For my little sis,

You remind me

of the red and yellow Jell-O

that mom used to make us

in those hot summers

We made her

cut it into star shapes,

one for you and one for me,

because the dish was never

big enough for more

We’d eat it slowly

letting it slide up and down

on our tongues

until they were colored bright.

You remind me

of the sleds we’d make

out of backyard chairs

in those bitter winters

We’d make paths

with our tiny fingers

in the snow on the deck

with a pile at the bottom

just so we wouldn't fall

We’d slide down laughing

turn-by-turn

over and over

until we were just too cold outside.

You remind me

of those late nights

when we’d stay up

telling stories

We had already spent

the whole day together

but we never ran out

of things to say

until one of us fell asleep

We’d say good night a hundred times

But never mean it

Because a minute later

We’d be giggling all over again.

And today, just because

we never cut shapes out of Jell-O

and those backyard chairs are long gone

and we have our own rooms now,

You will always remind me of those lovely pieces of my childhood.

Whitewashing Bollywood.

I would always hate getting a tan during the summer. Ever since I was a young girl, I had this idea ingrained in me that having light features was a beautiful thing – only the lucky few Indians had light skin, light eyes, and light hair. So I would try to stay out of the sun in the summer, trying hard not to become a darker version of myself. 

But as I got older, I began to question why this was. It was in freshman year of college that I took a sociology class and began to really understand that my own perception of beauty was merely an echo of what the media put out there. And the problem with the media is, it reinforces the racial hierarchy of the world. That’s right – the media may be great in many ways, but in certain matters, it can be dangerous.

Beauty is a concept that is produced and reproduced again by media. Celebrity culture and channels of media determine what is beautiful, trendy, and acceptable. And this often becomes a social problem. For example, in American society, the association between “beautiful” and “thin” has become so overemphasized that eating disorders such as anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa have stemmed and spread like an epidemic throughout the country. In this way, the values that media produces are instilled in people’s minds and later reproduced in society.

In Bollywood (India’s equivalent of Hollywood), all the actresses and actors are light-skinned, with light eyes, and light hair. And if an actress or actor does not naturally have light features, they appear to have them on-screen. They will dye their hair from black to a lighter shade of brown, use blue or green contacts, and use lighter foundation to cover their dark skin.

It doesn’t end with whitening features either. As innovation and technology make the world a more connected place, cultures are able to interact with one another. As a more global society is born, media allows values and beliefs to flow across borders. In recent years, attire in Hindi cinema has moved drastically away from its conservativeness, and has become much more revealing. With actresses dressed in low-cut, skimpy clothing, the attire worn in Bollywood movies has become even more revealing than the clothes worn in Hollywood movies.

Bollywood music has also had its fair share of influence. Many of the songs that have been released lately have English lyrics, and often contain rap, differing from previous classical Hindi songs.

This “whitewashing” of Bollywood is, without a doubt, a reproduction of the racial hierarchy with dominant white culture being the top rung of the racial ladder. Hindi cinema is recognizing (perhaps subconsciously) that not only is white culture dominant in global society, but that Indian culture is inferior to white culture.  And through the process of social reproduction of the racial hierarchy via media, this inequality is naturalized, and a very systematic racial hierarchy is promoted.

It’s not just Bollywood and Indian culture. This is prevalent in many parts of the world. But it’s time we stop letting media determine our perceptions. Challenge the concept of beauty in the media. Challenge social customs. And above all, challenge culture – because if we don’t, society will continue to be brainwashed by mechanisms like the media, and as intelligent human beings, I think we’re better than that.

Seeing Brian

She’s reading from blank pages

Those stories she’d mumble with bright eyes

to the child that sat on the rocking chair

next to her barred window

She said his name was Brian

and that he had golden hair

and crooked teeth

but he smiled sweetly

She’d whisper that he brought her chocolates

wrapped in tissues

in the mornings

and snuck them into her drawer

She’d giggle mischievously

because the mean ladies never found them

Sometimes she’d just sit on her bed

rocking herself back and forth

with a peaceful smile stretched across

her wrinkled face

listening to him speak

She didn’t like taking her meds

because she said it made him sad

and he wouldn’t visit quite as often

One day, when the doctor stopped by

she screamed at him and called him blind

and when I came in later to ask

what had gone wrong

she told me he was the crazy one

because he couldn’t see her Brian

And I didn’t understand

why they wouldn’t let the poor lady be

delighted and contended

in her beautiful world of delusion

because in our world

she was all alone

So when she smiled and told me

that she liked me

and put a finger to her lips

and winked

as she offered me empty tissues

from her drawer

I told her

that Brian loved her very much

And she looked

towards the empty rocking chair

grinning

and whispered, “I love him more”

Asha

She has big hazel eyes

that stare back at me

with mesmerized wonder

through my camera lens

Later I’ll learn that she’s never seen such a thing before.

Her long black hair is tied into a braid

but little curls fall out next to the baby hair

framing her deep caramel skin

half-covered by a stunning orange silk dupatta

Later I’ll learn that the silk is covering a terrible scar.

I stare at her tiny hands

as they beat effortlessly on the drums

she was always meant to play

because she was just born that way

Later I’ll learn she may never know how to read or write.

The smile that stretches across her face is miles long

and little lines line her eyes

with the mischievous laughter

of little children

Later I’ll learn her marriage has been arranged.

I kiss the dimple on her cheek and say goodbye

and she whispers in soft Hindi in my ear

that she wants to be a doctor too

some day

Later I’ll learn that her name is Asha. Hope.

There are no such things as happy endings.

There are no such things as happy endings.

Sure, once in a while the bad guy gets caught, or the team finally gets a victory after all their hard work. And sometimes the couple realizes that they’re in love after all and they live happily ever after. But what is that? Happily ever after. It sounds like an eternity. In reality, it’s just the opposite. Endings are never happy. Endings are just, well, endings.

When you’re absorbed in a story, a part of you disappears when the story ends, and it never returns. That’s why rereads will never be as satisfying. It’s because once the story ends, you can never really get it back.

I’ve been writing poetry and short stories since I could form words on paper. It all started as cute poems about the seasons back in 1^st grade, but eventually I started delving deeper and deeper into writing, and it became my method of venting.

But lately, I’ve become tired of stories. I can never really fit all that’s bubbling inside into a story. Stories aren’t good enough to get it all out.

So I decided to start this blog, as a way of compiling all my thoughts (however unrelated they may be) for as long as I can. And this way, I can tell my story and never have to write an ending. 

So here goes my beginning.

I hope you stick around for all of the many middles to come.