I will have a wonderful job and maybe be a manager and I can decide when and how I can work. In America, I can date who I want. I will have my independence” I understand the friction she feels. How can she balance her cosmopolitan and Western influenced attitude while possibly managing an Indian home? Traditionally a patrilineal family dynamic, it is custom for Indian wives to move into the house of her husband’s family. She, through marriage, becomes the kin of her husband’s lineage and not of her blood family. Women for the most part do not live by themselves. My mother often explains: “women are like diamonds. They must be guarded by the family”.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But how does a young woman like Shravanthi who feels she does not need to be ‘guarded’ cope with a previous generation’s notion of female duties? Shravanthi, however, does want to manage a home even if a husband is in it or not. She does want to look after he parents. This Indian obligation is one she does not fight. It is not only her duty, but she wants to provide for her parents. Thus even though she still assumes a dual identity- Western in certain spheres and Indian at the home- it is an identity she sometimes sees not as an engendered duty but as a young woman who cares for her parents. “I love my family dearly. And if I must act a certain way eventually, so be it. But I need to understand who I am then what others expect from me”- a ‘Western’ notion in a not so ‘Western’ world. We lie down together, and sigh as Britney Spears’ “Not a girl not yet a woman” softly croons from the cassette player and a cow moos under our window. Not yet a </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ladki</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, not yet an </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">aunty, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">indeed. We laugh until we cannot not laugh anymore. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">- - -</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">India’s economy continues to boom. As more corporate and IT jobs are available, men and women will compete regardless of societal obligations. More and more office tigresses are generated every year through cutthroat college programs and prowl the office corridors, hunting for the best positions and paychecks. Perhaps it is their inner drive and ambition to prove themselves as the best candidates for business positions; more is at stake. According to news articles published in the past year, college women in almost every major city of India have received high scores than their male counterparts on national college exams: in Patna, the top 4 highest achieved scores were earned by women (Times of India Mobile 2011), in Ludiana, the top 2 highest achieved scores were earned by women (Times of India Pratim 2011), in Bangalore, the highest achieved score was earned by a woman (One India News 2011), and 75% of top admissions at the illustrious Hindu College of Delhi were female candidates (Times of India 2011), to name a few examples. These women, although living a dual life of Western etiquette in certain spheres as well as the engendered conduct ascribed by Indian families and society, are able to achieve distinctions despite personal-contextual friction. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">- - -</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It is eight on a Friday night and Shravanthi and I are behind the roaring of her scooter. The hem of her posh cocktail dress lifts around her knees as I hold on to her waist. We speed past a lorry truck, ‘OK GO HAVE A NICE DAY’ is painted across the back of the clunky vehicle and we honk and wave. We are on our way to a house party of one of her classmates. I lean forward as she shouts above the humming: “Perhaps I will marry, perhaps I will not. Fuck it. Who knows? I don’t care now. But now I can’t wait to graduate and compete for my chance to be among the female working elite. I not only want to do this for myself, but I want to prove to my parents, grandparents, and even people outside my family that I can do anything with my ambition. But fuck this heavy discussion, yah? It’s time to freak out! Drink a few beers! Let’s live to our fullest before my fat husband knocks down the door! ” we howl and cuss as old women in saris watch us behind their Mercedes window. Did I see a tinge of longing in their eyes? Let them watch. We take on Bangalore, even if it is Shravanthi’s last night on the prowl. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQPbULQx0DiQ0Huwtifp3Uk5yGCfmmd0AbPf-84fukKbjoW9mSRG0Ku3-m2PrC5wHqck21XubwJEeIWRrvsGp7WutffsVHAkqTNVOPU466o7MzREXt7xrgIR010-QDbc-7ZCCCcuc-Wc/s320/chitra_ganesh_playboy.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637235568136517906" /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Works Cited</span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">ALL ARTWORK COURTESY OF CHITRA GANESH'S BEAUTIFUL, INSPIRING, AND ORANIC WORK!</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"><span style="text-decoration: underline"></span><br /></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">csisdc. " Technology, Innovation, and Deficit Reduction - YouTube ." </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. </span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Aug. 2011.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">"Karnataka 2nd PUC results declared; Girls beat boys again!" </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">India News | Breaking News | Headlines |</span></span></span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Business News | Entertainment | Sports | Features | Cricket - Oneindia News </span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 </span></span></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Aug. 2011.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">"Keeping Women on the Job in India - BusinessWeek." </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Businessweek - Business News, Stock Market &</span></span></span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Financial Advice</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Aug. 2011.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">"Number of India’s Female Engineering Students Doubles in a Decade - The Global Ticker - The</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Chronicle of Higher Education." </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Home - The Chronicle of Higher Education</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 1</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Aug. 2011.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Pratim, Manash . "Girls make presence felt at Hindu, SRCC - Times Of India." </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Featured Articles From</span></span></span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">The Times Of India</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Aug. 2011.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">"RTTS: Outsourcing - Statistics." </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">RTTS - The Software Quality Experts</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Aug. 2011.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">"The Times of India on Mobile." </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">The Times of India on Mobile</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Aug. 2011</span></span></span></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-19084359856631930132011-07-21T22:16:00.000-07:002011-07-22T08:38:01.935-07:00aur<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size:medium;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">neem neem </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">green green</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I n d i a</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> falls from the folds</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of my mother's sari</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">like basmati. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">nena</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">follow terra cotta paths</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">like roads I drew on the back </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of your palms</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">years ago, himalayan</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">edge. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">maps past</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">rust locks, iron rot</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">jacaranda trees , neem</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">leaves, heel </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to sand</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">heel to sand.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Never compromise</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">root constellations. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Black </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">black they will call you</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">until you are engulfed</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">now stuffed like pheasants</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">HALL OF ANTIQUITIES </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the seed in your pocket </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">is for saving. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0pxcolor:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">neem neem </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">green green</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p color="#333333" style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; min-height: 16.0px">the seed in your pocket</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">is for saving.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color:#333333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzvHoHhAQvsYjII4zZvuS4D43eaqpoWEXIlzNA35ek3mjH44s8meOzzrLvVGhhGT10kQsBXlfKyhtOSvq_axxGyr0pitljV1GU4bwKIWsyveJqr-27KVt6fVQOLo_dSxVCaEzdAlUnP4/s320/A+Hindu+girl+poses+in+a+garden+-+Bombay+%2528Mumbai%2529+1923.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632042833000983762" /></span></span></p><p color="#333333" style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; "></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 14px; font: normal normal normal 11px/normal Georgia; border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; ">A man once told me I was too passionate and so he built me into a walled garden like my mother and her mother and her mother till we never remembered the color blue. I dedicate this poem to my mom Suchitra Srinivasa.</p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span><p></p></span></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-24825903924297344492011-07-18T14:14:00.000-07:002011-07-18T14:30:26.428-07:00Ga nv go<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">U li si a ge yu tsa, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">my granddaughter, the mountains that surround us today were carved by </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Su li,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Great Buzzard in the sky” I watched the old man hold his granddaughter Jaya on his lap as he pointed to the sky. “But </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">u du du, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">grandfather, where were we?” The man with ginger root palms chuckled. “We have always been here, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A ge yu ts, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">just like </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A tsi lv, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">fire that burns within”. The little girl pressed her hand to her grandfather’s chest. Just like the fire that burns within.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Language is power. Language is the arbitrary vocal symbols we use to encode the experience of the world. It is one of the fundamental behaviors that makes us human. The way we communicate can bind us together or can set us apart. But how is it that something as valuable as human connection can separate us? It is through historical and geo-political contexts that can make one language powerful than another. The saga of colonialization was the manifestation of linguistic power politics. When I visited Cherokee Reservation, North Carolina for research, I became aware of the sheer power of words. Power of language, although historically steeped in the ethnocide of a people, now is a glimmer of hope. Emerging from the darkest periods of American history lay the ingenuity, hope, and fight for language revitalization. This is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ka no he lv s gi,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> the story of Jaya and my her family’s fight for language reclamation. </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> The story of Native American language is historically one of heart break. During the 1800’s Indian youth were forced to attend anglo boarding schools in order to “kill the Indian and make a man”. Jerry Wolfe, Jaya’s grandfather told me how when he was a five years old, he was forced from his family to live in a boarding school. “They did not let me speak Cherokee. They cut my hair. They made me wear White man’s clothes. When I spoke to my cousins in Cherokee, they made us wash our mouths with soap. To be Indian was considered </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A s ga ni</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, sin. We were constantly bombarded with images that read ‘Speak American’ or ‘Kill the Indian Make a Man’. They reminded us of the Trail of Tears, the forced displacement of our ancestors. They told us it was for the better. We were convinced that we were half animal until we spoke English with fluency and lived a ‘White lifestyle’. When I came home to my parents in my navy blue uniform, my mother and father would say: ‘where is my son? They brought back a white man. Where is my son?’ The Indian in me was dead. I spoke English. Unlike my father’s childhood, I did not hear my grandfather’s stories and wisdom. I was too White to understand the ancient ways. We stopped speaking Cherokee”. I could see pain behind his eyes. But it did not end there. </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In the 1950’s, boarding schools shut down across the United States yet the mentality that Native meant ‘primitive’, ‘savage’, ‘heathen’, ‘dirty’, ‘drunken’, ‘uncivilized’, and ‘ignorant’ was still prevalent in American society. Native American students were taught in anglocentric public schools that enforced the stereotypes of indigenous people. By anglocentric, I mean that although the institution did not intentionally attempt to eradicate native culture, the education system lacked the understanding of the cultural discrepancies between Indian and prominent American culture and neglected the needs of native students. The majority of teachers on the reservation were White. Although a hierarchy was not stated, it was quite visible as to which ethnicity was perceived to have a more dominant, intellectual voice. Rose, Jaya’s mother recalled the constant bullying in schools: “I remember when a White teacher yelled at us one day after we played a practical joke on her: “you will all become drunks one day!” That’s when my brother dropped out of school”. The structural violence that the Cherokee people underwent hurt me and confused me. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">How did the people survive </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I thought as my heart grew heavy. </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Jerry took my hand in his: “I want to make sure they know our history is larger than the Trail of Tears and the forced displacement of our people. If 12,000 years of Cherokee history spanned over 24 hours, the Trail of Tears would last only five minutes. We live on.” In 2004, New Kituwah Academy opened in hopes of keeping Cherokee alive. The school is the first language revitalization program in in North Carolina. New Kituwah predominantly teaches children from the age of 2 to 6 with the synthesis of the elders’ wisdom and cutting edge technology. Children learn about their heritage through apple products that are inscribed in Cherokee. New Kituwah also hosts adult classes so that parents can speak Cherokee to their children. After school programs such as basket weaving, storytelling, and mentorships at the Cherokee Museum enable teens to learn and work in an academic setting for language revitalization. Jerry Woolfe has assisted students on presentations at the Smithsonian and has had students help him record the stories of elders who remember boarding schools. These efforts are recognized by the Museum of the Cherokee Indian in North Carolina. Students have the opportunity to intern for the tribal office. Language preservation is not an attempt for natives to return to pre-colonial ways, but to be mindful of history and identity flux from a native perspective. Immersion schools are determined to integrate native youth into American society with hopes that their students will be proud of their identity as American Indians while performing to their best of their ability in non-native United States. Jerry told me how proud he was of his students: “I am so thrilled to work with my students every day. When these little kids speak Cherokee to me, I am so happy. When I was their age, I thought Cherokee would die. But here I see Jaya speaking Cherokee. It makes me weep. They are our future. The children learn the true story of our history. For years, my daughter was taught that the Trail of Tears was our only history. But we are a people who have been thriving for millennia. I am here to be Grandfather. I am here to be </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A li s de lv di </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">or support”. Jaya called to us in Cherokee: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">U lv, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">sister! Come see the buzzard!” She pulled me along the path as we giggled.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“You know, they say Cherokees were the known as </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">a-dv-ne-li-s-gi</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, Great Orators? Great Orators …When my White school master years ago told me to kill the Indian in me, I did. I lost myself. Where to go? Then the Spirit told me: go back, go back to Cherokee and you will find yourself again. I did. I thank, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">U-ne-qua</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, The Great Grandfather for taking me back home. Taking us all back home. This is our fight. And soon, our students will fight with us and we will come together and prosper again. They will be our ambassadors outside the reservation. They will integrate: be proud of who they are and when asked speak about their identity as they prosper in the anglo world”. </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Jaya, Jerry, and I saw the great bird spread its wings and flew over us. Over the mountains. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> To Hi do</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">- </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">like a top, I am in in the center of my world.</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i></i><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I watched Jaya and her </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">U du du </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">walk away hand in hand. Jerry called back to me “We will be back. We always come back”. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I looked to the mountains. The mountains swallowed sky.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozzk2EZ6I0t7WQSgsvV_1VrmOoDa4AEZjOYZd0nacpNF1sWwN40rsmUt_v-tkMO443Jr2rvJOjFa1SdSI7E4ebb_YpXpGlhsKX4HHcvZmlyGdp0R26PdgSzkXLhfCnqbb-NgGERqcaXk/s320/smoky-mountain-abstract-nancy-mueller.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630807324641883394" />Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-21171422405199953502011-07-09T19:47:00.002-07:002011-07-09T19:58:24.344-07:00To St. Mary's Convent School<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Bovinely </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> we sat in blue jumpers,</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">nylon stockings</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">to the thigh,</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">and Bata shoes</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">newly shined:</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">we smelled </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">like slate.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Do you love me?</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She asked everyday</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">fingers fingers </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">intertwined</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">arms straight </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">bent, folded</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> like amma’s starched saris.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I love you, I love you</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">like my thumbs!</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lips thick</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">with disappointment </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What does that mean?</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oh jaan, without thumbs</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">how will I weave ribbons</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">in your braids</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">or even tie</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">jasmine garlands</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">around your ankles?</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lips stretched,</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hasna</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yes</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">your are my thumbs</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">gently sucking hers,</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">listening </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to Asha Bhosle tunes</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">braids undone</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">sweat dotting brows, she</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">tasted like</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">sweet flat bread.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzzpKqqfX5Izvkr7DjulVWo4tUsZ48entPBwRdrD8uZyWD2Lv25gVH0OnnxCO-BIr9W2ePW8eeZJDTDl_L8Ee1T7rp-vC0xtV2G3fyObtAtltsAeI0p7I6iSCp34A6dt2Qyrgx6nVNH4/s320/_47788163_kids226afp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627551297882292434" />Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-55948487638737075242011-07-02T10:31:00.000-07:002011-07-02T10:40:46.948-07:00Li tal Shah- We have Arrived.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When I was young and sweet, I thought the world would never shock me. Every night, under the covers, I would run my finger against </span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Encyclopedia Britanicas</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. I read of scorpions and Voodoo rituals. The stuff of children’s nightmares excited me, making me read on. I grew to like this world: the magic, the new, the ancient. But then I fell in love. It was a true academic romance that would consume me and make me step out of my realm of pages. But then it turned to a panic. Culture shock: the wake from my slumber. I would not see the same again. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDs9dSVaWMOWwbLKQrf4aqMHxHqrR4SUzJv5bCcru5SYT3gnssjLb6BYBjKo9ouHK_s-rMwoPRnSYaIVgJaV0l6nEp0TMhuaJjhLAHlxNLBPgX2YwsYy8ykCyJZybeS8xR7xiDLuy9azA/s320/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624810642947865586" /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Like most love stories, this one begins with a glance. When I was eleven, my fingers found the words YA BASTA scrolled on the spine of a small book. My saga of enamoration began. I fell in love with a place named Chiapas Mexico where indigenous people who were tucked behind mountains began to lose everything they once had: land, language, and life. Why? Because of NAFTA, a free-trade agreement that economically welded governments together, burning out those who had no authority in industrial society. Mayan Indians were forced off of their ancestral land so that the Mexican government could farm on the stolen grounds. The Mexican army began an ethnocide against indigenous people who lived in Southern Mexico for millennia. Whole villages were on the brink of collapse. But strength was found. A movement deep in the womb of the Lacandon jungle swept over the Mexican state the size of South Carolina. An army of indigenous Mayan Indians formed the ZAPATISTA ARMY and took arms to protect their culture. My heart could not take it any longer. Pages suffocated me; I had to see it for myself. </span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As high school passed on, I suppressed my desire to visit the home that I thought I always had but never saw. I was not ready yet. I took a two year independent study with a Spanish professor on the History and Culture of Mexico to look deeper into the frames set by books. I read and read about the mountain people of Chiapas: I consumed tribal government theory, read ethnographies about the intricacies in gender relations, and fervently flipped through Tzotsil and Tsetal dictionaries. I wanted to learn the language so that I could immerse with a rebel family that I already perceived would embrace me for my very love of Chiapas. I was especially in love with the indigenous Mayan women. They looked so strong and steady in the pictures of books. I could not wait to live with them, side by side. </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The wait was over. My final year of high school, I was able to apply for a senior project, an opportunity to finish my high school education early and take up an academic pursuit out of the classroom. I applied for a multisite Participation Observation to study what it meant to be a Post-Colonial Woman. I studied my mother’s village in India, Madrid Spain, and Chiapas Mexico between January and June. Finally it was time for me to leave my books behind and go. </span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Like a new bride, I arrived in Chiapas. I was so eager to walk the hills and talk of PEACE AND REVOLUTION. But first, I had to brush up on my language skills. I took Spanish lessons in the tourist town of San Cristobal de Las Casas. I was staying with an ethnically indigenous family who were well established in San Cris (the father was an actor, the mother was an NGO worker). After my lessons, I felt I was ready to travel up the mountains to live on top of the world with the soldiers. In 2001, the Revolution was over because of a treaty between the Mexican government and indigenous communities, yet people consider themselves soldiers because the lack of medical resources and other promises that were never made by the government. I was to live with my host family in San Cris’ extended family in Chenalo, an indigenous municipality up in the mountains of Chiapas. The night before the trip, I was rosy with excitement. </span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The next morning we arrived by truck at the bottom of the mountain. But because the roads were bad, we had to walk with my suitcase up the hill. I had read about those journey so I was ready. I wore soccer cleats and hiked up, in line with the women who were barefoot and strapped their babies to their backs. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Li tal Sha!</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> we called in tsotzil, which meant: I have arrived! I met the family: The matriarch (a grandmother who spoke no Spanish and was so small that I could carry her), women, and children. The women were just as I imagined: strong, dignified, but kind. They looked so beautiful in their Mayan </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">huipil</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> blouses and wool skirts. I brought gifts of chocolates, medicine, sodas, and a soccer ball. The children and I played soccer and then ‘Zapatista War’ in environmental paradise. I kept on telling the children: this is the most green I have ever seen. They giggled and said: what else would the world look like? I smiled. </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I was then introduced to the woman I was to live with. Patty was 19 and had a smooth face and kind eyes. As she helped me set out my things, a little boy ran and hid behind her skirt. I got on my knees and looked behind her. A dirty face peered at me, then grabbed more of his mother’s woolen skirt. “Ponkee, say hi to your sister!” A three year old boy jumped into my arms. I tickled him until he laughed. As I helped Patty tuck Ponkee into bed, we talked. I asked her about the army and the movement and how government relations are. She said that its resting. But then she said: “what is a movement when we need things”. I asked her to go on. She pulled a folded photograph from her pocket and handed it to me. “This is his father”. I looked at the photo, then at sleeping Ponkee. I asked her where he was. She began to cry. She cried and cried, I did not know what to do. She told me he was Cozumel. I was confused. I had visited Cozumel when I was 12. It was tourist island known for its white sand beaches and luxurious hotels. Why was a Mayan in Cozumel, an island in Northern Mexico? She told me although she was proud of being Mayan, living on the land was not enough. She wanted Ponkee to have an education, but school cost money. She wanted to have another means of fuel for cooking so that she did not have to leave Ponkee unattended for hours while she walked down the mountain with other women to look for wood. Pokee’s father, who never met his son, worked in a Cozumel restaurant as a dish washer. “We need money” she said. I watched her fall asleep and she weeped. I could not sleep.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I felt sick to my stomach. The paradise landscapes and Zapatista slogans of anti-Free Trade were not their whole lives. Wasn’t the desire for money so against the principles of Zapatista nature? Wasn’t Ponkee’s father abandoning his culture by supporting a capitalist corporation of hotels? I fell so in love with the pictures of forests and hand looms that I did not realize that culture was fluid and that image was not forever. I was ashamed of myself for romanticizing my indigenous host family. If culture is the sets of learned behavior used to adapt to the transforming world, then how could I expect for this mode of mountain living to stay intact! I could not sleep. I walked outside the hut and cried. I began to notice things: the lack of a bathroom, no hot water to bathe in, no medicines. How was I to live here? I looked above me. I had never seen so many stars. The sight calmed me. I then looked ahead of me and saw little lights dotting the hills. Wooden huts of the Mayans lit with electricity. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This is the most beautiful place on Earth. Just just because of the mountains, but because of my new family. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Patty opened her home to me, and that is the biggest beauty of all. I went back to bed, Patty by my side. </span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wanted to know learn more about the changing Mayan identity as an Indigenous and 21st Century people. The complex question that came to mind was: </span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline ; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">why did the Maya change their ways if they had been living the same way for centuries and do the changes result in a change of identity for the community?</span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I asked Patty and Lucia (another woman in the family) why indigenous communities were changing. Why do people want electricity and other things? They told me that when they were young, before the revolution, the Maya were a horticultural society who relied on rainfall to grow food. Corn was sacred and every part of it was used. Men and women worked side by side in fields and strict gender roles were maintained in order for mountain life to continue in harmony. But when the government threatened the livelihood of the community, “NAFTA” Patty said “had opened us up to the world”. Many NGOs had come to the mountains and taught girls about their rights. Patty had worked with anthropologists before (including my Spanish professor in high school) but she said that these women were different. They had maps and pictures of women working at desks and not cooking and cleaning. During the Revolution, electricity came to Patty’s village. She remembered when they had bought a radio in 1996 to listen to the Zapatista Rebel Radio. But they also heard other radio stations not only from Mexico but around the world thanks to the altitude of the mountains. Patty heard of Coca-Cola on a radio station in Spain and wanted to drink it. Soon after, Coke replaced posh, an indigenous alcohol from corn used in Mayan rituals to please Corn spirits. After the Revolution, Patty and her family expected medicines and schools that were promised from the government. But none of the promises came true. Regardless, Patty was growing up and when she was 15 she married. She loved her husband very much, but she was concerned about him. She recalled how at night he would tell her about possibilities for jobs in the North. He would get money and send it to her for medicines and Coca-Cola and slippers for her bare feet (a Maya tradition). Patty became pregnant and did not want her husband to leave, but she knew it was for the best. “Ponkee only knows his father from the photograph, but feels that his father is looking over him because of the monthly money sent” Patty said.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I asked her if she thought the Mayan culture would disappear from the technological and monetary changes. “It is complicated” she said. She is very happy about the money and medicine her husband sends her. But she is worried that one day someone will take her land, or worse, a Mayan will sell his land and abandon his tradition. “We are proud to be Mayans” she told me. She said her people have constantly been changing for millennia even though they look like they have lived the same way: indigenous clothing patterns and colors change generation after generation, the religion changed from Mayan religion to Christianity, and now Mayan women sell their weavings to tourist shops, their traditions still preserved even through the exchange of Capitalism. “See? We are still Mayans! And we will always be Mayans!”</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The next morning we rose while the Chiapanecan moon gleamed a bit longer. At 4 am, Yaya the grandmother flicked the switch for the mechanical corn grinder instead of mashing dried corn by hand. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Human adaption. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I smiled.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDwRCEuZscmFPVHxELskw4OaRzd7CN2khvXCN-XUt_zGjhoB-0IWAa1c1Um_YZH7hwLKw-KAz-La-W29md_peRseqObNgPO8MjLkIhZdIZ21oevB35vYc_TJomnWLJHgkNSVlVbUezJI/s320/Picture+3.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624810205794274898" /> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span>(Ponkee and Patty)</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I realized that by romanticizing a culture, I would not have been able to look into the complexities of it. By speaking to Patty and living with her, all of my preconceived, romantic ideas of Mayan life were slowly unraveled. Our conversation, a dialectic, I was able to learn about her culture, about myself, and she learned about mine. My culture shock due to the romanticizing of Mayan culture was eased by the genealogy of the Mayan persona. Mayan culture is fluid as much as mine. This is why the Mayan people have one of the oldest histories in the Western Hemisphere. In the midst of my tumbles, I was able to glimpse humanity. When Patty and I talked about our childhoods and our family, we giggled like girls and exchanged glances like old friends. At times we felt each other’s pain. Regardless of our geographic locations, we were able to develop a friendship in a language that was not our mother tongue. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Hola. Como te llamas? </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">What is your name? Globalization did not mean the end of human cultures. It was the meeting of one to another. Patty, my corn husk sister, resides in my vagabond heart. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Li tal Shah- </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We have arrived. And we are doing it together.</span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-37553740290146173972011-06-30T11:59:00.000-07:002011-06-30T12:15:24.716-07:00Cows, Vegan Cookies, and the Omnivore's Fixations<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">When my sister and I were young, we were fascinated by the drive-thru menus at the Mcdonald’s down the street from our house: thick sandwiches pilled with verdant plumes of lettuce, neat golden slices of American Cheese, slivers of iridescent pickles, spurts of crimson ketchup, tawny sesame buns. And then there was the patty. Black and exotic, gleaming in its All-American splendor. The Cheeseburger. When my mother would pull up, answering to the speaker with her thick Indian accent, she asked us what we wanted. My sister and I would stare with such curiosity at the Cheeseburger until one day, my sister declared to my mother: “I want a cheeseburger”. Mama spun around in her car seat and slapped my sister across her face in one swift lash. “We’ll have McNuggets, amma”: I muttered. And that was that. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 28px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Food taboos and preferences are all around us: Ask the vegan who gasps at the mention of cookies with real chocolate? Or the Jewish youth who asks repeatedly: </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">is your meat prepared Kosher</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">? After reading different reflections on the causes for such variations in what we eat, I believe a material anthropological explanation can often be given to understand what we eat. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 28px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As I grew up, the motif of the gentle bovine maintained its sacrosanct position in Hindu society. When I visited family in India, the tableau of the cow was everywhere: etched in temple architecture, sitting against my grandfather’s gate while chewing on a sodden papery cud and making it impossible to leave the compound for hours, and even political poster campaigns for the Congress party posted in the streets of Bangalore. To be against the cow, it seemed, was to be against the very foundation and principle of the nation-state. Whenever I would ask </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">why the cow was sacred, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">my mother would look at me sternly at say “Because the Gods deem it so!” And then mutter prayers in my name under her breath. I do not have any desire in eating beef, I have always wanted to understand the roots of such a practice. It enables thin cows to obstruct traffic during peak hour in Mumbai’s convoluted and crowded road systems to name an example of its ‘uselessness’. Is it truly due to some mystical resonance that the cow provides? If this is true then why are other faiths such as Islam or Christianity not praising the bovine with such religious fervor? Is there a more pragmatic reason as to why the cow is so sacred? When I read Marvin Harris’ “The Riddle of a Sacred Cow” my journey for food answers began.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGwlhKbAQQMX8C9ums1_MoFAOlNez_gqK_cxjypa5BOmBkJDxYQEuoA0IjrS1pTUm2TzD_FIrgX9yEZMAH3yowp-dPw3_nCeHv4yBm-DF-zsWulP-C-jUjxDqkNvDHqQ5-54arbMmE-0/s320/250px-CowHA.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624093316401571762" /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">According to Harris, the sacredness of the beloved cow in India had not always held sway: “religion has affected India’s food ways, but India’s food ways have affected Indian’s religion even more” (Harris 51). During the Vedic times, cows were sacrificed and eaten at temple meals. Brahmins ate the majority of the meat and shared it with those of lower castes. Beef, believe it or not, was the most eaten meat in Northern India one millennia ago (Harris 52). But over the years, the population of Hindu cities grew drastically and the amount of grain needed to feed the large and thriving population. Cows were competition for grain food source. Why feed higher tertiary levels for meat as food while grain can feed more people without the middle man? (Harris 54). Only Brahmins could afford beef, leaving the lower castes even more aware of their economic and spiritual marginalization. Buddhism became widely popular by lower caste and poorer communities in India for its message of spiritual equality and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ahimsa </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">or non-violence. In order to compete with the rising faith, Hinduism, too, glorified the principle of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ahimsa, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">but maintained its position on sacrifice. Milk was now sacrificed to the Gods instead of meat and brahmins became the caregivers of cows (Harris 56). The cow became not only the symbol for Hinduism but also for India. During the Gandhi movement for Indian Independence, Mahatma Gandhi used the zebu as a symbol of non-violent, pro- Indian Democracy movement(The British ate cows). Hinduism retained its popularity and populations for worship. The cow or oxen was also useful in agriculture and its dung was used as both fertilizer and fuel (Harris 58). But this does not go to say that the cow is never killed. Many cows roam the streets of bustling Indian cities without caregivers. Many of these cows are abandoned and starved until death. Some are even sold to the Middle East as live cargo then slaughtered for food in the Gulf (Harris 67). Through Harris’ perspective on dissecting Hindu practices, we are able to understand a food taboo outside the contexts of religious law that the Word of God is Final. We are able to see that the bovine was never always holy but became holy through courses of history.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">When I shared the article to my parents, they were baffled and not sure what to say. But this article does not liquify my faith in Hinduism. In fact, it makes me proud to be human. According to Anthropologist Emily A. Shultz in </span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Cultural Anthropology, A Perspective on The Human Condition, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> “Human culture is the sets of learned behavior and ideas that human beings acquire as members of society. Human beings use culture to adapt to and transform the world in which they live (Shultz 6). But as we look into the future of food, what are the food taboos that will arise and become popular out of human need? </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 28px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Vegetarianism is a food preference that has been in practice dating back to 6 Century BC (</span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Heretic’s Feast</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> by Colin Colin 33). But today, vegetarianism is often associated by a the radical PETA. I have experienced this when I made the switch to vegetarian. I get sensitive when someone is eating meat in front of me. My identity as a vegetarian (lacto vegetarian because I do not eat egg) is strong but I do not criticize someone for eating meat. I have met vegetarians who lash out at the McDonalds counter for serving beef or attempts to convert ‘meat eaters’. Some vegetarians feel so close to their identity as vegetarian that not eating meat can become an ethical debate. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">When I first was vegetarian I would use the terminology “I do not eat animals because it is not ethical”. But this was vague because I was condemning all people of the world for eating meat. For instance for the !Kang people of the Namibian desert, bush meat is the solution between life or death. Many non-vegetarians reply that the meat in the United States is provided by animals simply born and raised as food. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">If we do not eat it who will </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">is the question that most non-vegetarians supply. All of these arguments are mapped out in a news clipping from the New York times by Michael Pollan in “An Animal’s Place”. After listening to so many discussions of justifying vegetarianism or justifying the meat industry I can only speak for myself:</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 28px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I am vegetarian not because of an ethical quest or because I feel bad for the animal. If one describes that killing an animal for food is taking a life, then what of plants? Many non-vegetarians say that when some vegetarians claim their principles are founded on environmental awareness however the amount of pesticides used for the agricultural business is even more harmful to the environment. I acknowledge this notion that is made. But I think we need to look even more into where the food on our plate is coming from. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 28px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Over the past century the food industry has become a story of innovation: larger yields, more reliability from the amount of food. But in order to do so, many companies began to mono-crop. The constant process of food used for fast-food was being implemented on the agri-business. In the 1970s and 1980s, a new product became available: Round-Up and seeds. Monsanto company genetically engineered seeds to withstand the pesticide but everything else died including weeds and unwanted plants buy also including crop that was not a Monsanto seed. During the time, the company was celebrated because yields grew larger and larger. However, the patenting of life complicated the food industry. From the 200 types of corn grown in the United States in the 20th century, the industry reduced the different varieties to 12. In fact, the majority of the new corn is not even digestible for humans! It is grown for good for cattle and other animals as feed. But cattle for instance were not genetically able to break down this food. The cow literally eats itself to near death then slaughtered to speed up the process. Cows are killed after six months because they keep eating and eating. Also the method of genetic modification of crops occurs when bacteria is introduced into a plant cell (E.Coli often used) and then the new DNA sequence follows. This is why the number of E.Coli outbreaks is so high in the country: because the way the food is actually grown is in many ways harmful to human life, not to mention animal life as well. I do not support the meat industry because I do not support the way that corn is grown in this country or other produce that supports the strange transfers between trophic levels of food. 60-90% of the country grown in the United States is not used as primary food consumption. Much of it is used as animal feed or bio-fuel.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxseBpkh-uVdR0x9PF_neE5e1UqyJe3B3LQ08Perr1KRi7YRBhC2rseNyLxygSE5l4mHfDy1xI4VdLAT76JFd6vDaUbZYQXneNNNdni-qVwksjE3cE8SlcPQ96bIRz4_x2CcEQUhqblOI/s320/eat-local1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624091930210493330" /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">There is a thriving culture for vegetarianism for these reasons. In fact, vegetarians and ‘meat eaters’ are working together to establish fair-trade co-ops in which people can read and purchase where their food is coming from and how it is being grown. This becomes not as much an ethical issue engrossed in the ideals of universalist benevolence but an issue of how is our land being managed and how come all the farming in the middle of America does not result in healthy food for humans. The food industry is not evil as many claims to be It is the method in which we do so. I acknowledge that meat is an integral part in many communities: in Islam, the sacrifice of the cow during Ramadan is holy, camels for Bedoin weddings bring good luck, ex cetera. But often our food taboos can be insensitive. For example the Makah people of the North Western United States worship and eat the Grey Whale. The whale could provide the tribe with food for weeks. Its use for the survival of the community was highly prized to the point where the ritual of hunting whale became sacred. It is so engrossed in indigenous mythology that it is considered a rite of passage to be in a whale hunt. The Makah even traded 90% of their land for whaling rights. But many Europeans began hunting whales as well. By 1920, the Makah had to stop whaling or there would be no Grey Whale left. In the 1990s, when the Grey Whale was removed from the Endangered Species list, the Makah were once again ready to hunt the whale. The Makah were exempt from Whaling Prevention Laws because of their indigenous ancestry, yet many American citizens flocked to the reservation to protest the hunt for whale. American food taboo in a way was an ability to speak ethnocentric slangs. Many protesters rebuked the Makah as rapers and pillagers of the environment. But they did not see that the whale hunt was a reclamation of identity that was taken from the Makah because of a history of Colonial Power. The Makah, through their ritual and use of ancient fishing tactics, are aware of the issues of sustainability. The Makah kill to feed the community. They take as they need, enabling the whale population to continue to thrive. I respect the Makah tradition of whaling. I am vegetarian because I have resources readily available to supplement protein with nuts and soy.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lR2MEI1CcsA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">By foiling religious food taboos and food preferences, I have through writing come to terms with being vegetarian. In high school many high school students would purposefully try to hand me chicken fingers or burgers, thinking that it would anger me. I do not have a problem with meat. I just prefer to eat locally because then I know where my food is coming from. If I know what I put in my mouth, I can be more proactive with my nutrition and how the food is grown in this country. I think vegetarians need to reassess their reasoning for being vegetarian so that they do not commit fallacies and have culturally competent reasons for eating a certain way. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Cheeseburger may look tempting on that McDonalds drive through, but I have no idea where it has come from. I will stick to my local, organic black bean burger instead.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 28.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(108, 108, 108); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5px; font-family:Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:9px;"></span></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><pre style=" text-decoration: none; font-family:Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Food, Inc.. Dir. Robert Kenner. Perf. Eric Schlosser. Magnolia Home Entertainment, 2009. DVD. The Meaning of Food. Dir. Karin Williams. Perf. Julie Dash, Nikky Finney, Vertamae Grosvenor. PBS, 2010. DVD. The Future of Food. Dir. Deborah Koons Garcia. Perf. Exequiel Ezcurra, Sara Maamouri, Percy Schmeiser. Virgil Films And Entertainment, 2007. DVD. Schultz, Emily A., and Robert H. Lavenda. Cultural anthropology: a perspective on the human condition. 6th ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Print.</span></pre></span><p></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-21162078335341287082011-06-13T15:32:00.000-07:002011-06-13T15:46:22.853-07:00In my Mother's Hands:Ritual of Sari Tying<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My mother unfolded the silk and pulled it above me. As cloth slipped around my shoulders, her hands pleated swiftly. Fabric fans tumbled from her fingertips, and she tucked them into my waist. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Let it flow, don’t forget to walk with your back straight, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">my mother whispered, safety pins clenched between her teeth. I held my neck high as she draped a jeweled corner across my chest as my sister watched in silence. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Done. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The ritual was complete.</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I stood in the mirror, admiring her work, the rushes and falling of garment from my hips.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 203px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHh1fZOpNkcfnD1uk69Ym2SyJorW8jjV9UEFapUu7RJ0s7WgpN5IdKVBLGQ-uFzdCFL5yjHO3cODaMgYBjpoUHJiFzivewBOhCd4LlOelFUd57WSBIyyfPlegJxHJVhltLO6KH-ef9TTY/s320/Picture+6.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617838537223935650" /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Since the 1980’s people of Indian origin have embarked on a mass migration to the United States. America has been a beacon of hope for those trapped in the convulsions of poverty and education for the past two decades. Whenever I ask my mother why she came to the US with my father in 1989, she replies by saying </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">it was those movies. Stories of strong sultry women in furs and clinging to wine glasses was what I wanted. I was young. America was adventure. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And so she flew over the great green ocean with the ambition that her husband would make it big. But immigration was more complex than my mother anticipated. Primarily, my parents had to decide where they would live. Most Indians migrated to urban areas on the East and West coasts. My parents decided on Pittsburgh, a city between Washington DC and New York City. But what set Pittsburgh apart from other cities was the fact that Pittsburgh had a strong Hindu population. The first temple in the United States was built in Pittsburgh and was the home of a tightly knit Indian community that protected and participated in Indian rituals and sentiments. The Indian American micro-culture helped my parents raise me, not only as an American, but as a proud </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">desi </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">or Indian American youth. Even though we second generation Indians live in an American society, prescribed gender roles have been passed down to us. Under Indian rituals, females take part in specific ones while males take part in others. Being an Indian American girl, my mother initiated me in female-ascribed ceremonies that were secrets themselves. Rituals that bonded those in one micro-culture in another micro-culture. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There is one ritual in particular that is the most intimate of them all. The ritual of tying a sari ceremony is not a rare occurrence. In fact every week, my mother and I wear saris to our local temple for prayer. But this common place act of dressing is steeped in an array of issues: gender specification, sexuality, coming of age, and the continuation of an ancient tradition. As I am analyzing the ritual from a cultural interpretevist perspective, the garment itself is a veil of several aspects of the products of migration and the disequilibrium of old and new traditions. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Every aspect of this ethnic dress whether it is the garment itself, how it is worn, who teaches you how to wear it, and where you wear it demonstrates the overarching themes of Indian and Western terms of female sexuality and duty. These are themes that Franz Boas, the father of interpretivism would deem integral facets of the ceremony.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">First, we must look at the garment as an entity. The sari is six yards long of cotton or silk fabric. When I unfold the fabric on the ground, I am always astounded at the simplicity of the cloth because when it is woven around the body, it hangs so elaborately. It is wrapped, folded, and tucked around the body on top of a cropped blouse. The sari is a symbol of “womanhood” in Hindu society since the Indus River Civilization predating the 2800 BC. The same design that was worn in the ancient civilization has been passed down generation after generation. Growing up, I used to watch my mother tie her sari thinking that it was the most beautiful dress in the whole world. Her upper back was exposed and the dramatic drapes gave her such an elegant stance. The ethnic dress is sensual yet practical. It is so well fastened that it well never fall, yet when women walk, the folds make them look graceful and fragile. But as an cultural interpretist would say, the cloth is only a shroud or symbol of something more. The sari is a tableau for the complex identity of Indian women.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are several styles of sari. From a simple cotton sari to diamond studded silk saris, the conventional cloth is so elegant because of the different styles of saris. My mother has a total of 500 hundred saris. Some of them are in traditional colors of red and white, the colors of the holy days. Some of the saris are rich jewel-tones: garnet, emerald, amethyst, sapphire. Some are shocking pastels like soft corals, robin egg blue, and sea foam green. Each sari is different from the other. Each sari tells a story of weddings, holy days, birthdays, births, and sometimes death. </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">On Saturday, my family and I were planning to attend a classical Indian dance performance fund raiser. My sister and I were expected to wear saris because it was a cultural event. Sari tying is a ritual that my sister’s and my body has gotten used it. Its all about patience. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The actual ritual occurs objectively like this:</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">1.My mother lies out the cloth and safety pins out while my sister and I wear our cropped blouses and slips. There should be a lof of safety pins or the fabric will slip off. As my mother prepares the cloth, my sister and I wait. As I had said, sari tying is an art balanced by patience. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">2. My mother then tucks the plain/upper end into the petticoat, at a position which is a little bit to the right of the navel. The lower end of the sari touches the floor, and the whole length of the sari comes on the left-hand side. Then she wraps the sari around my sister once, with the sari now coming back in the front.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">3. My mother proceeds by making about 5 to 7 pleats of equal width of 5 inches, starting at the tucked-in end. Then she gathers the pleats together, neatly, ensuring that the lower edge of the pleats are even and just off the ground and that the pleats fall straight and evenly. A safety pin may be used to stop the pleats from scattering. Make it several. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre; "> </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">4. She neatly tucks the pleats into the petticoat, at the waist, slightly to the left of the navel. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">5. Then she drapes the remaining fabric around the body once more left to right, and bring it round the hips to the front, holding the top edge of the sari.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">6. She slightly raises the remaining portion of the sari on the back, bringing it up under the right arm and over the left shoulder so that the end of the sari falls to about the level of the knees.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The end portion thus draped, from the left shoulder onwards. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> But as my mother spins the cloth around us, there is more occurring than meets the eye. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When my mother ties a sari for me and my sister, she tells us stories about India and her family. Tying a sari is a communal event. For a novice sari wearer, it is so difficult to tie the sari for herself. It takes a lot of opening of safety pins, holding cloth, spinning it into little fans to tuck along the waistline. So while, we wait, my mother is busy weaving tales about married cousins and sleepy village days where young girls in saris pick jasmines in desert gardens after classes.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> I once asked my mother why she dresses in saris and how she presents herself. She replied by saying: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Indian women were born to please Indian men</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I dress the part</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. Whenever I open old wedding albums of the women in my family, I notice the lines of young women draped in sequined cloth. They look so elegant in their dresses. They look like little dolls lined in rows by their husbands. The sari turns the girl into a woman. On my first day of college, my mother gave me a photo of her on her wedding day. She was barely seventeen, but she looked strong, confident, cool, and ready for marriage. The sari is a symbol of womanhood. It was her uniform of marriage. The sari was a mark of pride for my mother. Whenever she pulls out her wedding sari, her face flushes with emotion. She excitedly stretches the cloth over her breast and insists on me running my hands between the silk. The cloth is so fine that you can pull it through my engagement ring she gushes hurriedly. How could a piece of cloth mean so much to someone? This is the beauty of the sari: it is woven with the secret story of Indian women. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In the United States, the sari is not worn everyday like my mother did in her youth. My sister and I wear the sari during religious and cultural events at our local temple. When my sister and I wear the sari, we feel the same pride my mother feels when she wears hers. We feel pride because we know that we are keeping our traditions up and protected an ancestral tradition. For my high school graduation, the graduating females had to wear white dresses. I chose to wear my grandmother’s white sari because it defined who I am. The sari is the mark of my history: my mother’s struggle of adjusting to America, my grandmother’s struggle of marrying at the age of ten. The sari to me is a symbol of strength. My mother was so thrilled when I decided to wear the sari because I was demonstrating what I stood for at a right of passage ceremony. I was able to wear what I believed in and pay tribute to my culture. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But the reason is not only for ourselves, because when we go to community events, wearing a sari gives us an impression that we have Indian pride. We are demonstrating to other Indian families that we are grounded in our culture. Image is very important to an Indian woman because this is how a husband gains stature. My mother believes the more beautiful and grounded the wife and daughters, more affluent and strong the family. To my mother and Indian women, presentation is everything. Personal grooming and the neatness brings luck of the family. The sari is a physical emblem of etiquette training for girls. When you wear a sari, you must do so with ease, grace, poise, and elegance. When you wear a sari, you become an instant lady. Women bring joy, luck, and pride to a family. The more poised the woman, the more refined the family. I learned quite quickly to walk tiny steps and to hold my head high so that my family will be proud of me, and my family will have a high stature here in America among the Indian American families. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In conclusion, the sari, under the microscope of a cultural interpretist, is a symbol of a complex identity of Indian women. Due to globalization, Indian women are torn between old Eastern traditions and Western, autonomous lifestyles. The tying of a sari is a secret communal act that is shared between different generations. The tying of saris is a forum for women to come together and share gossip, stories, and advice. The reason Indian make sure their saris are tied in a proper fashion and dress to perfection because their looks and demeanor are a reflection on their husbands and family. The sari, since it is a traditional apparel, brings pride that is two-fold: feeling joy that you find yourself looking beautiful and knowing that other women acknowledge the beauty of your sari folds. The sari is a tradition that is passed on from woman to woman. Those who are born and raised in the United States feel a pull to wear the sari because it is a recognizable symbol of Indian pride. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As my mother adjusts the shoulder fabric, I look into the mirror and watch the pleats roll off my shoulder, I can not help but smile. I hold my neck up high, just like my mother told me to. And her mother told her. And her mother told her. We, woven together like the golden threads of a sari. </span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-64593094735724495362011-06-08T23:03:00.000-07:002011-06-08T23:44:47.212-07:00native wisdom, loose seed.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfHlKI658JQVmipDYc6NVd3T_ge1mrXyKDiNMqB58t-o_xKloLJ8AtmMXQKiVkwu6JQ5ey2XyMJviE3-NsodP1oE6WaLHGWHlqYxeYg53E1R88dBYDtJX49EF4MlygRmJLbIhFVMKwVM/s1600/Jodhpur1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfHlKI658JQVmipDYc6NVd3T_ge1mrXyKDiNMqB58t-o_xKloLJ8AtmMXQKiVkwu6JQ5ey2XyMJviE3-NsodP1oE6WaLHGWHlqYxeYg53E1R88dBYDtJX49EF4MlygRmJLbIhFVMKwVM/s320/Jodhpur1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616106471941718178" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, -webkit-fantasy; font-size: medium; ">I.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>Break open the seed</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>and what do you see?</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i> </i>nothing Baba.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>but some how this tree became a fig tree.</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>Why?</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i> </i>My father, green like a neem tree</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">cupped soil in his palm </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and dropped seed like rain</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">running as roots grasp soil.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">II.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">India is the land of waiting</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">my tata told me so. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ask the fisherman </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">who peers into graying Krishna river</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">singing to the deep </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">jaaldhi meri jaan</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">for I too have mothers</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to feed </span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">cigarette balanced like hourglass. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tataya cupped his son’s face </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">in his palm.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and you?</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">laughter surfacing through yellowing eyes.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He mocks us so</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">for my baba’s hands learned to wander</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">around leaf, rock, pen, dollar</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">fingers stroking ticket</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">palm waving out window</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">good bye! shukriah!</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tata waved back</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">leaning head against stone pillar</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">watching fisherman reeling in </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">silver mackerel. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">III. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Our youth is spent on a road</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of hot coals</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">sprinting past roadside cricket</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and jackfruit kiosks, future branded into the lines</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of your palm. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">V</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">My father once snuck into the cinema</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and watched a twenty foot Raj Kapoor singing </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mera Juta Hai Jaapaani, </span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ye Patalun Ingalistaani</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sar Pe Laal Topi Rusi,</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustaani</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">while pressing hand to heart</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">but trust me:</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">he wanted those Japanese shoes to bad</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to run run run</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">no waiting now.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> V. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My father</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ran on 10,000 mile roads of hot coals,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">books pressed on cement floors</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">wax that couldn’t be scraped off floor</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I imagine ten year old boy</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">reading grammar texts like I read faces</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">papa beat the odds</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">like every one of your papas</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and landed on frigid land</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">that caused shoulders to tighten</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">tighten ‘till the body freezes</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and coals turn cold</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a generation of travels</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">left to the closing of eyes. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My father learned patience </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and holds it in his palm</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">like custard apple</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a fruit too sweet for me to eat. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My feet want to do the listening</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to words buried under soil</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I want to run</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">past the pantomime of rock meeting sky</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">in Chiapas</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">or bodies bending in Kosovo</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’ll trade sweet bread</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">for chididhar</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and plait hair</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">India, love me love me love me</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">hope falls heavy from lips</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">They can see right through you</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">my sister insists</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">well I hope they like what they see:</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">dark shouldered westerner</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">writing history with fingers</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">tracing O-C-E-A-N</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">in hot dust </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">capturing Andra sun</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">while clenching fist. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My pocket called </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">dil</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">can never be full. I dream</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of running to India</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to relive a childhood </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">that was a drop of honey on the tongue </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of my father</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">but sweetness never left mouth</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and then maybe I am one of them:</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">vagabonds</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">metal laughter like temple bells</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">swinging on the train</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">watching stars pass by</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">time frozen on momentum. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Trust me</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I can sip palm wine like a native</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">play </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">gilidanda</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">‘till sky turns indigo</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and God, can I pray</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">eyes shut so tight</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">face scars into custard apple. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">India, love me love me love me</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">mantras seething between lips</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">until I am parched and out of breath</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">just like my father and the rickshaw driver </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">who bravely grins and asks me </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">which country madam</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and I whisper</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">India</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> every time</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But I watch papa walk foreword</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and I running back</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to the village of Nangali</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">village of rice pooja and monsoon rain</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">my hand misses him</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">outstretched</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">he smiles. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It is your time</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to travel behind hooded eyes</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">but time will be your enemy</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">bring knife to snake</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and split it into moments</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">so that you tuck them into the pocket</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">you so affectionately call heart</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and begin to listen to footsteps fading in earth. </span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">VI. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I walk</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">neck held high </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">fathers voice mirrors in my own</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mera Juta Hai Jaapaani, </span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ye Patalun Ingalistaani</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sar Pe Laal Topi Rusi,</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustaani</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and this is the India I know</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and one day,</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’ll have in those Japanese shoes</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I will bend and pick up the last seed</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to fill my pocket.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', -webkit-fantasy;"><br /></span></div></span></span><p></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-13377347759550657442011-06-02T20:30:00.000-07:002011-06-02T20:49:42.010-07:00Fence: Prelude to Understanding Terror.<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Finals, May 1st:</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Cross cultural text draped across my knees, I bend over study guides. Its 11 pm at night. The door burst open. “Priyanka, Osama is dead!” I stared at her frazzled hair and bewildered look. And then I go back to staring at my guides. “He is DEAD”. I watched her pull on a sweater, looked at herself in the mirror, tidied up her hair, and paced in front of me. “I got to go! I’ll see you in a bit!” I ask her where she is going, dropping my book on my bed. We were interrupted by cheers outside. We both peered out the window: “U-S-A! U-S-A!” We saw boys screaming and storming to the American University shuttle. “Watch this!”:</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ZNYmK19-d0U" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“We are celebrating at the White House. I got to go!” She ran out the door, grabbing her bag.</span></span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I walked outside my room. The floor was empty. As I heard the cheering outside, I felt uneasy.</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Three hours later, I received a tweet that a mosque was attacked in Pakistan. Suicide Bomb.</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> This certainly is not the end.</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The next couple of days my roommate and I sat on her bed while packing for the summer and watched clip after clip of a juicy story: woman shielding Osama, Osama’s body discarded in the ocean, no autopsy completed by outside source, pornography found in Osama’s compound. Funny this was to happen right when our first year was completed.</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The war of incompetency </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">we declared it. Just earlier that year, she and I were ambitious students in Professor Jackson’s infamous University College World Politics class. Professor Jackson once asked us the question: </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Should the world order be set up in nation-states or as different tribes? </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The entire class wrote about nation-states however one student wrote otherwise and was rebuked. However, looking back on it, I think the nation-state does not answer all the questions pertaining to sovereignty. How does the nation-state order describe Al-qaeda? This summer, I plan on getting my hands on everything I can about this issue. Thus the beginning of a series about this </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">War on Incompetency. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dvW60YKfULM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></span></span></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Regarding the celebrations that my classmates took a part of: I am 100% proud of my citizenship of this nation. Very proud. My parents have come a long way to give me what I have. It is America that has inspired them for decades. But one thing is certain: any citizen of this nation, regardless of stature, gender, age, or creed, is a representative of this country in the confines of our borders and beyond them. The celebrations, when broadcasted, was a portrayal of the American people to other nations. Thus, we must be careful how we act. The bombing that ensued 3 hours later was a direct response to the celebrations. Cultural diplomacy is key. Thus when I mean WAR OF INCOMPETENCY I speak of CULTURAL INCOMPETENCY. It is the lack of knowledge or care for another culture. </span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I am currently reading The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright and then the ethnography Imagined Communities by Benedict Anderson and then some more. We live in interesting times in which Anthropology is more important than ever. This is not classical anthropology that describes tribal dances in New Guinea. This is applied anthropology: looking past the text books and reaching past disciplinaries. This is connecting the dots between policy and prayers. As the hegemon expands into the pockets of Bedoin tents and seizes the internet, a culture clash halts our world. West meets East. History of Colonies, not too old. This is a history that needs to be pulled piece by piece like Abrahamic wool until exposed and read in our hands. This is not the first time. </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Come, this is where the path diverges. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoddmZ7wFbCuGBm3DDpwSyArdqxuXumYvs311QMsYYzNe2NqjyysCqPr0uZWGl3C-G1wMaZ0o_fjFejoCMuC19WDCmAq9YjxMrWf3YakL2576x-RoBT2VdBOHF-H7g3Dop7kRMedAEkg/s320/1-Duke+Terrorist+Art.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613831856055326626" /></span></span></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-34518414167376490062011-05-17T19:49:00.000-07:002011-06-02T13:34:33.614-07:00Summer's Eve<div>Blueberry jam spills across the sky, forming lepidopteran wings as far as my eyes can see. You know, in Navajo folklore, the butterfly is a symbol of vanity. But alas, I gaze into the deep azures expansive against the back of my palm. Mirrors. Like a blanket, blue domes crowned above.<br /><br /><br /><div>When I was little, I used to grope at virescent creepers that overlapped side walks. I never let go, moving and moving against the serpentine weight of my wanderlust nature only found in the closed hands of children. I was amazed by the openness of palm fronds that attempted to swallow azures whole. I did not stop there: blues and green, I tried to find them everywhere I could:</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Sarees. Rivers. Atlas that opened the world past two-dimentions: why is it that Africa, the richest continent in gold (1/2 of the world's gold has been mined out of Johannesburg alone) is the most poor. South Africa, the most gilded with resoures of all the nations has 42% of its population living on less than 2 dollars a day. The story of colonialism is a bitter pill to swallow. Says the girl whose nation was the land of 'puppets' as the British so eloquently put it. A nation whose Renaissance began in the khakis of British generals and ended in the lips of a rose colored <em>chakla</em>. India had her Malinches, too. </div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 168px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613714707570193826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn0JPQpc8HbLfC_3q0cYRIjSY4Y6CtMH70Qy-1tKKMKfdFJRdY4-IwMq4qEQZT21auxg0PquCEGClKnsp0Nh8qvJVJxo8XRq1yFPxhvfSeQx34SHLi9WpMYVRpjN7E4GPRNHYZAI8-uE/s320/a_courtesan_wl14sm.jpg" />I promise more conquest. I promise debauchery. I promise melodrama. Afterall this is nothing but the aquamarine formula of post-colonialism itself. Summer has begun.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-46842998088731019402011-05-07T15:04:00.000-07:002011-05-07T23:07:09.163-07:00sitapalum.<div><div><div> </div><div>Papa </div><div>my sandstone papa</div><div>eats custard apple.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> <em> The patience fruit</em></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><em></em> </div><div>he sings, picking seed after seed</div><div>juice moistening chipped thumbs. </div><div><br /></div><div><em></em> </div><div><em> first you must crack shell</em></div><div>palms fold around caloused layer</div><div>y<em>ou know I used to eat sitapalum everyday</em></div><div><em> so I waited. At night I sat in trees till down.</em></div><div>eyes hug horizon for memory.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> n<em>ot like that! you will destroy it.</em></div><div><em> patience. patience. </em></div><div>my prying fingers drop apple. </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> s<em>econd notice tender skin</em></div><div>hunger seethes in me. I crave</div><div>voluptious translucent flesh</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> <em> but alas no sitapalum in Amreeka</em></div><div><em></em> </div><div><br /></div><div>Thunderstorm receeds.</div><div>I imagine dark shouldered foreigner</div><div>peering into neighbor's gardens, state parks,</div><div>uncharted forests for broad tree and clay fruit</div><div>pocket growing heavy, dreaming of buying </div><div>one way ticket to India. </div><div>Romance prevails. Reality intrudes.</div><div>Papa waits nonetheless.</div><div> </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div> <em> I love this land</em></div><div>he breathes, chewing seed</div><div>lids heavy, jaws unclench</div><div> </div><div>my papa crumbles to the Earth. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5-iUZ_6w3fPbmk4z5Ao-Hfnax7869_d0O4fEyioYkZeUsmEnRzoJ59b8suZykUw5BFSLrg41ZpoK4ZrRsVOacq2TfQTO2KKreRYFQ0DRQUoJM3_N8HsvPTswYkLWSNfziHKM96h0IEg/s1600/275.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; height: 220px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604102726301310098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5-iUZ_6w3fPbmk4z5Ao-Hfnax7869_d0O4fEyioYkZeUsmEnRzoJ59b8suZykUw5BFSLrg41ZpoK4ZrRsVOacq2TfQTO2KKreRYFQ0DRQUoJM3_N8HsvPTswYkLWSNfziHKM96h0IEg/s320/275.jpg" /></a></div></div></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-31478387618177555922011-05-06T13:32:00.000-07:002011-05-06T14:22:07.708-07:00Dorthy's Red Ruby Shoes: How I got my Internship<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I pressed my hand to the florescent glass. The pulsating amaranthine panel disoriented the golden Mayan mask. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Jewels of conquest. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My classmates milled around me. I stood perplexed by the odd pairing of modern wall and antiquities. “Let’s go” my impatient roommate poked at me. “Yeah in a bit” I mumbled. The crowd of noisy college students moved past me as I stood, imagining the mask on the face of Laura or Chavelita or Margharita, the Mayan women I was enveloped by in Chiapas whose blood was mapped across the veined glinted ornament. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Conquest, post-1492. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I stepped back, admiring the purple-gold that made me come face to face to something sensual, salty-sweet, bold, sanguine, tragic. Romance fades, reality intrudes. My fingers glided against the contour of time. </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Smithsonian. 19 museums and galleries, a National Zoological Park, and 9 research facilities. The world’s largest academic institution. Affectionately deemed the nation’s attic, the Smithsonian is my home. My love for museums regresses from my youth. I blame my father for my love. I remember Baba, holding my hand as we entered the homey Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Him in his thick glasses and me in my lace frocks bending over labels: </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Brachiosaurus altithorax, Tetradenia fruticosa, Peromyscus maniculatus. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Every weekend, every holiday, Baba and me. Family of museums. But my adolescent museum days never died away. It was the lonely footsteps against marble that made me feel at home. Baba said I was growing too old for my playground. It was not a time to run any more. It was a time to move to the classroom or the library. But did he not see that pages were unfurling around me while I peered into the delicate crevices of rock spilling quartz? Sometimes I feel that Baba moved to the next exhibit, fascinated by the birds of Paradise as I am still staring at the faces of Hopi women. I am that child who walks in circles, echos from step calling out. Isn’t there someone to lead me back to him? Take me to the front desk? Like a young </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Octopus vulgaris </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">sealed in alcohol, I waited to be lifted.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-jqrt2DOKs95F6GahX1m8z5kUzDvbiF5OaKW6FtAIwmy8lJKKePS-GhDBuK51JvxhLbXCXmTuxESb-CfsnOib6DXPQlROhUQqPIOXoShRQJkCsCdowO1k1JVcnfJ0ZzQ-jwUW8l68EU/s320/ruby_slippers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603714173594115458" /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">After the field trip at the NMAI, I headed for the indigenous cafeteria, nostalgia on my tongue. I ordered two tamales: round and full in my mouth. I cut the pounded corn in half and then resulted into stuffing large helpings between my cheeks. I sighed. I looked up and noticed a handsome Indian woman watching me, her hand on her cheek. She whispered something. The other Indian women she was with turned to me. They in their thick embroidered Calcutta shawls shuffled as I sat up. I crossed my legs, readjusted my skirt, and placed the fork as lady-like as possible, attempting not to look like a ruddy neurotic girl. The handsome woman stood up and walked over to me. “My, what a beautiful Bengali girl! The flower in your hair attracted me to you like bee to fruit”. I blushed. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">She noticed the flower! (</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I wear the flower in my constant envious emulation of Frida Kahlo. Young. Organic. Yet strong, sophisticated, timeless.)</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Why are you here at the museum?” I tried to contain myself and speak as eloquently as possible, attempting to choose my words carefully. But then I opened my mouth: “i love indigenous people i lived with them in Chiapas and i wrote an ethnography and i had a family there and we grew corn i loved to pound the corn and wrapped them in husks and bake them under the ground to make tamales...” and so on and so on and so on. I could not stop speaking! Spinning and spinning, I must have talked for five minutes straight. And then I collapsed, all Chiapanecan-ed out. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">She raised her eyebrows. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Silence. </span></span></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">She pursed her hips and handed me a card. She walked away and placed her hand on my shoulder while whispering “Bye </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">beti”. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The two women followed. I stared at the card. My hands grew warm.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I called her the next day, phone pressed to my ear, bare heels clicking together as I waited for her to voice. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I left a voicemail. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Hello Ma'am. How are you? My name is Priyanka Srinivasa. I had met you at the American Indian Museum and I am calling you back because you mentioned an internship opportunity. I am calling regarding that internship position. Thank you and I am looking forward to your reply. </span></span></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I clicked the phone off and I was so proud of the formality of my message. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So professional. So avant-guard. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I giggled to myself excitedly. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, fantasy;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Washington, Here I come. </span></i></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-91719125081225008202011-04-22T11:03:00.000-07:002011-04-22T11:29:11.740-07:00like father like soñadora<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">This is my </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">anecdota</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, my story on the great divide between to generations and how a people of a minority do exactly what they are afraid of someone doing to them.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I must begin from the beginning. Fifty years ago, a child was born in a tiny village you could not find on the Indian map. Fifty years ago, in an unlit hut, a baby plastered in his mother’s blood opened his eyes to the world as hot tears rolled down his mother’s cheeks. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Srinivasa</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> he was named. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Srinivasa</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, the Great Achiever. And that, he was.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3hB65DfovQqTMa4iK9JMBB1ODD4QE8iEdgikaJ765u23qF6BL9rZv-DNE7HrQEEkSzzgBU8iriVRYFfpLHZblKoUmYNNEvM3NK7sy9UHKvhahIpaMqGv8kj1fvBX1OjtglOmCggnx4I/s1600/a_typical_indian_village_scene_bj73.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3hB65DfovQqTMa4iK9JMBB1ODD4QE8iEdgikaJ765u23qF6BL9rZv-DNE7HrQEEkSzzgBU8iriVRYFfpLHZblKoUmYNNEvM3NK7sy9UHKvhahIpaMqGv8kj1fvBX1OjtglOmCggnx4I/s320/a_typical_indian_village_scene_bj73.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598476060483283858" /></a><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He rose before the sun, sitting on parched ground, bending over his English grammar book. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Hello, sir. Good day, ma’am. Until we meet again,</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> he addressed the stars at night. If he could have kept/ the sky in his dark hand. he would have pulled it down/ and held it. He always loved something he could found impossible to reach. Like his dream to America. He dreamed of a vision that was inspired by Thursday movie nights watching Doctor Dolittle </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">until</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> he knew every line. Watching Rex Harrison singing in delight while stroking a giraffe, he dreamed of ice-cream sellers and children in lace dresses, where the people drank Coca-Colasinging that Coca-Cola jingle/ everyone knew and a world of fridges that were fully stocked. He wanted out of his dusty town; even if it was impossible. But he tried, nonetheless. The bookish young man stared at the withering pages for so long that he needed thick glasses. His name changed from Srinivasa, the savior to </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Nalugu Kaanu</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, four eyes. Isolated by his own people, a minority. No one stroked pages of text like him but no matter. Baba always said </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">intelligence is not judged by your good looks, but how thick your glasses are.</span></span></i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></span></span><p></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">In 1987 Srinivasa, that restless spirit broke free from that dusty town and flew across two oceans with a demure bride he met only once. He reached this country with the prayer </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">without labor no sweetness</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> on his lips. He worked twelve hour shifts at the Temple University Research Center, holding syringe like a scepter, because that is all he knew he could do. He trained himself to work all his life. But “later he learned that not all labor ends in sweetness . My own father learned something new in this land. A word called “hate”. This word “hate” was a disease. It spread through his medical floor. Being the only Indian, my father was known was an “overachiever”. Although it was something he aspired to be all his life, something his very name meant. He realized that he achieved too much and too soon that others could not help but wonder why and wonder why they did not achieve like he did. I could imagine that thin, scraggly man with an unshaved face think </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">my child will never know the word hate. She will be whoever she is. And I shall make sure this world will love her. This noor, this star of my life will only love one thing: hard work.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> Two years later, his </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">noor </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">cast her light over the Western World.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I was born into my father’s arms. He held me and gave me the birth name </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Yesheswini</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, one who succeeds. My mother laughed, telling him that a daughter with that name would draw attention to evil omens like her husband’s birth name. She held me and was shocked to see the fullness of my eyes. She called me Priyanka because eyes were important to her, and she could not see her husband’s because they were always hidden behind those thick, thick glasses.</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I spent my childhood on my father’s lap, my fingers stroking glossy pages of National Geographic and Encyclopedia Britannica; my eyes grew accustomed to tiny print which made my mother nervous. Papa and I would lie in the backyard playing count the dots with the stars. He would hover over me, look into my eyes and tell me something I could never forget: noor of my life, never forget where you come from and then he would look at me, looking for something I did not know. Little did I know that what he was looking for was in me.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Who am I? I was the land my father fell in love with. A land that turned the poor into </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">peda manshillu</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. Big people. A land that did not have problems such as caste and religion, and race, or so he thought once upon a time. And so did I. It isn’t just my family. It is every Indian family that shares this story with me. The struggle is passed from mother to child in the womb. As the first generation, finding our strength in a society we have half a place in is difficult. No one wants to be a </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">videshi</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, a foreigner. Where do I fit in? If I only knew, life would be easier. I am a minority. Only I know my father’s tale. Only I know what is expected of me. He dreamed of perfection even before I was born. But tell me, who is perfect? I can feel a generation old burden that falls on my shoulders and I am compressed. My heart grows heavy for him. I began to realize all too soon that I began taking an identity: the perfect woman conjured from the corners of my father’s mind. Desperate things happen. I tried to find myself so I looked and looked into my palms or into the sky or in books of poetry. When I thought hope was lost, I found myself. You will never guess where.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 18px; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSGJJjduvUlfb-pNXIMZUXCghIqRQAdEgMaVu01EOsMmizkDyvBQkmpb3s0oAoIlEX0PVqqpeZolSvSvVd68flUTSqrPeRd0kea1kabTxRahcYFpf5MFLfpbTJRebZNv3q1RfWhf_hAE/s320/rogers-william-painting-of-sky-full-of-stars.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598475589894526498" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The first time I tasted Spanish was on the lips of a </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">boriqua. Mi Estrella.</span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She held me tight and whispered </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">te amo te amo </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">until I chipped and chipped and chipped within myself. I never heard before. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Bonito. Bonito. Me parece todo es bonito...</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> What were these words? Each palabra, each word, was as elegant as the next. I mouthed the words dramatically, tasting each and every syllable: from the moment it traveled from my throat down to the tip of my tongue and off my lips. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Te- Am-Ooo.</span></span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">And then I was captivated. My little Puerto Rican Malinche brought my hand under the belly of the United States. I could feel the pulses of Latin America in my wrist. </span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">They say that French is the language of love, but I think that Spanish is the language of life. Life in Los Americas can be a struggle. Nations such as Bolivia and Mexico are young. These places are full of bright, curious, and hopeful minds that respect old indigenous ways, yet look to the future. In them, I found </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">mi anecdota</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, my story of discovering a language, a people, and a family.</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I voraciously consumed as much information as I could. I learned about the struggle of the Zapatista and how people fought for justice not just with weapons but with poetry, how in Bolivia Evo Morales, an indigenous man was rebuilding a nation and making sure los indegenas had righ</span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ts. I read poetry from Pablo Neruda. Poems such as “The Ode to the Naked Body” and I fell in love with the moment I worded each and every syllable and whispered Neruda’s feelings. Every time I read a line, I could feel Neruda’s desire and fascination for the human body. I understand Senor Pablo’s soul for a minute. I felt those words throb with my pulse. And when I uttered the stanza:</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It is not so much light that falls</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">over the world</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">extended by your body</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">its suffocating snow,</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">as brightness, pouring itself out of you, </span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">as if you were</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">burning inside</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 16.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">tears trickled down my cheeks. I understood the Latino passion. I could feel it throbbing in the hands of my teacher, in the poems, and in the art. I surrounded myself with Los Americas.</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The most important thing I learned about Latin and South America is how to feel. People live in the present. People do not live for living's sake. Reading about the revolutionaries, I realized that silence is never the answer. Language will always be my vehicle, my voice, my form of communicating who I am to the world. It is the only hope for </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">justicia</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. Spanish is about strength. I have seen pictures of Cuban men’s cracked hands. Those hands are not cracked because of hard labor in fields, but because these hands were made into fists and stood by what they believed. There is also a sense of wonder in day to day things. People understand what life is. That is something I sometimes forget. The fact that Neruda has written poetry about the most common objects made me realize that the world around us is breathless.</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> La vida es la vida.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> Life is life.</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Ai ai ai, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">what have I done? Have I severed an umbilical chord connecting me to thousands of years of sandstone and marble and whispers and wedding fires? Have I lost India over new lands, grounds, have I become the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">conquistadora</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">? I refuse to bite the bullet. I can see the sorrow in my father’s eyes. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Have I left India? </span></span></i></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Who am I? Nostalgia clouds my mind: I was the land my father fell in love with. A land that turned the poor into </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">peda manshillu</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. Big people. A land that did not have problems such as caste and religion, and race, or so he thought once upon a time. And so did I. It isn’t just my family. It is every Indian family that shares this story with me. The struggle is passed from mother to child in the womb.</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">“You have a duty to your homeland, Priyanka. That is why you are here. For you, for me, for your mother, and hers, and hers. This is our story”</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 16.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i></i></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It infuriates me! The blood running in me, the blood of temple bells seethes. Never wanting to conform, never wanting to be a native or colonized, just wanting to be. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Can’t I just be?</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But I wonder: how can I blame my father? I think I am more like him than he realizes: Don't you see? Baba, I am running away too just like you did that dusty August night when you bought a ticket to America to run away from your Baba. I too have bought a </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">billete</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, a ticket to another culture. Burdens travel through our blood, Baba, like a hereditary disease. How can you forget that?</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">We try to find ourselves, define who we are because sometimes another person’s burden begins to smother us, but when we do define ourselves And when we do, we are isolated by the people who claim to know us more than we know ourselves. A generation can split people apart due to dreams of perfection. We hide behind our sorrows. Silence is what we choke on. We are the sons and daughters of La Malinche. Running and running. We take stones and throw them over fences just to see what we hit: globalization in its purest form.</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I still remember the nights he held my chin in his hand and tilt it to the sky. If he could have kept/ the sky in his dark hand he would have pulled it down/ and held it. But, he didn't have to. He had me. While he watched me, I traced women in the stars and giggled. He would, too, whispering </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">you are beautiful, my little, little noor. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I would push him to the grass; he would be helpless. Then I would say:</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 18.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 54.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">“Baba, you crazy old man. The stars are more beautiful than me. Just look that them! They shine more than me!”</span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 54px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He grinned and said </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">jaan, my sweetheart, nothing is more bright than those beautiful, beautiful eyes. You are my gift from the Gods.</span></span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 16.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Our vagabond, Malinchita laughter swallowing the silence of the heavens, two wonderlusts stopping briefly for fresh air. Never slowing. Slowing.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRKUvjeon0e9pu0em5isZU1R7udknZA4SinfVp3HzXv7O1PjH_tYuaKS4RUTUIyjbYVO86zuIrAHlnGQSv1Ej1c0rxMWWOdl-MlmT-2opepqC94lC6Ts0fKv914_RYUDeDSuQQrsLtjE/s320/Photo+24.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598474598839870882" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-62433933929985565482011-04-19T21:26:00.000-07:002011-04-22T10:03:41.756-07:00On Neo-Liberalism.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9e-71uQV-tTvqKbff1IzbqyWgA4t5kRu78GCVvuHiGk_YV_Mm26GXFz6mVyYpjtmTXcgNL6hGu6Vcbwcy3dqaZ03gNXGzKkorfIab2HLUaNWvDCaI98LozeEoy9b-y-y-39QRz-jH9K0/s1600/51americanairlinesacapulco.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9e-71uQV-tTvqKbff1IzbqyWgA4t5kRu78GCVvuHiGk_YV_Mm26GXFz6mVyYpjtmTXcgNL6hGu6Vcbwcy3dqaZ03gNXGzKkorfIab2HLUaNWvDCaI98LozeEoy9b-y-y-39QRz-jH9K0/s320/51americanairlinesacapulco.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598454672127686706" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', fantasy;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Señorita Mexico</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">land not of the free</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">or the brave</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Mexico <i>lugar</i> of the </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i>Chingadas, </i>the violated</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">what will you do today?</p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">I see you watching the ends of your skirt</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">to your <i>blankita</i> sister</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 36.0px; text-indent: 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Am-er-i-ca</p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Four syllables </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">they role off the tongue </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">like flames, leave you wanting more </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">light that can be cupped in your palms</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">cast that earth away, this</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">is not the time for story of creation </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">but emulation.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Papa says we can do anything. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 36.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"> America,</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"> she will make you a new niña.</p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><br /> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">I saw you in Acapulco </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">powdered up in the 60’s</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">like a <i>caramela</i> Marylyn Monroe</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">squeezed into a lemon Meringue skirt</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i>Acapulco, look here comes the sun<br />Acapulco, it's a day for fun<br />I can't wait till I meet your sweet senoritas<br />Kiss everyone<br />This is no time for siesta, this is time for fun</i></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Mexico I thought you were your sister</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">pardon my hands running against your cotton skin</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">not satin like Ameeri</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">but I couldn’t resist</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">Mexico, </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">I hope you know how to write. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman">In that case, sign your name on the dotted line</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"> X <span style="font: 12.0px Times; text-decoration: underline"><b><i>____Mexico__________ </i></b></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, -webkit-fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" text-decoration: underline;font-size:12px;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1507757000379569054.post-54417729602830517442011-04-12T15:40:00.000-07:002011-04-12T15:50:38.830-07:00Feel<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Page 61. My eyes wander to the tip of calloused skin. The whole picture comes together. Feet. A pair of dark feet: salt scarred at the toes, bandaged with saffron cloth, standing on a sea of ivory rock. I stare, confused, at the glossy page of National</span><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Geographic</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. The caption reads “Mali. Worker mining salt</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">”</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Window to the underworld</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I whisper.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mali, like a secret on Africa’s lips, is tucked beneath Niger. Unknown to American eyes, she was once a land of promise. Traders from even the Orient craved her spices and teak wood. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mali of the antiquities.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Now we look at her, reduced to shards of salt blocks that glisten in African sun like silver mackerels in a sea of boys who call themselves men. Such is the way of history: cities of stone chip in pieces until they are reduced to dust. But when we finally take notice, we see crumbled cities in which the very feet of men seem to decompose. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mali of the fallen.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wriggle my own feet, plum skin waxing and waning. What of them? Aren’t these as human, as fleshy as the man’s in Mali? I realize that we never see the face. We see broken feet, a novelty of the third world. Bandages cause us to sigh, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mali of the stone feet.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Where does humanity lie?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I have found humanity creviced between our toes. I realize that those feet will one day be mine, and mine, his. One and the same, such is the nature of humanity: reversal. A primordial wave of heat beginning in my chest washes over me as I stare. We often haphazardly glance through photos, not realizing the subject is real. It has been for eternity; we simply forget to lift the page. Such is the era. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The era of ignorance.</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i></i><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But it is soon to be over. The rush now floods through my limbs and out my toes. The picture becomes more than a picture, and I become more than the self. We blink, our memories, once remiss, is aroused. And it makes me want to throw fists in the air and shout “in the name of Humanity!” I pine to speak of his struggle at the pulpits, rousing the next generation to grow angry. We will grow in numbers!</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Wait. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I halt and sigh. </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I look down at those feet. Oh how they taunt me so with their walnut appearance. I have approached this all wrong. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">What of the boy?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Blinded by oceans, a generation grows upset, but what of the face we never see? I lean in. Who will massage the wounds cut deep through decades? </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Humanity begins in my fingertips</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. I trace the outline of the bandages. Change begins in my land: across a bed of sharpened salt crystal, in the contours of his mind, in the warmth from my hand in his, in his weak smile, responding to me, yet a smile nonetheless. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Humanity of the uplifted.</span></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i></i><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I fall in. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgRiSK5i4QN-hSk2lYp6rbQYyzYQy2oyBZBof5f7oHkqf7TQCqVMgn4-zlILr9GQjQhgPEJW3hind-eGn8TYcHKJGIiOE52hygi8fD9izlFmdEc2uANwJRjufXMXFNH96SrM6AdTmnOg/s320/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594832214793526370" /></span></p>Priyankahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18011616026553285844noreply@blogger.com0