Stuff Indians Like

#+1: Getting Uneven Steven on your Wedding Gift

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 04:24:00 +0000

It's wedding season, 'caque Knoblauchs. brotate around that fire five times, hide your brother in law's shoes and watch sweaty dudes storm the DJ decks requesting soca hits of the '80s, '90s and today.

Cut Indians loose in the wedding hall and it's like unhooking the baby bjorn and letting your diabetic beta run wild in the jalebe shop.

Because Indians (okay, Gujus, can we stop pretending?) are infamous for their one up-manship, a so so necessary aspect of the indian wedding richa-ual is the round up on the financial gift. Normally Indians round down on EVERYTHING including their age, the mortgage on their condo, their penis size and the previously agreed upon terms for the hotel caterer.

But oh yo not so when it comes to the CHEQUE, cause, uc, if there's one thing Indians prefer to being miserly, it's doing plus one better than Nandini in the gift department. So what if her daughter went to Stanford undergrad, Northwestern medical school and is engaged to a white podiatrist in Winnetka? She only gave one hundred and fifty dollars. You're gonna give one hundred and fifty plus ONE.

Sure, some might say it's auspicious to leave off the extra zero but can we finally, for once, please, pretty please get picked to live in a house, stop being polite and start getting real? The only thing auspicious about getting Uneven Steven on your wedding gift is watching Ritu uncle's face turn red when he finds out you One-Upped him and then wondering if he's actually angry or just drunk...again.

So here's to you Indians. You won't turn the AC on in the summer; you sneak outside snacks into the theater (yeah, i heard you open that can of Diet Slice during Taare Zameen Par, AUNTIE) and you bought little Deepaum VOITS instead of Reeboks, but all that's cumin on a cutlet when you make it drizzle on the lucky couple with your $101 dollar check. Eat it up, Nandini. You just got 1-upped.

#H1N1: Bird Flu, Swine Flu, ToFLU?

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Fri, 08 May 2009 16:31:00 +0000

Another SILDC original production. Check it out and rate it if you can. Some dick bag gave it like one star and totally dragged our average down. Jai ho, bitches.

#110 BPM: Dancing to Britney's Indian Remix

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 18:01:00 +0000

#17.5: Shooters (the Remix)

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 17:48:00 +0000

Last year Subhash and I were in the throes of SILDC and g-chatting about what else we could do to impress Indian girls online. Indian girls like Li'l Wayne, we surmised. Indian girls like Robin Thicke, too. Oh shit, we said to ourselves, you know what Indian girls rrrreally like? Shooters.

Since we're Indian, our originality stopped there and we fell back on the crutch all "creative" Indians use to support their wilting sense of humor - the song parody. We g-mailed the lyrics back and forth and even storyboarded a video we were going to shoot in Subhash's Chi-town condo (with a lakeview for about 3 more months until Bill Rancic builds another behemoth monstrosity further/farther East on Ohio street).

Unfortunately, we never got our hands on either an instrumental track or an Indian souljer that can sound like Robin Thicke. I let the lyrics lie under my bed for 10 months until I stumbled across them yesterday while looking for the last four years of my life. We decided to just post'em up so that the world can have but a vague sense of the magic and wonder it was denied when SILDC FLIMS PRESENTS "Shooters" ft. Smeezy and Bhupen Thicke folded in pre-production. Without further aloo.

"Shooters" ft. Smeezy and Bhupen Thicke (a.k.a. Thicky Rice)

[Smeezy]
Yea, yea, yea
Smeezy baby y'all, Get that Evite, should i say Pre-vite?
Lemon Drops, what you know about it
I brought my macaca along for the ride
He parched, he came here to talk to gujubabes and get wasted

[Bhupen Thicke]
I heard some shouts out down by the door
Then even louder, " We got shooters!" (shooters, shooters)

[For video: shot through door peep hole with fish eye of group of indian dudes holding up shot glasses and handles screaming]

It's Friday night and we're about to go out
But first we pre-party to liquor up good
Jumped right over counter / Pointed glass at Pinky, tell her
Here's your shooter (shooter, shooter)

Our hands are up, Our hands are up
We're dancing with our hands way up
We've got shooters

[Smeezy]
I think they want me to remember
But no, I can't do it [2x]

So many doubt 'cause I'm short and stout /
But when I open up my fridge only mixers come out
Pop! Ima pour it straight / make you drink a liquor lake
Ima play Top Chef and whip you up a rum souffle
I'm just trying to be the great / Tryna get a gujubabe
Take your girl out for a date / Though she Hindu feed her steak
She got a whole lot to say but I don't listen
Call me gastronomic Smeezy, bitch, get in the kitchen

[Bhupen Thicke + Smeezy]
With all these Richas and, all these Nishas
There ain't no loners around
They thinkin about shooters that-taste like that
Soco-Lime & lemons that - that Gujus get
Shoot shoot shoot shoot shooters

My hands are up
We're dancing with our hands way up
We're dancing with our hands way up
Oh, shooters

[Smeezy + Bhupen Thicke]
But I'm not
I just cry mama, I think they, hey
Me think they want me to remember (Shooter)

[Smeezy]
And to the Blogosphere, I'm tired o' being patient
Stop bein' self-loathing racists, region haters
Spectators, dictators, behind door dick takers
It's outrageous, you don't know how pointless your hate is
I want to give you a mirror to embrace it
But this is Indian face this
If we too complicated then y'all can't route your basic linksys

[Bhupen Thicke]
Lardhki asks for a Michelob Light
Look her up and down with my nearsighted eyes
I said, "If you gon get a beer, then you gon have to get outta here"
'Cause here's your shooterrrrrrrr!

Our hands are up, our hands are up
We dancing with our hands way up
Oh, Shooter [2x]

[Smeezy]
Me won't remember, me so pretender

Striped Shirt soakin' wet I been bhangring y'all
I reload, every couple songs, need a shooter, I'm comin' for it
Better know me, Smeezy Baby just call me lord
Hard, take pain like Lassi Bombs, raw
Way past Agra, for, I'm some shit you never saw
I take you to the bar baby take shooters it's the law
And they say, you're Jain, and holy, you don't even eat cow
And, my reply was simply Amaretto Sour!

Mama, I think they, hey, me think they want me to remember
(Shooter, my hands up, my hands up, they want me to remember) [2x]

No, me won't remember, no, no
I promise no remember
I got my Priya
And I need some shooters

#12:15 PM: Taking Lunch

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 10:00:00 +0000

People around the world make lunch; they take lunch breaks and they have lunch together. Only Indians, however, find the in-between gray area of "taking" lunch with friends and family.

Go to an Indian relative's house in India and they'll ask you, "Have you taken lunch?" Tell your parents you can only meet them for twenty minutes, and they'll suggest, "Okay, we'll take lunch together."

Of what, you ask? The frozen parathas, biryani rice, lamb curry and vindaloo they stacked into a cardboard box with seven rolls of packing tape and checked into baggage on AirTran flight 770 to LaGuardia, of course.

Yes, Indians take lunch together but they also physically take their lunch across the country and to wherever they may go, toting tiffins to work, tupperware on trains and, on planes, beat-up cardboard boxes (recycled from the previous journey) scrawled with magic marker, "FOOD," so that the TSA and Dept. of Homeland security understand that the foul-smelling, viscous liquid they come across during a random baggage check isn't explosive in itself, but may, if ingested, cause explosive diarrhea.

The Number 2 you take in the bathroom (or a little in your pants) after a healthy round of aloo ghobi is par for the course when you get brown and dirty with Indian food, the ceremonial 5th course to cap a meal of tandoori chicken, naan and roti. It's a natural, and unfortunately inevitable, prologue to a lunch taken with Indians: Take lunch; take dump; take nap and repeat. Bon appetite.

#600 Calories: THIS

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 07:07:00 +0000

Least Hindu thing since the Legend of Bagger Vance.

#88 Keys: Quitting Piano Lessons

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 10:00:00 +0000

For Indians there are many traditional rites of passage such as the annaprasan, the thread ceremony for those fortunate enough to be Brahmin, and the big, fat, monsoon wedding. There are also, however, several informal milestones of youth and adolescence that Indians share. There's karate class on Saturday mornings, swimming lessons to get into Flying Fish at the YMCA, the dreaded Friday night Bharatnatyam class that prevented attendance at any fourth grade sleep over and, of course, that universal tribulation of every Indian growing up, taking and subsequently quitting piano lessons.

While growing up, Indians have two options for learning a musical instrument. Either violin, or piano. These can be supplemented with an additional instrument, of course, as long as that instrument is either a flute, clarinet or cello. As a matter of course, most Indians will pretend to take interest in the tabla at the age of 14, around the same time they start seriously considering Hinduism as a lifestyle, dabbling in vegetarianism and listening to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan records at Borders coffee shops.

As sure as every Indian must at some point take piano lessons, he or she must also go through the uncomfortable process of quitting. Usually, parents are the last one to know their child has quit piano lessons. Even the teacher will know, watching the kid sit through rehearsal awkwardly trying to play through a song, pretending like he'd practiced. He didn't. Check his theory book. It's empty, and if it's not, he hastily filled in the triads with a pencil in the waiting room while going through the Hidden Picture Puzzle in Highlights Magazine.

Though many parents are strict and often impose their will on their children to do what they themselves could never do, there is a chink in the Indian parents' armor that, when exploited, forces them to choose between the lesser of two evils when it comes to the upbringing of their kids. That is, the fundamental trade-off between heavily regimented free-time for college applications, and good enough grades and PSAT scores for college applications. To successfully quit piano lessons, all an Indian kid has to do is cry a little and say, "But quitting piano lessons will give me more time to shtuuuudy." Done.

Parents will immediately cancel the payments to the teacher and remove the kid from piano lessons. Over the years they will realize their mistake as they watch their child try to teach themselves the guitar, dabble in marijuana, underachieve through school, go to a public university, drop pre-med sophomore year and major in Youtube.

#23 Followers: Tweetin'

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 18:37:00 +0000

Yeah, we know the word "Tweet" makes you think of that song from '02 that made you want to get randy warhol with Phi Delts at the 1800 Club, but we're not trying to dwele on the past herre. We're forward thinking like TiVo. That's why you should follow Stuff Indians Like on Twitter. It's mostly just me and Subhash talking long distance about various Indian girls we stalk on Facebook and how we can trademark a Mumbaitini (Vermouth, Gin and Chai) and popularize our SILDC signature cocktail the Slumdog Chamillionaire (Kingfisher and Sewage). Join the party, yar!

#PG-13: Benign Naughty Snaps

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 10:00:00 +0000

Someone's got family in Medford, MA.

#112 The Remix 2 the Remix: Singing R&B, Seriously

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 11:00:00 +0000

A-N-Double-O-P D-O-Double-G. Looking good in the freshman homecoming blazer.

Indians growing up in the United States are of two varieties. Either they love the Dave Matthews Band, and by extension any guitar-sax-viola corollary, or they love R&B, singing Mariah Carey songs at desi birthday parties and mixing Usher's "You Make Me Wanna" into Dil Lagi in their South Asian college a cappella group performances.

Singing English R&B is very different than Indian popular and classical music, and those Indians with a talent for the soulful often develop a deep appreciation for artists such as Brian McKnight, Monica and Wanye from Boyz II Men, less because of his voice and more because Indians as a people identify with those of larger lip.

Though the Indian R&B crooner has found an audience in the UK, his or her American analogy has yet to break through: Sandeep is at Harvard Business School, Himal is applying to Harvard Business School and Nora Jones is half white. The responsibility then falls to the next generation of Indian-Americans to pick up the slack of their predecessors and saaaang like Udit Narayan on a compilation disc of Eros Music's greatest hits. Gods speed, young whodis, make us proud like Dave Cook did for beer jowls and goatees.

#1166 and Rising: Reddit.com

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 06:12:00 +0000

Easy, desis, it's Reddit, not Rediff. That's a different post. Reddit's like Digg except, I don't know, less popular. At least we got our boy Prameya Bhandari representing drunk Redditors 7 beers deep at JFK en route to DC. You do you, Prameya, and we love the #2 on the sides you got going. We should swap facial hair stories some time.

Update: Prameya removed his video, presumably after he sobered up. We mourn ya till we join ya, brohmin.

#12:30 AM: Getting on TV at Late Night w/ Jimmy Fallon

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 00:33:00 +0000

#300 lbs: Putting Their Elbows Up to Show Someone's Portly

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 11:00:00 +0000

There are few universal symbols among Indians. There's the head waddle to indicate "Haji;" the cupping of the hand downward and the flick of the wrist to indicate "Come;" and then there is the sign for "motu" or fat.

To accomplish this simply puff your cheeks out, straighten your back and hold your arms at your chest, elbows out, like a chicken about to flap its wings, or an Atlanta A&T drumline captain kicking off the halftime show vs. Georgia Tech.

This is often done to describe those of the portly set behind their back. If in an elevator with an overweight white person, however, Indians will most likely just discuss how overweight that person is in Hindi or in whatever Indian language they speak.

#Channel 14: Chris Matthews' Macaca Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 18:24:00 +0000

Macacas back! With a vengeance. In describing the Republican leadership's selection of a governor instead of a member of Congress to rebut President Obama's economic address on Tuesday, MSNBC's Chris Matthews used the term "outsourcing." It would've just been more empty, cable news ranting if the person Matthews was referring to wasn't Republican Governor of Louisiana, Bobby Jindal, the first Indian-American Governor in American history.

Really, Matthews? We're winning Oscars here and you're making outsourcing comments about a dude that's an American citizen? Oscars, dog. Now we got hardware to go with our software. Jai ho.

#35 Days: Aerogrammes

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 19:54:00 +0000

#19th Amendment: Curbing Women's Lib

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 18:26:00 +0000

In India, equality is a privilege, not a right. Brahmins govern wisely by the grace of Gods; Kshatriyas peddle wares, and Untouchables beg for change at traffic signals and get nominated for Academy Awards.

There is caste, there is class, and there is whup dat ass for anyone who steps out of line. Whether he be a tribal minority, a muslim immigrant from Bangladesh, or whether she simply be a she.

Though Indians honor Gandhi as a hero who stood up against the imperial power of Britain and delivered to India a long-deserved independence, some find the opportunity to subjugate and oppress too tantalizing to ignore. Though a majority of Indians prefer freedom and democracy, a few bad mangoes can't resist denying others their rights. Most Indians like freedom, but some Indians like oppression even more.

This oppression takes many forms: killing those of a different faith, exploiting those of lower status, and beating those of the fairer, though ultimately inferior, sex.

While India enjoys a progressive reputation in comparison to its neighbors Pakistan, Myanmar and China, some Indians still harbor a peculiar penchant for putting women in their place. Though "pub culture" abides throughout India's more cosmopolitan cities, some conservative Indians believe the opportunity to imbibe is a privilege held exclusively by the male. Though the result of this mind set is an awkward amalgamation of men dancing together with their arms up and interlocking pinkies after 3 too many Kingfishers, it's far more desirable than Mindy, Summana, Kabita and Karbi knocking back Mumbaitinis in public while waiting for their Maharaja Big.

Just ask 21 year-old Sanah Galgotia, who was quoted in the New York Times. "In India, no matter how modern you are, you're still in this schizophrenic nonmodern thing," she said, straining to be heard as the D.J. blasted Pearl Jam.

Some Indians also take a more proactive approach to their harassment of women. Instead of responding to women who drink, dance and fraternize in public, they go out of their way to bother women on the street. For example, if a group of Indian men in a Tata Sumo pass an Indian woman walking down a street, they do not see anything wrong with aggressively cat-calling toward her. If this woman has the gall to confront her tormentors, however, the jeep full of Indian men will feel affronted, make horn, and attempt to run her over. Hitting Shrutis with Marutis is an acceptable practice for the unenlightened Indian male, some may even call it a time pass, like carrom or maths.

If you are ever in India or within the company of Indians, closely monitor the interaction between the sexes. If the tone appears to be civil, proceed with common social decorum such as saying please, saying thank you and refraining from beating women if they choose to express an opinion.

If the tone is noticeably hostile, however, and an Indian woman makes the mistake of speaking out of line, quickly hold hands with another man since the normalcy of this homosocial behavior may diffuse the tension of a woman asserting her independence. To some Indians, equality is a privilege, women socializing in pubs is wrong, and the opportunity for men to hold hands with other men is the only right that's right.

# 1's and 2's: DJ'ing

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 11:00:00 +0000

A non-scientific study conducted by the SILDC interns (all of whom are majoring in some facet of engineering and applied mathematics) revealed that 11 out of 10 Indians in the United States are DJ's. 200% of them are from New Jersey while 300% of them spin exclusively in Chicago and at the occasional Ohio State Desi Party. In fact, 4 of you just became DJ's as you read this paragraph.

Indian DJ's separate themselves from their black, white, Asian and Persian counterparts by adopting Indian DJ names such as: DJ Aladdin, DJ Dosa, DJ Vikas, and DJ Vijay.

The music spun by Desi DJ's, however, is not so homogeneous. Styles range from hip-hop to rap to urban to R&B to "Latika's Theme." All tunes, however, will be introduced and categorized within the only musical genre Indian DJ's choose to recognize, "remix."

Occasionally a Desi DJ will play house music or trance. Though he may be brown, he is not considered an Indian DJ but rather a Canadian DJ since he's most likely from Toronto. Desi DJ's in India are also considered a different breed since they mostly play bizarrely dated Western pop songs by artists such as ABBA and Michael Learns to Rock.

The prevalence of Desi DJ's also has its down sides. At popular Indian punctions (sic) such as Desi Parties, Weddings and punctions (sic), the count of DJ's per head often swings drastically out of balance. At this point, several Indians will attempt to usurp the decks from the appointed DJ through a host of strategies. For example:

Krishna: Yo, man. You have that new Ne-Yo remix with the Timbaland tablas? I was thinking about droppin' them over "Latika's Theme."
DJ Caucasian: What? Um, no, I don't.
Krishna: No worries, I got it on my iPod right here. Yo, lemme hook it up.
DJ Caucasian: I don't think that'd be a good idea.
Krishna: No, it's cool. I got that line-in.

Several of Krishna's "boys" from their UPenn "dance troupe" will then surround DJ Caucasian and breathe heavily from their mouths until he excuses himself to the bar to get a Coors Light. Bass thumping Indian remixes accompanied by unequalized treble will play for the rest of the night as sport coats are removed, collared shirts are pitted, and feet are interlocked.

The Desi DJ should not be confused with the Desi Party Promoter, though they are often one and the same person. Desi DJ's focus on the music, setting the playlist and leaving the turntables unattended to dance aggressively to their own beats. Desi Party Promoters, on the other hand, over-charge patrons, pay-off bouncers and fight with their girlfriends, usually named Leena, who have just thrown up in the pool table.

If you ever run into an Indian there's a 500% chance that he or she is a DJ. Be cautious to invite them to your wedding or bat mitzvah since they will usurp the decks. Also, invite them into your home warily since 12 times out 10 they will press you on the tech specs of your "system," secretly download audio mixing shareware programs on to your computer when you're out of the room and try to talk you into buying their old "mixer."

#10 Oscar Nominations: The Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Indians enjoy Flim Soundtracks. From Dil Se to Dil Chahta Hai, DDLJ to anything by Kishore Kumar, Indian fathers buy Hindi soundtracks in bulk from Indian Grocery stores, and play them repeatedly during long family car trips, bizarrely soothed by the sound of ear piercing flute solos.

Though many Indians qualify their feelings about Hindi movie soundtracks by saying things like, "My family only listens to Hindi soundtracks from the '60s because that's when Hindi music was unadulterated and, well, better," the popularity of more recent releases proves the Indian love for Flim soundtracks endures.

This winter, a new soundtrack replaced former favorites such as Lagaan and Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. It's composer was familiar to all, but it's sound was brand new. It was called Slumdog Millionaire.

As the Oscars near, for which Slumdog Millionaire is nominated in ten categories, and Holi after that, the Slumdog soundtrack will be a familiar sound emanating from desi disc changers, DJs and iPod docks. Come Spring, next fall, and eventually next summer, college students will choreograph bhangra dances to Slumdog Medlies and younger cousins will bore guests at weddings by performing to the accompaniment of Slumdog's slower ballads.

A particular track from the Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack that Indians will enjoy is "Latika's Theme." Indians will use the quiet build of the song as the introductory piece to their co-ed Freshman Dance at schools such as DePaul, UPenn and Boston University. Girls will wear saris draped over their heads on stage as they perform an inspired routine involving dramatically lit diyas. Soon after, the beat of Jai Ho will "drop" and a "crew" of male, desi undergrads will storm the stage before mounting shoulders, performing variations of the three standard bhangra moves, and shouting "Whut, whut!"

"Latika's Theme" will also come in handy for those Indians who are tired of using Penn Masala's version of U2's "With or Without You" as the music behind their Powerpoint and iPhoto slideshows

Perhaps the most popular use of "Latika's Theme" that Indians will enjoy, however, is as mood music during romantic rendezvouses. Other good Hindi recommendations for that Gettin' Play Playlist include:

Tadap Tadap Dat Ayass:

Gettin' Some Taal:

Ballin' Sagoo:

If you plan on spending time with Indians any time soon, familiarize yourself with the Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack. Also, it wouldn't be a bad idea to get the above songs on your iTunes. You never know when a Latika of your own might be swinging by. Just push play and as those salubrious A.R. Rahman riffs blend with the curry in your crock pot, "Yes" will most definitely be your Latika's final answer.

#208: Metaphysical Tattoos

noreply@blogger.com (Manmohan Bling) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 04:51:00 +0000

There are many things Indians like. Indians like cumin; Indians like saag; Indians like rolling pins; and Indians like expressing disappointment in their children. Another common, yet little known thing Indians like is quiet acts of rebellion - like minoring in Gender Studies, dating an Asian American or getting a tattoo.

Not just any tattoo will do for the defiant Indian. Indians like their tattoos to mean something, and nothing identifies an Indian as an individual like tattoos in an ancient language they don't speak conveying Hindu philosophies they don't understand.

Popular metaphysical tattoos among Indians include the Om symbol, Sanskrit characters for concepts like "strength," and the occasional English transcription of sanctimonious Indo-Arabic terms such as Kismet, Ahimsa, Atman and Calculus.

Occasionally the most brazen of Indian girls will choose to ornament themselves with the Om lower back tattoo. Unfortunately, we can't extrapolate on this since these girls tend to spend their time with men far more attractive, athletic, and whiter than us.

If you see an Indian with a metaphysical tattoo in a publicly visible place, be sure to ask them what it means. If Indians like anything more than their metaphysical tattoo, it's talking about it. On the other hand, if you see an Indian with a metaphysical tattoo in a not so publicly visible place, well then, you can keep quiet since it seems you've already said all the right things.

Yeah, go'head now, player. You do you. Brahman is Atman, and thou art that.

#0 B.C.: Bengali Christmas Parties

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 05:40:00 +0000

Christmas is no longer an exclusively Christian affair, particularly in the United States. Many Indians celebrate the holiday as they break from school, work or the job search after J.P. Morgan let them go. Some return home to open presents beneath a plastic tree with their parents, while others join their Jewish friends for dinner at Chinese restaurants. A small portion of Indians choose to celebrate together, adding a distinctly Indian spin to the Yuletide season, forgoing ham for onion kulcha and egg nog for Johnny Walker Black.

The Bengali Christmas Party in the United States has almost become a tradition unto itself. Every December 24th, Bengali Americans and those Indians in the US from orphaned South Asian states such as Orissa and Assam gather at a single home to celebrate the holiday. Festivities begin as fleets of Toyota camries and Lexus SUVs (woops, that's the Punjabi Christmas Party) pull up to the driveway and begin jocking for spots. He or she behind the wheel must put their engineering phD to good use as they evaluate the trade off between proximity to the front door and the likelihood of being parked in.

From there aunties tip toe up the ice in snow boots clutching plastic bags containing their party flats in their hands. Once inside guests remove their shoes and toss them into the massive pile of footwear accumulating at the base of the stairs. Coats and scarves are given to the youngest child of the host family to hang in closets and toss into guest rooms. Adults greet each other and talk about the route they took to get there, while kids smile, namaste and nod at uncles and aunties they pretend to know.

Soon the young ones gather with each other around a gaming console while aunties steak their claim on couches, asking their husbands to refresh their chardonnays since moving means losing a seat. Husbands fetch refills and deviled eggs as the women silently judge each other's saris against their own. Naturally, hers whose looks most expensive wins, with extra points going toward a color-coordinated bindi.

When dinner is served children are encouraged to line up first. During Bengali Christmas Parties, the term "children" defines anyone in attendance with their parents, even if they're 32 with a mortgage in their name. Traditional Bengali Christmas fare includes rice, dhal, cabbage, fish, fish balls, fish heads and mutton. Soda is served luke warm and seating goes quickly. Those unfortunate enough to populate the back of the line eventually must eat standing up, balancing their beverage in the crook of their arm, and using only a plastic fork to pick the chicken from its bone.

Afterward its time for Indian sweets and improvised games of gift exchange. Children will half-heartedly trade presents their parents bought, shrugging when asked which wrapped package is theirs. In the end, distinction doesn't matter since everyone, including the young ladies, will have received some sort of cologne, aftershave or grooming kit parents have decided to regift from the year before.

Rahul: Yay, a Drakkar Noir economy pack. Thanks, Ishan, I think we gave this to your dad last year.

Unfortunately, due to the overabundance of cheap Indians someone who took the gift exchange seriously and gave another guest a selection of foreign beers and Belgian chocolates will receive only a pair of Isotoner gloves in return. Sorry about that.

Meanwhile, the adults participate in an elaborate gift exchange game that increases in complexity each year. What began as a simple Secret Santa ten years ago now includes a round of Antakshri, which for Bengalis means the recitation of poems instead of singing. New developments also include "Chinese Auction," which offensively describes a game during which guests steal gifts from each other. Because Indians cheat at everything, many aunties and uncles will hide gifts around the house so no one can choose their present at "auction." This not only undermines the point of the game but also perfectly captures the Bengali Christmas spirit.

As the party winds down the time comes to leave. Long goodbyes begin near the back of the house before 35 minutes later making their way to the front door. Once coats and scarves are found, the long process of digging out your shoes and matching each to its pair begins. Due to the popularity of brown Dockers shoes among Indian uncles, shoes are often mistakenly traded. Even more often, someone doesn't notice.

Afterward it's a game of automative Mahjong as cars must be strategically moved to let some out while others stay. As the GPS cues up the directions back home, the kids fall asleep in the backseat as mom sits shotgun and complains about the presents she received. It was a happy Bengali Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

#207: Talking About Interracial Relationships

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 23:38:00 +0000

If there's one thing Indians like more than interracial relationships it's talking about interracial relationships. From Telegu Convention Youth Forums to South Asian Lit discussion sections, Indians love opening up about the role dating white men and black men play in the Indian American community. We write short stories about it; we make movies about it; we article about it; we build entire identities around it.

Karina: I think Raghav likes you; you guys should go out.

Karishma: As if. I don't date Indian dudes. Their finger nails are always yellow from the subji they eat with their hands. I'm going to marry a Jonas Brother and have hot mixed babies like Halle Berry. Wait, is Chris Brown single?

The topic of dating interracially is usually brought up by a particular Indian girl who considers herself "unique." She likes "rock" music, not "r&b." She majors in "anthropology," not "biology." She does TFA, not MBA. She doesn't do Bollywood and she most definitely does not date Indian boys.

"Indians are so cliquey," she says, "I just don't identify with them." In response there are the Indians who date Indians who look down on her; the Indians who date white men who look down on other Indians, and the Indians who date black men who look down on everybody.

The arguments for and against interracial relationships in the Indian community travel the spectrum. There are those who think Indian girls who date outside their race are self-conscious and ashamed; there are those who think Indians who exclusively date each other are afraid and close-minded; there are those who think it's subconscious and those who do it with purpose. Any way you churn the chutney, one thing is for sure, when it comes to interracial dating Indians have no shortage of opinions.

Just don't date a muslim; that will get you disowned.

#12/25: XXX-Mas the Jingle Jam

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 20:07:00 +0000

SILDC FLIMS Presents a Kama Sutra Christmas by MC Slight Speech Impediment and Mulatto Matt on the Mic. Who said Hindus didn't know how to celebrate Christmas? Probably the same dunny who said Hindus couldn't rap. Come with us as we put the Brahmin in R&B.

XXX-Mas: The Jingle Jam

#$500,000: Bribing Gov. Rod Blagojevich

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 16:22:00 +0000

Corruption is a well-documented problem in India. However, with the growing number of Indians in the United States corruption has become a part of the Indian diaspora as well.

A recent FBI criminal complaint against Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich details the many ways the governor has sought to personally gain from his tenure in public office. The charges include accepting monetary quid pro quo deals for state highway contracts; helping the Tribune company with the sale of Wrigley Field in exchange for a makeover of the Chicago Tribune's editorial board, and of course money for President Elect Obama's former Senate seat.

See, while publications like India Abroad would like us to believe that an Indian girl named Lakshmi from Baton Rouge winning a 7th grade science fair, or a medical student named Rajesh running a half marathon in Seattle, are really important news for our community, in reality they ain't no thing. So when India Abroad does a massive story in a recent issue about the "KEY INDIAN FIGURES WHO FACTORED IN THE OBAMA VICTORY," it's good to know that Indians are all over Democratic politics in Illinois like white on...on...what's that analogy...right, the inside of a coconut. As much as Indians like doing yoga to increase their flexibility so they can pat themselves on the back for getting in early on that Obama gravy train, they also like bringing that Gujurat Gangsta Lean from Ahmdebad and bribing Rod Blagojevich.

According to the Chicago Tribune's fancy interactive Timeline of Corruption, Gov. Blagojevich's wife, Patricia, a real estate broker, received more than $113,000 in real estate commissions through a woman who had a no-bid state contract with Illinois and whose husband was a major Blagojevich fundraiser. That woman and her husband's name? Anita and Amrish Mahajan. Their crime? Anita billed the state of Illinois for more than $2 million in services her drug-screening firm never performed. Amrish, of course, was the driving force behind the company and helped raise more than $500,000 for Blagojevich in 2001.

A month later, the Tribune reported a close friend of Amrish, Amrit Patel, hosted a fundraiser for Blagojevich and was involved in a real estate deal with Blagojevich's wife while he was seeking to expand his Dunkin' Donuts franchise into the state's highway oases.

There was a joke about Blagojevich when I was in school in Chicago. At an India Day rally on Devon Ave he apparently stood before a crowd and said, "To all the Indians in Illinois, I say welcome to America!" Thanks, G-Rod. We came; we saw; we corrupted.

#262 Friends: Bad Ass Ethnic Social Networking Names

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 19:27:00 +0000

Pakibabe14

Sexymunda 916

Moughalpride

Funjabi10

Pakjigga

Badjattfolife

#11/28: Black Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Mahotma in Herre) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 18:57:00 +0000

You'd think it was the name of an outlet store the way Indians bandy it about.

"Hey, Guarav. Thanks for letting me borrow your CD binder full of data CDs. I was meaning to ask you, where'd you get that new laptop?"

"Black Friday."

"And that Logitech mouse?"

"Black Friday."

"That remote control model Maserati?"

"Sukhriya Electronics. Sale. Black Friday."

In addition to the biological burden of excessive body hair, Indians have also evolved with an acute sense of how to seek out a deal. There is online shopping with purchases shipped to friend's houses to avoid sales tax. There is disregard for warranties to lower the final cost. There are price comparison print outs. There are pay pal transactions for unlocked cell phones, and of course there is Black Friday.

Black Friday is the Friday following Thanksgiving, the official start of the holiday shopping season. Retailers offer their largest discounts on things Indians cannot live without: Bose speakers, HP Pavillion laptops, digital cameras and blue tooth ear pieces.

Join Indians around the world this Friday and celebrate the day of discounts. Crowd the entrance to a Best Buy and bump shoulders like you're fighting for a pair of tickets to Rock On on a Saturday in Mumbai. It's Black Friday and that Samsung Juke could be yours. No sales tax.