But like every minority in America I know that my group isn’t going to be represented much on TV (unless you’re black/ Latino; then you get two recurring guest roles on a network show/ a minor recurring part).

The last time I saw an Indian on US TV was the Fandango puppet. Which I hate, as does every Indian I know. Even the non-traditional ones

So when I saw that the Indian contestant, Nipa something or the other, on The Next Food Network Star, with her penchant for tantrums, unwillingness to touch raw meat (!) etc., I felt like OMG THIS WOMAN IS MAKING ALL OF US INDIANS LOOK BAD! I touch raw meat! I make fish curry! I can cut a chicken!

As cousin #2 and I watched her on TV today, he turned to me and said “suddenly that Fandango puppet is looking GREAT.”

Indeed it is.

I suppose that’s no surprise to those who know me or to those who have a cursory knowledge of me through this Web site. After all, I’m part of his standard demographic: young and college-educated.

Several acquiantances have thought my Obama support was identical to that of the people you see at his rallies– the fanboys/ fangirls who’re excited by his every word, gesture or action.

I’m not.

When I first heard Obama was running, I was skeptical. Like a lot of people, I thought he had barely a sliver of experience to run on. I had LOVED his 2004 Convention speech and thought that he was a good speaker, but really– is he more than that? Then the Iowa caucuses happened, and he won.

Like most people, I was SHOCKED that he won. After all his opponent is a former first lady, a second-term senator and has the backing of the entire party machine behind her. How the hell could she lose this? But he won, despite the odds.

Like a lot of people I was excited by this moment: a black candidate who had been the underdog in a crowded field had won a presidential caucus in a lily-white state (to use the cliche). Even at this point, I was still convinced that I wouldn’t really mind either way–whether it was Senators Obama or Clinton.

Then New Hampshire took place and he lost. And I was crushed. I was shocked to find that I was crushed. I wasn’t even sure why. But that moment forced me to do my due diligence and read about him, his policy positions and his perspectives on the United States’ role in the world. The latter is especially important to me, a foreign citizen.

My eyes glazed over when reading about Obama’s domestic policy views. To be fair, nearly all the Democrats have identical domestic agendas.

But the thing that really interested me was Senator Obama’s foreign policy ideas. Unlike Senator Clinton, who like most Democrats believes that to be perceived as successful in foreign policy one must talk like a watered-down neocon, Senator Obama had the guts to challenge this orthodoxy. Whether it was his views on Pakistan, Iran or Cuba, he took stances that few politicians would dare make, and he made sharp arguments in their defense. It seems to me that his arguments are pragmatic– it’s not about acting “tough” for the sake of doing so, but being smart AND tough. What will achieve the desired outcomes? This should trump any posturing.

What’s more, I think that Obama has a good shot of improving relationships with several American allies and possible allies, simply by power of personality. Personality is a powerful thing. It explains why former president Clinton is thought of more highly in most African countries rather than Bush 43, even though the latter has done far more for Africa than the former. I’m not just suggesting that personality suffices, but I do think it’ll help open doors and help the US government reshape perceptions around the world.

Some might argue that the US need not care what the world thinks. But the reality is that in a world where most of our enemies fight against us asymmetrically, even the world’s largest, strongest army cannot handle the burden of global terrorism on its own. It needs allies, and it can make these allies through respectful dialogue, not by a ‘with us or against us’ attitude.

But it’s not just how the world sees America; it’s about how America sees America. For the last seven years, this country has become more frightened and suspicious of the world. It has led itself to believe that the only party that can really keep Americans safe from terrorists is the Republican party with their brand of bluster and heavy-handed policies. Obama has so far shown Americans (and should continue to show them) that it’s possible to keep the US safe without using war preemptively, energizing unfriendly regimes or humiliating foreign tourists. In short, he has the opportunity to offer Americans an alternative. It’s more than any other candidate could or would have done, and I’m grateful that he took such a risk. I hope that other people are wise enough to recognize the courage behind his stances and support and encourage this departure from standard US discourse on foreign policy.

I can’t vote for him this fall, but I really hope that you do. I believe he has the power to be a game-changer, for the United States and for his party.

The debut episode’s panelists include China scholar Minxin Pei, Christiane Amanpour, former Irish PM and European Commission President John Bruton, and the asshat (and Bushie) Doug Feith. I’m both enjoying and squirming at the muffled insults being tossed at Feith (and Bush, indirectly). Those of you who remember may know that that Feith was a DoD intelligence man, who cooked the Iraq intelligence and is so ridiculously neoconservative that it led Colin Powell’s chief of staff to claim “I’ve seldom in my life met a dumber man.”

Bruton, Amanpour and Pei are good. I find their perspectives refreshing, especially Pei. I don’t know much about China nor have I heard much from Chinese scholars so it’s interesting to hear a China scholar talk so bluntly about how the Chinese perceive Obama (not on their radar yet), how China is handling Tibet (stupidly) and press access in the recent Chinese earthquakes (unprecedented, but not as big a deal as people would like to believe).

Generally when people I abhor talk, I tend to tune out– especially in this case that wicked buffoon Feith. (Why is he teaching at Georgetown? Is he serving as a living example of what not to do?). But nowadays I am trying to listen to these whackjobs (or “differing voices” as some might like to say) because of an article written by Samantha Power, where she decries the way we read things online (the echo chamber of only the opinions/ stories that reinforce our perspectives rather than the wide array of differing opinions in a newspaper). So I did try to listen to Feith even though it did feel all nails-on-a-chalkboard, to me.

Anyway, back to Fareed. He’s a good questioner and clearly knows the issues, whether it’s China, India, the middle east or the US government’s policy toward various African nations. He’s also written a very good book recently about the growing marginalization of the US government in global treaties and deals.

Two things about Zakaria that I find interesting still:

One, that he has done no mea culpa ala Andrew Sullivan, for his flawed, arrogant support of the war. It’s one thing to have supported the Iraq war with a measure of humility, and on the basis that you were supporting it based on the facts you had. But to breezily and harshly dismiss critics as peacenik pansies and then to be critical of that same war a few years later without having the decency to apologize, is just ridiculous.

Second, and completely unrelated– he’s still an average host. His transitions and segues are weak, his intonation, elocution and pacing of words is choppy and uneven. I think a lot of Indians who’ve lived in both the US and India, sound like that. We lapse into our faux-English pronunciations one minute and a US pronunciation the next, and the overall sound is awful. He needs to practice with some news anchors and he can smooth that out.

That said, I have hope for this show. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to an intelligent discussion on foreign issues, on a US TV station. Which means it probably won’t do very well outside of the Charlie Rose set *cough* me *cough*.

(I should add that I’m glad she moved back to NY both with ANTM and her talk show; not that her shows have much credibility, but the NY location will definitely give ANTM some of its groove that it lost in LA).

–

The best thing about the Sex and the City movie was the movie theater I watched it in. The Avalon is one of the oldest movie theaters in DC, and it’s absolutely beautiful. It was nearly torn down a few years ago, and the community resurrected it. It’s a beautiful, large, old-style theater with an intricate mural on its ceiling, a teeny-tiny ladies’ room done in Pepto-Bismol pink and it really is a community theater. Nearly everyone who came to the movie seemed to be from the community and it was lovely to see. It made up for the utter mediocrity of the movie, which had one of THE worst endings I’ve seen in a romantic comedy. I thought Made of Honor had a crappy ending, but SATC went one step worse.

So where was I? Ah yes. Hot dogs, horror, staying put.

Waiting was the worst part. We had to wait for the slight possibility that more women might show up. An event that should have started at 7:30 began at 8.

I didn’t know what to expect, and I don’t’ know if this is typical speed-dating format, but I’ll share anyway.

All the women sit at individual tables, which have numbers on them. Everyone gets a card with a list of all the members of the opposite sex. A man sits at your table for seven minutes. You talk. Seven minutes are up, and then he moves on to the next, and then another guy comes by. You rate that man on your card, basically stating “yes” or “no.”

For a few minutes, we just sat at the tables while the guys waited in the front to be told where to go.

My friend, A, thought this was degrading for us. I guess she felt a bit like that line in The King and I where the king says that women are like flowers, stationary in one place and men are like bees floating from flower to flower.

My perception was the exact reverse. I got to sit there and stare at the row of men standing up front, waiting to approach a table. It was a bit like being a rancher picking a new cow at an auction (or is it a bull?)

Finally, we began. It was a relief to start after the awkward waiting. Most of the guys were nice enough—polite, friendly and willing to make conversation. I found myself repeating the same answers over and over again—yes I came here to study but now I work here. I work in PR.

I nodded and smiled and inserted the appropriate “Oh really?” and “oh?” to spur conversation. Bob Edwards would have been so proud.

But there was a horror story, people. A genuine one.

He looked ordinary enough. Slightly chubby. Sun glasses on his head even though we were indoors, in a dimly lit bar. A sort of Joe Pesci-wiseguy-ish expression on his face.

Him: Take off your glasses.

Me: Uhh no.

Him: Do you kiss on the first date?

Me: Wha?

Him: What about the second date?

Me: Uhhh it depends?

Five minutes later he talked about his desire to be a public official a.k.a a politician.

Me: Oh that’s nice. What sorts of political ideas do you have?

Him: Oh a bit of both parties. But I have to say I love John McCain’s foreign policy.

Me: Really?

Him: Yes, he doesn’t believe in surrendering.

Me: Define surrender.

Him: leaving. Also—we’re the greatest country in the world and the greatest empire in the world and everyone has to listen to us.

Me: If the US controls everything then how come countries like India are allying with countries like Iran on energy issues? What about this pipeline between India and Iran—doesn’t it make the US’s opinion on that topic irrelevant.

Him: Oh I think we should just bomb India for this.

Me: (Thinking of the geopolitical consequences of such an absurd thought process AND spluttering)..

Event Hostess: OK, your seven minutes are up!

Him: You should mark me as a yes on your card because I KNOW you want to continue this conversation.

Me: And you would be wrong.

GAG!!

P sat at my table next. (He’s a friend and colleague, for those of you getting here late to the game). He made up a cockamamie story about being Canadian and I claimed to be Bhutanese and we had a laugh about that. We spent the bulk of our seven minutes realizing that we have nothing in common aside from work talk, so in the end we just twiddled our thumbs and decided that our post-work interaction should remain minimal. Nonetheless, we marked each other as “yes” on our cards, because it’s a matter of pride, I suppose.

By 9:30, the event was done. And I was exhausted, talking to all these men. I never realized how much effort it takes to feign interest for over an hour. At some point you just do the nod, smile and space out.

I could have eaten the free wings, but I left instead. I had to change lines, get home, take a shower and watch a bit of Charlie Rose to restore my equilibrium. (God, that sounds so farty).

Would I do I again? I don’t know. It didn’t strike me as a particularly great format to talk to people, although it might be different if I tried this same event in DC. Who knows. At the same time, it may well work for some people and who am I to judge?

]]> http://mishri.org/2008/05/30/my-adventures-in-speed-dating-part-ii-the-actual-event/feed/ http://mishri.org/2008/05/30/my-adventures-in-speed-dating-part-i-prelude/ http://mishri.org/2008/05/30/my-adventures-in-speed-dating-part-i-prelude/#comments Fri, 30 May 2008 05:06:07 +0000 mishri http://mishri.org/?p=126 I first heard about speed-dating on the Oprah show eight years ago. At the time I thought it was a bit ridiculous– get to know someone in seven minutes or move on? Really? Trust Americans to make even courtship an efficient, pleasant assembly line. (Note to my US readers: don’t you hate it when furriners made mass generalizations like that about your culture? Although to be fair, you do ask me about the caste system and arranged marriages, so I guess I have some right to make absurd generalizations).

But I digress.
Then, about a year ago, when I graduated college, I realized that I had no life whatsoever (acknowledging this is the first step). I signed up for listservs and mailing lists for events in DC; aka the list for people who don’t have a life. I was hoping to acquire one.

I frequently saw the speed-dating announcements in these e-mails but dismissed them because why should I pay 15 bucks to meet a bunch of guys.

But this past week, a friend told me about a free speed dating event in a northern Virginia bar. As she was going along with a group of other friends, I reluctantly agreed. After all– it was free. And people I knew were going. And there might be free food and drinks involved.

Two things about this whole thing made me very nervous. First, I do not enjoy being the token source of color in a room, and in the one other NoVa bar I’d been to (an Irish one), I had served as just that.Even though I went to a university where 90 percent of my peers were white, I always get unomfortable when I’m the token source of color in a room. Especially if the caucasians in the room are all of one type, i.e. all hicks or all preppy popped-collarish or whatever. Then it’s a special inside set.

The second thing that unnerved me is this: I live in fear of being that girl with the “nice personality.” Which as we all know is code for plain Jane. So I did whatever I could think of that would make me feel attractive: I wore a dress. I attempted to brush that unruly mop known as my hair. I wore my favorite pair of dangly earrings.

Now that I think about this, it was a ridiculous outfit choice for a bar. Dear Mishri: please don’t wear a dress to a bar. It’s a bit like Jackie O going to a NASCAR event– the cultural incongruity can make the universe explode.

Anyway, at 6 p.m., I met one of my friends, A. We took the train in to Virginia, ate a light dinner, found out that her two other friends were bailing on us (!) and then headed in to the bar. The group, which should have been five people, had now shrunk down to three– me, A and P, the token guy and source of constant amusement for A and me.

Before we went in, we decided we needed a code word that meant exit/ escape. I suggested “hot dogs.”

Entering the bar was easy enough. Finding the actual speed dating room took a little longer, and I won’t deny I felt a little jittery as we walked in. Then I froze. There were TEN men in the room and four women. I was one of the four women. The men were mostly young-ish, nearly all were white. A couple of men were older. I felt my stomach lurching. I didn’t know what to expect, but this didn’t look good. I spun around and said to A and P: “Guys– you know what I love? I love hot dogs. Because hot dogs are SO great. Hot dogs are soooo delicious. Mmmm hot dogs.”

They laughed. And stayed put. Leaving now would be unfair to the hosts, seeing as how most of the women scheduled to attend, had bailed. I admired the sentiment, but I kept yammering on about those damn hot dogs because Oh my god, hot dogs are so delicious.

We waited well over 20 minutes for the event to begin, in part because the hostess was scrambling (and failing) to get more women. So the ratio stood: four women and ten men.

What happened next? I’ll write about it tomorrow. Right now, I’m tired.

I’d heard that the movie was panned by critics, but I decided to avoid reading the reviews and go anyway. After all, I’m a sucker for inter-racial romances, especially anything involving Indians.

I thought the movie was pretty good. The director, Santosh Sivan, did a really nice job of steering clear of easy stereotypes– the callous, brutal white man, the servile native, etc. It’s funny how a lot of the reviewers called the acting stereotypical, because I thought it was anything but. There was no grand message or great big theme– there was no big message about the important of Indian independence or what the true meaning of the word “development” is. The movie just aired everyone’s perspective and enabled the viewer to sympathise with each character in his or her moment of woe, fear or uncertainty. As a result, I had a hard time condemning or hating any character.

The acting overall was good. Rahul Bose does a good job of being the conflicted assistant– stuck between the world of his traditional family and his English boss. Nandita Das was surprisingly effective in her minescule role of paramour. Linus Roache was good, but the actors who played his wife (Jennifer Ehle), son and the banker, were just as good if not better. The British characters weren’t cardboard “Sahib” cut-outs. They had more heart and concern and conflict than one would associate with people from this time period.

That said, it’s not a movie I’d recommend to a lot of people. I think it would come off as insipid to a lot of people. The kind of movie that would make them wonder “why should I care?”

Fact is, you don’t have to. In fact, I think the reason I appreciate it as much is because I’m Indian, and I can appreciate what a departure this is from other narratives about colonialism in India.

Aside from the Indian-ness.. as I said earlier, I have a weakness for inter-racial romances. That’s why I loved Mississippi Masala, Bhaji on the Beach and of course Bend it Like Beckham. (I also liked the Namesake for similar-ish reasons).

I moved yesterday. Not far from where I used to live– about 20 minutes. Closer to a metro, great amenities, etc etc.

Like a lot of people, I hate moving. And I hate transitions. They force me to confront stuff that I got to ignore like items I never threw away–  greeting cards and mementos from an old relationship for example.

Do you carry that stuff or do you throw it?

I took it.

Then as I unpacked, I looked at it and instinctively turned away. I stuck it in a drawer so I wouldn’t have to look at it.

Any sort of transition makes me jittery. Whether it’s flying to India, or flying back here after such a trip. I feel instantly vulnerable and desperately in need of comfort for something that doesn’t really hurt.

It’s times like that that I’m on the phone with my parents seeking the comfort of familiar questions and inside jokes. It’s moments like that when I think of my parents’ mortality and it makes me more frightened and miserable than I can adequately describe.

Then three days later I feel better and it’s all gone.

Me: So S, you should NEVER EVER stay with a guy who hits you. Those guys are total jerks. Walk out as soon as possible!

Cousin # 2: Remember what I told you to do to a guy if he ever hits you?

S: Hit him in the groin?

Cousin # 2: Yes, because the pain there is undescribable. Not just hit– knee.

S: Oh yea, remember that scene in Casino Royale? (Describes Casino Royale torture scene involving testicles).

Me: *gags*

Cousin # 2: Yes, exactly. Every guy in the theater groaned at that. Because let me tell you– you hurt a guy there, and he’ll never forget. Ever. So if a guy ever abuses you, be sure to hurt him there. Then leave.

(Later, on the topic of clothes)

Cousin # 2: Make sure you wear fitted clothing, especially tops. Because if you bend over, EVERY straight guy’s gaze will just shift downward.

S (nods wisely): I understand.

—-

A week ago:

Aunt: Is your bedroom window open?

Me: Yup, the weather is great!

Aunt (dubiously): Well.. close it before you sleep.

Me: Why?

Aunt (ominously): MS-13.

Me: The gang?

Aunt: Yes.

Me: You think they’re going to come to our backyard? Why would they come to our backyard?

Aunt: They’re not that far away.

Me: They’re at least two miles away– infighting! I don’t think they plan on coming to our backyard. What would they do anyway?

Aunt: You never know.

——-

A blog post about how to do a good podcast: “Tip # 12: If you’re doing interviews, don’t be Charlie Rose. In other words, shut your stupid face and let your guest talk.”

Ohh Charlie. Mishri still loves you.

Normally when I go to India, I feel major major trepidation. Sure I lived there till I was 18, but I lived in a bit of a gilded cage. I don’t really like going out too much, I don’t like beings stared at, and the poverty, pollution and chaos drive me crazy.

I’m not a very good traveler. Once I get to a place, I like staying there. It explains why the only vacations I really seem to take are my trips to India, where I stay home for a couple of weeks, spend  part of the time in quality time with the parents and some friends (which is fun) and the rest of time feeling morose.

The last time I went, in 2006, I threw a royal tantrum about it, much to my parents’ chagrin.

I feel bad about that.

This time may well be better. For one, I’ve extracted a promise from the parents that there will be a constant flow of things to do– vacations in Goa and Darjeeling, visits with the few relatives I can tolerate, etc. Keeping busy will keep the re-entry shock down to a manageable (hopefully non-existent level).

On the plus side, I get to spend time with the family, which should be fun.