Rakhi or Raksha Bandhan

Rakhi (pronounced like rakhrdi in Punjabi) is an ancient Indian tradition known as Raksha Bandhan in Hindi. It is a gesture of sisterly affection between a girl to a guy she considers a brother, whether blood-related or not. It is performed on the day of the full moon in the tenth month of the Hindu calendar, usually toward the end of August.

A girl ties a thread or ribbon, called a rakhri (rakhi in Hindi), around her brother's wrist. The modern ribbon comes with decorations and sometimes in different colors, but is traditionally red and unadorned. She usually sweetens the event by feeding him confectioneries and the brother usually returns the gesture by forcing some money into her hand.

The red string represents a bond between brother and sister, for her love the brother promises always to protect her. This tradition is exemplified in several Indian stories from ancient times. One of the classic examples, and maybe the origin story, is from the epic Mahabarat. When Krishna cuts his hand, Draupadi lovingly binds it with a strip she rips from her sari. Krishna then finds himself bound by her affection and swears to repay her kindness. He does so when her husbands (yes, husbands!) lose her in a bet to rival kings who proceed to strip her. Draupadi prays for Krishna to rescue her, he makes his presence known by extending her sari infinitely until her attacker gives up for fear of the god's vengeance.

This year, the occasion fell on Tuesday the 24th. I took my nani (maternal grandmother) to visit her brother in Folsom. They're both over 70 and still try to keep the tradition up! When distances are greater a call suffices, but when they were younger my granny would snail mail the thread. I was absolutely smitten watching them hug and get straight to tying the band, sweets included. Babaji, her brother, told a news story he heard that day, a brother and sister who were fighting because the woman had decided her brother hadn't given her enough money. Then he laughingly handed my nani a couple bills.

My cousin came down a little while later and as he was rushing out the door I tied a rakhi around his wrist. He was surprised to see me there. I fed him a sweet with my own hand, we took pictures and argued over the amount of money he was giving me. What struck me afterward was how affectionate my usually gruff cousin was. He doesn't have any sisters and I suppose he missed out on all the constant teasing, barbie doll obsessions, pink and frilly things in general, nagging about toilet seats and other sanitary issues that come up from living with girls in the house. My little brother has never had a lack of it, so I guess we all take it for granted. This is a sweet tradition and I think it means more for those that don't have a sister's constant presence around. I hope everyone had a great one!

MCAT

Last Thursday, I finally took the MCAT! Yippee!

The MCAT is a four part test, physical sciences on physics and chemistry, biological sciences on o chem and biology, reading comprehension and a writing portion with two essays. The first three parts are all multiple choice and you have an hour and 5 minutes each to complete them, the two essays are each 30 minutes and woefully too short! The exam itself wasn't very hard, but it just covered so many different subjects that you need to be on top of your game to get them. You also need to remember all the random formulas, especially for physics. It ended up taking about 5 hours and for sure need a snack time in between. :)

I don't know why I was so scared. The Kaplan course and the study books definitely helped a lot, but I wish I had taken this after sophomore year, when I was in practice. Genetics and physiology classes definitely helped in preparation for this.

Studying the day of the test didn't help at all, it just passed through my head like water. Especially since all I could focus on was the hot ass Indian guy with the broad shoulders and hazel eyes sitting next to me. Hai mirchi.

Out of the 15 or so kids that showed up, five were Indian and a few had their parents hanging around outside. So, of course Daddy excitedly ran up to them and introduced himself. I was too nervous to care, but it was amusing to watch. The first Indian he came upon wasn't a Punjabi and looked cornered between the door and my dad, averted his gaze and spoke so quietly I couldn't hear. Dad switched from Punjabi to some generic Hindi, "Bhai, aap kaisa ho?" Within the minute, a Punjabi uncle ran up to Dad from across the plaza and introduced himself in proper, boisterous Punjabi. At the end of the day I asked if Dad had made any new friends, and he said, "That wasn't making friends, that was just saying hello!" Haha.

I don't find out my scores until the end of August, let's hope they're as fantastic as my parents pray they are.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I've been reading Harry Potter since I was 11. I eagerly went to midnight book releases at Borders and stayed up all night for midnight showings of the movies. So you can bet I'm excited knowing that the last installment of the Harry Potter series' first trailer has been released. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 !!



If you've been keeping up with the franchise, you'll recognize all the characters and perhaps some of the scenes that were present in the dramatic montage. While I wait until November, I shall be anticipating how soon I can feasibly visit the wonderful Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, Florida. Or contemplating how to indoctrinate my future spawn into Potter-heads like myself.

My Mother Said: Love is Like Iron

I have a round-about way of expressing emotions. I either state them so bluntly no one takes them seriously or I act out by repeatedly wheedling at the object of my affection or agitation. I did the latter with my mother yesterday. I was lamenting the lack of time she spent during the day with me and the rest of the family. I jokingly commented she didn't love me enough, and didn't think about me enough. I guess it really hurt her. She popped up today with an adorable earring rack--she knows me too well--and a story.

It sounds sweeter in Punjabi to me, but I can't write in the language so I'll paraphrase in English.

Iron is heated in a forge and shaped by fire. When the iron hammer hits it, the iron clangs loudly. Gold is heated and shaped in the same way with an iron hammer, but with a softer sound. The shaped gold asks the iron, 'Why do you cry so loudly?' Because the gold keeps his pain to himself. The iron tells him, 'When others strike you it does not hurt so much, but when your own attack you the pain is unbearable.'

Social Networking: From the Pind to Facebook

People who live in the pind, Punjabi for 'village,' usually reside on ancestral properties which have been in the family for hundreds of years. People do move out of the village, but the connection to centuries of patriarchal history has a strong influence on both an Indian's heart and social life.

The pind connection binds its descendants by culture and geography, often providing the surname to its resident families. You will notice that one of the first things a Desi will ask a new acquaintance is, "Which pind are you from?" Promptly followed by a slew of personal questions in the search of a common ground and creating a verbal profile to pass onto other relations. This interview is usually performed with an unabashedness the average Westerner would find rude.

Amusingly enough, this same inter connectivity is the goal of modern social networking, today epitomized by Facebook. Every profile first asks a series of personal questions about family, education, work, hobbies and then to add all the people they might possibly know. Although Facebook takes it a bit further by allowing all conversations, activities and photos to be showcased in a somewhat public forum. Of course, the technologically inclined, Desis and non-Desis alike, have colonized the website and made it an almost necessary part of their daily routines.

Promoters in particular have managed to abuse the ease of social networking for profit. Their goal and methods are transparent enough to discern--getting paid for selling tickets--but what interests me is the curious effect it has on their personalities. I find the egotism associated with a verifiable, wide social circle of acquaintances (not friends) and the safe barrier afforded by the internet cultivates some of the most despicable personalities I have ever encountered. Don't believe me? Meet a promoter in person. The majority of conversation centers around the promoter's own life and his notable actions, as he wantonly hopes of impressing the easily swayed with images of grandeur and creating profitable future connections.

Leh, can you tell I've had a bad experience? Anyways, don't make the mistake of trying to engage on any level with the douche bag-in-disguise. Promoters are like small, ill-tempered children with no handle on reality. And they usually don't apologize until their only commodity of value, i.e. their reputation, is on the line.

Yeah, that last bit was a rant... but here I hope Jus Reign's own Facebook rant will cheer you up. :)



And just 'cause we were talking about the pind, I had to mention the lovable Miss Pooja, who represents the lively, innocent pind girl.





~P.S.

That oil painting is by Harvinder Singh, I ripped it from his site. Pretty good don't you think?

Punjabi Culture: The Pervy Uncle and the Kala Mu Wala

A social circle would be incomplete without a token pervy uncle. You know the ugly man old enough to be your father and should be drinking whiskey with the other 40 somethings but instead he spends half the time at a party walking past your table and leering at you. Or (in)conveniently busts a move behind you when you're on the dance floor. Pervy Uncle may even be bold enough to cop a feel when you go in for a polite hug. It is usually the moment you realize how nasty old men are and maybe hugs should only be reserved for the kids.

In my dad's tales from the pind, there was a sort of vigilante justice performed when a man was caught bothering a young lady. Nowadays we hear it as the cuss, "Kala mu wala." The accused would be hog tied and roughed up. They would blacken his face with the ashes from the dung fires, string a garland of rotting shoes around his neck, saddle him on a donkey and send him on a ride of shame through the village. Unfortunately, stoning wasn't involved. Somewhere safely on the outskirts of the village he would squirm off his ass and a merciful friend or stranger would cut him loose. Publicly humiliated, and with his tail between his legs, the dog would hide out for a while before showing his face around town.

As much as I wish this tradition was still in effect, it's not. I'm sure I'm not the only one that has to deal with Pervy Uncle, other girls have and have been through worse. Some might be too scared to say anything in case they get in trouble, or perhaps they are too ashamed. I empathize with them. But that does not mean they are helpless. Always try to avoid situations in which you can get hurt, and be constantly aware of your environment.

1) This is the most important rule: get angry. It'll empower you, and make you feel like you can do something about the situation. Feeling angry is a thousand times better than feeling helpless.

2) Don't go somewhere or do something you're not comfortable with. Follow your gut feeling, it's there for a reason. You're allowed to say NO.

3) If you are somewhere and you've got that uneasy feeling stay with someone! A sister, a cousin, someone's biji. Start up a conversation, or just politely tag along. They'll look out for you.  This has always worked for me in any situation I have ever been in, regardless of culture!


4) If all else fails get a shank/tazer/pepper spray. And then use it 'on accident.'



Lastly, invest in some sort of defense training, whether it's a one day course or martial arts or boxing. Your body is a tool and you should know how to use it, especially to defend yourself! 

Mother's Day

This past Sunday was the greeting card companies' mid-year event: Mother's Day.

Of course you love your mom every day, but on this special Sunday in May you show it! With expensive jewelery, fancy appliances, bouquets of roses, or something not so rough on your wallet like breakfast in bed and even home made gift cards.

Indian moms are different, and my mommy definitely fits the mold. She doesn't expect ANYTHING on Mother's Day, and we've got a long history of living up to that expectation. I'd be surprised if she actually remembered that such a day existed. And the only way that would happen is if Hallmark had infiltrated the Indian channels on the dish (which would be a tragedy).

Mom hasn't worn the D&B purse we got her for last mother's day, and she had no idea what to do with the jewelery set Dad got her one year. She insisted that she would rather have a set of dishes, or a brand spanking new kitchen appliance. This strikes at the heart of two Indian traits, practicality and frugality. Or maybe you could roll all that into one trait, namely being cheap.

Indians can find a use for any object that comes their way. Second-hand, ragged sofa? That's OK, sew some new seat covers and it's perfect for the make-shift living room in the garage. Desis are masters of re-purposing and conservation. It makes sense to not waste all that hard-earned money on something you could get for next to nothing or make for yourself. On the other hand, old jam jars and Tupperware last for years, piling up in shelves and in the back of dusty cabinets in the all-purpose abyss known as the garage. Said jars will sit there for years on end, unused until some tragic accident occurs. Likely lost in a hasty escape upon the arrival of INS/IRS officers.

It's OK to laugh at that last part. My parents are tax-paying Americans.

So, what did I get such a wonderful woman for Mother's day? A flower ornament I made out of sticky notes. When all else fails, origami is the way to go. Damn Asians have the answer to everything.

I leave you with a clip of one of my favorite Indians. No introduction necessary.





The Basics:

1) Tell Mom you love her.

2) Clear junk out in the middle of the night. Then throw it away in the neighbor's trash can. The neighbor TWO houses down.

3) Learn how to wipe your own ass. Best gift anyone can ever give.

Desi Dinner

Indian culture thrives on a spectrum of segregation, particularly when it comes to gender. It happens at temples, parties, household get-togethers and even run-ins at the store. It's always an awkward, rushed moment when a man and woman who aren't related have to interact socially.

Aunties are famous for their relentless kitchen gossip, but even a room full of aunties will quiet to a hush when an uncle walks in looking for an extra fork. So, shocked by the sudden scrutiny of the room, uncle is guaranteed to complete his mission and quickly return to the safe haven afforded by the barbeque. Preferably in a manly place such as the garage or patio. However, the opposite situation also holds true. No auntie likes going into the 'uncle circle.' So, auntie will always send son or child-who-doesn't-have-to-conform-to-social-standards-yet to send messages and food.

Anytime a bunch of punjabi men get together there is a guarantee of three things:
1) Alcohol (Ek peg, paaji!)
2) Nuts (cashews, walnuts or anything to munch on)
3) A barbeque (lamb, goat, fish, chicken, duck)
And they all do this while sitting in one huge circle. Whether it's three guys or 20, they will find a way to make the circle work.

I'm sure this tradition has been passed down through hundreds of Punjabi generations, and it has recently started to change. Only since the 80s, with the advent of modern bhangra, have men and women concieved of dancing in the same room. 20 some odd years later, we still dance in gender or family-segregated circles but that does not take away from the grand achievement of dancing within view of the opposite sex.

With all this cultural history hanging over our heads, sitting together at the family table with father and mother had become an issue. Mom and Mom's mom (Nani, affectionately called Biji) would never eat at the same table as Dad. Mom would dutifully ensure Dad had eaten first, and Nani would awkwardly munch on food in his presence. Dad always felt more than a little uncomfortable. The whole thing never mattered much to me as long as I got fed, until I came back home from university.

All of a sudden the concept of quality family time became important to me. Helped along by commercials stressing the importance of eating together at the same table I decided it was time for a change.

I was entirely unsuccessful. Unsuccessful until Nani went to India for a month. I took advantage of the regime upset.

Mom got swamped with household chores and willingly accepted my offer to help out. It started with washing dishes and reorganizing my bathroom and it built up to an offer to make dinner, a rare event in and of itself. I planned the meal the day before, and reasonably demanded that everyone arrive promptly at 7:30 or prepare to have dinner forcibly shoved up their nostrils, silverware included. The threats worked, everyone showed up, and dinner was late as per IST. However, success was only won when Mom realized how cute the table looked piled high with food and conversation, and the opportunity to offer salad and veggies as part of the meal. She also took the opportunity to instate a rotation for washing dishes after dinner.

Surprisingly, it was a pleasant experience and worth reliving. I eagerly repeated the request, "Same time, same place? <3" Since then, we've regularly had a dinner table including three or more people. Dad is usually absent because of work obligations, but he makes it when he can. Uni-Sister absolutely loves the idea (+1 fan for me!). The Teenager Duo (Baby Sister and Baby Brother) sometimes have issues keeping up with it, but I appreciate when they bring their moody selves down for the most part.

While this is still a shaky, newborn tradition, one obstacle remains: winning Biji over. She arrives on Monday, and then we shall see. Just keep in mind that I'm a very sore loser. :)

How To: Play Bhabhi

Bhabhi means 'brother's wife' in Punjabi.

It's also the name of a card game popular with groups of old Punjabi babey hanging out in local parks and their grandkids. Most kids learn the game on an uneventful afternoon and use it to get a kick out of teasing the loser.

You need at least two people to play, but three to six is perfect.

The game itself is a lot like Hearts, the computer game that came with your Windows PC. :)

The deck is shuffled and divided between the group. Everyone looks at their cards, the person with the ace of spades puts it down and everyone in the circle adds a spade to the pile. The pile is then moved to the side and out of the game.

If one of the players doesn't have a spade, he gives his highest card of another suite, letting the first round finish before moving the pile out for the next turn.

From the second turn onward the person who played the highest card (A, K, Q, J, 10-1) from the last round, starts the current turn and the player to the left continues with cards from that suite. After every turn the pile is moved out of the game.

If one of the subsequent players doesn't have a card in the suite played, he throws down a card from a different suite and forces the player with the highest card to pick up the whole pile and add it to his hand, ending the turn in a 'Dhola.' This usually ends up skipping some people.

After the first round, if anyone breaks the clockwise order of adding to the pile he has to pick up the pile and add it to his hand.

The trick of the game relies in remembering who ran out of which suite and trying to use it to screw over another player with a Dhola.

The player to empty his hand first wins.

The player stuck with cards at the end loses and gets called Bhabhi.

When there are only two players left in the last round, and a player empties his hand but had thrown the highest suite, the game must enter a sudden death round. The player with the empty hand has to pick a random card out of the pile of discarded cards and use it for another round. If the player with no cards is given a Dhola, that player automatically loses. If the card is again the highest suite then another sudden death round must be played, if neither of the above happens then congratulations the player with an empty hand is not the loser.

Best part is, the loser usually has to serve snacks and drinks demure-bride style. A favorite is making the loser dress for the part, especially if a boy. :D

Vancouver Winter Olympics 2010

I'm watching the Winter Olympics.

Coverage is about to start at 7:30

Wow... an athlete died during luge practice.

Dhol Di Awaz--Afterparty

My friend and I went to the DDA afterparty last weekend. Aman Hayer headlined. We skipped the competition entirely, our only goal was to dance bhangra with one another. We're silly like that. And willing to pay $25 to do it.

I drove, I got lost on the way. There are two Mission Blvd exits that lead you to the Bay Area. TAKE THE SECOND ONE!

We reached Avalon at 11 something. Stood in line for a good 20 minutes, got frisked by security and manhandled at the bar. Apparently seeing a girl with a drink in her hand makes an Indian guy think she's hump-worthy. Oh how wrong they are. A heavy-handed 'back the fuck off,' kept them in check. I have zero tolerance for drunk people's BS when I'm sober. LOL.

Too self-conscious to bhangra with the rest of the party-goers, we sat in a booth to finish our first drinks. We were the only ones sitting down and were easily spotted by an intoxicated Desi. We found out that he, Sunny, had lost his group and let him tag along after he bought us drinks. ;)

We spent a good couple of hours on the dance floor. As I was trying to snap pics of Hayer a guy with a bow-tie popped into frame! He looked like such a character I had to take a picture. I found out he was from Turlock, it's such a small world.

After the party shut down, the Desi fobs got a little rowdy. One lifted up my friend's skirt and another actually opened the door to my car in front of the cops and slammed his fist against my trunk. I cussed him out in Punjabi. When I started translating into English the cops sped off after him. Mwahaha.

I drove around until we found an IHOP for food, which Sunny surprisingly covered. So we did him a favor and dropped Sunny off in Hayward. However, we did end up getting lost in Palo Alto (home to Stanford) for a bit. Made it home by 6 am.

Lessons Learned:

1) Turn off your parking brake when you're driving.

2) Wear shoes that you can slip off and abuse others with. Don't be afraid to use them!

3) Be nice to lonely guys. They come in handy.

4) Singing Kelis' Milkshake song will guarantee a milkshake craving.

Misadventure: San Francisco

Earlier in January my best friend took me to San Francisco for a belated birthday trip. Consider it very belated, my birthday was in October (see: IST). :D

We planned to get dinner at a Middle Eastern/Mediterranean restaurant with belly dancers. But we were late (IST :D) and got there just in time for it to turn into a hookah bar. The inside was dark and smoky, and a DJ was playing Iranian music to the side. We were seated a table away from a girl and a few guys who invited us over before we got our hookah. One of the guys, a hulking Tunisian, ended up starting the hookah for our uninitiated selves. Apparently you have to suck on the mouth piece a while before you can get the flavored tobacco to smoke.

Anyways, we watched a bunch of Arabic girls belly dance before heading out with our new acquaintances. A hobo serenaded our walk over to the Ambassador. The line was long and we ended up leaving half the group and backtracking uphill to the Cellar. That's when the neighborhood got dark and creepy. We were glad that we had gotten some of the guys to accompany us. The Cellar (my Yelp review) was a good idea, dark, dingy and full of drunken young people dancing.

When we had said, 'We want to go dancing,' I imagine our escorts expected something entirely different from what typical Indian girls do: the Desi circle. There is no grinding on the back of a girl, and the only contact consists of eyes meeting while you wildly flail your arms and legs around. Most guys would be disappointed, and so our gentlemanly friends disappeared into the crowd after realizing they weren't going to get any action. Which was fine with us, we rocked out, complimented a Michael Jackson impersonator, were scandalized by the behavior of some party goers and of course, we gravitated towards the other Punjabis in the club. We introduced ourselves and spent the rest of the night with the fellows.

There were four guys that walked us back downhill and treated us at Naan & Curry. The food wasn't as good as expected from a SF Indian restaurant but considering it was open at 3 am, I'll let it pass. Instead of hitting the hay at the hotel across the street, one of the guys invited us back to their place to hang out (Retrospection: This is a stupid idea! NEVER go home with guys you don't know!). I'm sure they were expecting more drinking and scandalous fun, but that's not what they got or they didn't push for it. We ended up watching Paheli for a few hours and just chatting about life. It was around 6 am when we decided it was time to go home. The taxis weren't returning calls so they offered to walk us out and drive us back to our car. By then our feet were hurting so they actually let us wait while they brought their car around. It was freezing but we watched the sunrise in San Francisco and got a car tour of the city while it was still quiet on Sunday morning.

Lessons learned:

1) Don't wear close-toed heels if you plan on hiking for 8 hours around San Francisco (or any big city for that matter)

2) Charge your cell phone!

3) Store taxi numbers.

4) Don't be a skank, otherwise guys will treat you like one.

5) Be nice to hobos. They're cool, if they're not crazy.

6) Avoid the Tenderloin District

Rishta

Wednesday my grandma congratulated me on my older cousin's 'Rishta.'

All I could think was 'Whaaaat?!?!'

I took a minute to think about it... does Rishta mean an offer or an actual engagement?

Rishta literally means 'relationship.' When it comes time to find a spouse, the other family is offering a ristha, a link into the family. The 'proper' way of getting engaged is letting everyone know that you're looking for eligible members in the community for your or someone else's son or daughter. Today's parents usually look toward India as a source of pure, traditional breeding stock. They pack their kids and head to the homeland in search of the 'right' one. This process utilizes the extensive Indian networking and interview system (post to come). All the juicy details about the possible match's socioeconomic status, family history, etc are laid out. They are quite often accompanied by pictures passing hands for judgment.

The old school way is to have the boy's family come over to the girl's house, no matter who approached whom first. The kids talk a bit in front of the parents over cha and decide if they want to meet a few more times or not.

If the couple agrees, the engagement and ring ceremony follow. Typically the ring ceremony preludes the wedding by six months to a year. The engagement cements the beginning of the rishta.

FB statuses and pictures confirmed the facts. My cousin was there a week before she was engaged. In retrospect the engagement was inevitable, an Indian girl hitting 25, single, not on a career path... of course there would be a wedding dhols on the horizon!

I'm excited for new Punjabi suits! And matching jewelery of course. :D