desi girl mag by desigirl

desi girl magazine is dedicated to all my desi girls out there. this magazine aims to be a space for desi women to discuss themselves, their experiences, their struggles, and their successes. we are dedicated to pu;ng desi voices out there and taking up as much space as possible while educa=ng others and sharing our stories.

edited and curated by Radhika G. cover photo is Kangana Raunat and doesn’t belong to this magazine. all content belongs to its righBul owners.

featured inside bekaraar ladki power hungry revolutionary feminism & being a feminist photography ek villain: a feminist perspective galaxy girl the dark girl’s lament being the token exotic girl untitled (poetry) kalki koechlin: feminist savior? untitled (photgraphy) kaash yeh pal fireproof untitled (illustration) brown babe supremacy

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bekaraar ladki my dad used to listen to a lot of roy orbison when i was growing up. my favorite was pretty woman, you know that one? “pretty woman..won’t you walk on by..pretty woman” it’s nice. but that’s not the point. i must’ve been four or five. we went to my mausi’s house for some dinner party and i was one of the only kids there. i remember asking mausi if she’d play pretty woman and she obliged. that was the first time i can actually remember hearing a hindi song. “maine jise abhi abhi *pause* dekha hai....kaun hai woh anjaani”. it must have been love at first note because for the next eight years, i listened exclusively to desi music. whether it was the lastest bollywood songs or falguni pathak’s ‘maine payal hai channkai’, it was the only thing i listened to. and to be quite honest, it never struck me as strange till seventh grade. when i was in seventh grade i think taylor swift was one of the big artists out there. you belong with me had become a hit only the year before and she’d already began her steady rise to the top. i, of course, had no idea who she was. some kid had mentioned her to me and given me a strange look when i replied that i hadn’t really heard of her before so i went home that evening and looked her up. she was okay but, well..she was no shreya ghoshal. it wasn’t a big deal that day, in fact i didn’t even think about it for a good couple of months when i was again made to feel strange about my “weird music taste”. it kinda started to become a bigger deal and even though no one was outright horrible, the weird looks grew to ones of pity and for the first time, i felt like maybe i was weird. maybe i shouldn’t be so into indian music, indian movies and indian things. after all...i was in america. why the hell was i holding on to some place i only visited for a couple weeks a year? 5

so..i let go. or rather, ripped myself away from loving anything that wasn’t strictly white. it sounds horrible and i promise, it felt even worse. i didn’t want to stop loving indian things, but i didn’t want to be the weird girl either, i didn’t want those looks of pity or the slightly weirded out laughs. so i tried to change but it never really fixed anything. i was still the weird girl but, hey, it was nothing new. just the same old same old. it took two years for me to say fuck it. two years before i went back to being me, before i started letting myself love what made me happy. but two years of being someone i wasn’t screwed me up. i mean, i’m getting back to where i was, but it’s hard. my self esteem went down the drain, i just felt lost and confused, i didn’t know who i was or who i wanted to be but i hated her. i hated her so much i hated her i hated her i hated her because she gave in, she ruined things for me. she gave me insecurities, she gave me anxiety and years of therapy. but you live and you learn, i guess -‐ i’m still learning. writing and art submitted by devi (radpoetry).

POWER HUNGRY by anamika being on tumblr has been such an enlightening experience for me -‐ there are so many cool poc and i see all of u just being amazing and being urselves and lovin ur life and its so inspiring to me. it makes me really happy actually to see u guys like this and see u voicing ur opinions and speaking out and sharing urself and ur art and ur radiance. it makes me so so happy and it makes me feel kinda safe and like i matter..and then sometimes that carries over into my real life and ofc that lil fantasy is crushed almost immediately. im supposed to live in a relatively liberal place but oh lord i dont. i really really dont. people are so close minded and gross here and its disappointing to say the least. and its sad because i see all these amazing wonderful poc on tumblr and theyre so cool and it just seems like they belong here they are such a gift to the world their art is amazing their thoughts and opinions are so important. it seems like this world and whatever their form of expression is, was made for them. whatever little creative outlet they chose was just made for them. but it wasnt. this world was not made for us. whatever it is to you, the music industry, the fashion industry, the art industry, none of it was made for us. these industries do not cater to minorities and its really sad to see because its honest to god such a waste of talent. anyways im going off on a bit of a tangent but ive been thinking about this for a while and ive decided that some of us are just really brave so we venture into these industries even though we know almost everything is pitted

against us. but some of just have so much power and anger and we go into this all headstrong and beautiful and we fight. we fight so incredibly hard to be heard and some people write us off as sell outs when we finally succeed. because how else could a poc succeed if not by selling out? and its frustrating because we’re not doing it for their validation, we’re not trying to prove something to you..we’re doing it for us. we’re doing it for people like us so our stories make it out there. and i think the people who have made it just really really wanted it. i mean i know everyone wants things to a certain extent but a lot of us are just scared. and its definitely for good reason, being a minority is scary. its scary to know that your race, your identity could get in the way of you doing what you want to do. its horrible and sickening and scary as hell but thats the way it is. and i think the only way to really get past that is to be hungry for it. almost starving if you want to think of it like that. i feel like if youre hungry enough for something all this fear and doubt will just kinda go away. if you want something that badly youll be willing to do whatever it takes to get there. now im not saying youll step over whoever the hell you need to step over to get there but youll stop getting in the way of yourself. if you want something bad enough, youll no longer allow yourself to be a roadblock. this doesnt mean it wont be scary because i dont think u can ever fully get over something as incapacitating as fear but ur hunger will outweigh ur fear. itll make u push urself and it could be an amazing thing. if

ur letting fear control ur body u dont want it bad enough. and if u need a little push just remember we all have ur back. we want our beautiful poc to succeed. we want to see u do well. we want to see more people like us in creative spaces. think of it like taking back what is rightfully yours. because thats what it is tbh, its u taking back what belongs to you. its you creating a space for yourself and for people like you. remember how valuable and worthy u are. there is so much out there for u to seize. ur opening doors and ur doing something amazing and it would be a shame to have something like fear get in the way of that. u have to have that hunger if u want to succeed here, u have to be confident and brave and u have to really want it. so ask urself, are u hungry enough?

R EV O L UT I O NA R Y “being desi means loving the sun is an act of rebellion” -priya

feminism & being a feminist. I see a lot of posts about feminism that say feminism is believing that men & women are equal and if u believe this then you are a feminist. When I first came on tumblr, I used to believe this, too. But now I believe being a feminist is more than that. It is harder, less palatable & more complicated. To be a feminist you have to do more than believe, you have to actively challenge patriarchal & sexist institutions & belief systems. With the previous definition it is easy to fall into a lull; believing you are a feminist or a feminist ally without actually doing anything.You can just sit around & say ‘hey I believe this’ & still be misogynistic. In fact, the definition itself is problematic. It doesn’t talk or take into consideration non-binary people, MOGAI people, racism, classism, casteism, racialized misogyny, misogynoir, transmisogyny & transmisogynoir. The definition is too simple and too basic. As feminists, we, I should actively try to liberate ourselves from patriarchal notions & thinking. I prefer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s definition of feminism. To paraphrase, ‘a feminist is person who believe in the social, political & economic equality of all genders.’ However, it is important not just to believe but to also act.Yes, it is hard, but going against the current is never easy. Think & question what you do & why you do it. For example, the act of putting on lipstick, maybe you do it maybe u don’t. Is it because people around u do or don’t do it? Is it what is expected of you? Is it what patriarchy expects of you? For me, a NRI, who visits & has done college in India (Kerala specifically), putting on dark lipstick is challenging patriarchy as I get called a wh*re for doing so. But in Dubai, when going out, putting on lipstick is expected of me. There I am really am not challenging patriarchal notions. So always question. Find an answer and if you change it is fine. If you don’t it is fine too. (As long it doesn’t hurt anybody & makes you happy). 14

You should remember that across different cultures the same thing might mean different things (see above) and in some place things that are normal/neutral have to be fought to be done in some other places. For example, in Saudi Arabia women are not allowed to drive & are arrested for it while in other place women do have the right to drive [please note this is a very simplified example]. It is not just across cultures, that struggles vary but across race, class & caste too. In India, Dalit girls & women are constantly terrorized, raped & killed by higher caste men. And nothing much is done about it. Patriarchy enforces itself differently across cultures, classes, races, castes and genders. As Bell Hooks says here feminism and being a feminist is more than an identity. It is an active choice.You should question yourself what is that you are doing actively to work against patriarchy, sexism & oppression. Being a feminist is hard. It is not easy. It is not palatable. But you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t bring change by being nice. submitted by Namitha (lilwitch)â&#x20AC;Š

minaalitakespictures, photography 17

ek villain: a feminist perspective Although Bollywood has slowly begun to change, it has always been a man’s world. The romantic hero, the jokester with a heart of gold, the gritty soldier… Most Bollywood stories revolve around men and women only play secondary roles like love interests. However, 2014 was a great year for women-centric stories, with the likes of Queen, Mary Kom, Dedh Isqhiya and many more. So when I sat down to see Mohit Suri’s Ek Villain, I was just expecting the usual formula for a man-centric movie – man gets woman, loses her and then wins her back. Wash, rinse, repeat. What I received was very different. Main female lead Shraddha Kapoor’s character, Aisha, is killed off in gruesome detail within the first ten minutes of the movie. Her husband, Guru (played by Sidharth Malhotra) is a former gang member and makes it his mission to find out who killed her – and exact his revenge. Throughout the first half of the movie, we learn more about Guru and Aisha’s romance, in a rather charming if not predictable Bollywood way. However, their story is not the issue I had with the movie. The truly disturbing part about Ek Villain was the titular villain himself – a timid henpecked man by the name of Rakesh (played by Ritesh 18

Deshmukh), who is constantly scolded by his wife Sullu (Aamna Sharif) but loves her too much to react. Instead, Rakesh takes out his bottled frustration and anger in a far more horrifying way – if a woman is impolite to him, he tracks her down and kills her with a screwdriver. The implication is that he wishes he could kill his wife, but cannot bring himself to harm her. This leads to several ghastly scenes wherein we see Rakesh torturing and killing women, from a lady who spoke to him too harshly when he was trying to fix her phone, to a young teenage girl who called him a pervert when he brushed up against her in the subway. These killings are not enacted off-screen – the murder of the teenage girl was particularly frightening, with Rakesh delivering a monologue about how much he loves his wife while the girl is bleeding and clearly in horrific pain. Finally, we discover that Aisha was killed because she snapped at Rakesh earlier that day – and we also learn that she had been pregnant at the time of her death. Guru eventually tracks Rakesh down to where he killed Aisha, and the audience is subjected to Rakesh cruelly mocking Aisha’s last moments and how she begged for her life. Just when it seems like Rakesh may kill our hero as well, Guru receives a phone call – his former gang leader has Rakesh’s wife Sullu, and is determined to kill her in revenge for Aisha. Guru tries to stop him, but he is too late – we hear the gun go off, and Sullu dies. In the end, Rakesh is hit by a car and Guru survives to adopt Rakesh and Sullu’s son. The movie ends with Guru taking his adopted son to see the peacocks dance in the rain, which he had planned to do with Aisha before her death. The theme of revenge is not an uncommon one in Bollywood, or in movies in general. But Ek Villain went beyond a simple revenge and forgiveness story, and veered into very startlingly misogynistic territory. By the end of the movie, every named female character we know is dead. Rakesh’s entire existence, and the fact that he vents his frustrations with his own weaknesses (being incompetent at his job, being too shy, etc) by killing women who just happen to get on his bad side is downright terrifying. Women and other people on the gender spectrum are no strangers to the idea that they can be killed if they cross a cis man when he’s in a bad mood – this is our reality, not some fictional story. And the fact that a storyline is crafted around such graphic violence against women, in 2014, is 19

saddening and disappointing – especially since it is displayed so explicitly and unnecessarily on screen. Another side character that is featured in the movie is one of Rakesh’s friends Brijesh, who physically abuses his wife on-screen and is never reprimanded for it, by a character or by the narrative. Women only exist as catchy eye-candy for item numbers (Prachi Desai), or to further the story of our male characters (Guru and Rakesh). By the end of the movie, I was shaking – but not with the sort of emotions Mohit Suri would have wanted. I was not overcome with emotion at the peaceful ending, at the fact that Guru spared his enemy’s child and adopted him as his own. I didn’t care about the heavy-handed message of forgiveness, and “dark cannot drive out dark”. Instead, I was angry and sad and terrified. All this story told me, which has been reinforced throughout my life, is that I must be nice to men. Poor Rakesh, why couldn’t any of those women cut him some slack? Didn’t they realize what he was going through? How his wife didn’t love him? How he was desperate to make her love him? I mean, they should have understood. How dare a woman call him a pervert when he brushed up against her, as if she hasn’t been socialized from a young age that she could be assaulted at any time? How dare Aisha snap at him, when she had her own issues to worry about? Essentially: how dare women have feelings that inconvenience men in any way? Rationally, I am aware that the next man I snap at is probably not going to come after me with a screwdriver. Rationally, I know that Ek Villain had good songs, good acting and decent direction. I know all of this, but it does not erase the fact that the movie left me feeling very hollow. Because someday, somewhere, Aisha or any one of Rakesh’s victims could very well be me. I could be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person – and it could cost me my life. This prioritization of cis men’s feelings over women and other gender-identifying individuals’ lives is only reinforced through Ek Villain, and I believe it is a deeply backwards story to tell in an age where we are striving for an equal society. ginny (goodoldmoon)

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”stop acting so small, you are the universe in ecstatic motion”

the dark girls lament "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Why am I not fair at all? They say I'll never know of love -‐ Who needs the crow when there's a dove? I know that women lose their lives For no one wants the coal-‐black wives. For nightmares born as jet-‐black sheep, Happiness is just skin-‐deep. This hue has brought me naught but shame; If life goes wrong, my skin's to blame. I've bought the lo=ons, used the creams, I've dealt the gods respect and screams. I've lost my faith but not this skin; I'm darker than the darkest sin. Before I slash my wrists to shreds, And join the ashes of the dead, Have you no advice to give? No reason for why I should live?"

The mirror never spoke a word; He wept inside with thoughts unheard.

How could he tell her all he saw, That nowhere did he note a ﬂaw. Her hue was inky like the night; Her dusky eyes glowed like starlight. He knew the skin along her bones Would have the feel and warmth of home. He knew she loved to sing and dance, But no "real" man would take the chance To hold the hand unlike his own And see what lay beyond skin tone. The mirror knew inside her mind, A treasure trove there was to ﬁnd. Under raven hair like smoke, Her brilliance wore an ebony cloak. Yet here she sat and here she wept As whitewashed masses smiled and slept. He longed to tell his midnight dream That even coal mines one day gleam, For that which has the highest worth Is buried far beneath the earth. But alas, the mind unread Lay inside the glass-‐bound head,

And then he watched his dark girl fall, His love, his life, his muse, his all. So there she died, caught in a ﬂood Of neither black nor pearly blood. They saw her, took her, spoke of hell. (Only the beau=ful can die well.)

Beauty is as beauty does, Yet fairness is, will be, and was A blessing and the saving grace For the blackest heart with palest face. But what remains the saddest part Is no one cares for golden hearts, For who would care to look within When all is known from just one's skin? -‐Suporna C (trishathebrown)

A/N: I was inspired by a recent news story which discussed the suicide of a young girl in West Bengal. This girl had been led to believe by her family and acquaintances that her dark skin would permanently detract from all aspects of life and the only soluBon she had was removing herself from the equaBon for good. The story brought me both immense grief and intense anger because this is actually a very common occurrence in a country like India where the catchphrase “Fair and Lovely” is a household uGerance.

”not your spice mistress, belly dancer, only hollerin at me when you need a token desi girl. not your exoBc. only exhausted of being treated like an object” -‐D. Kaur (diariesofadesigirl)

KALKI KOECHLIN: THE SAVIOR WE NEVER WANTED If you follow any desi blogs on tumblr, chances are you’ve already seen the debates regarding Kalki Koechlin and her influence as a famous white woman in India. While some praise her as a feminist and a foreigner who has made it in a primarily male dominated industry, others feel she has done a disservice to brown woman all over. Sorry for all you Kalki lovers out there but I’m gonna have to go with the la\er opinion on this one. Maybe this will help you see why. We’re all familiar with the Bri=sh Empire. Blood, racism, enforcement of euro-‐centric beauty ideals that con=nue today, the rise of white supremacy + valuing fairness..all that good stuff. No POC ever looks back on Bri=sh rule as a posi=ve experience. Nor should they. The Bri=sh Empire was a horrible, gross abuse of power and has las=ng and devasta=ng effects on the en=re world. What you have to understand is that Kalki represents all those things. She is a fair woman in India. More than that, actually. She is a white woman in India who has

risen to the top and huge part of that is because of her skin, her French heritage, and the inherent power that comes with it. “No, no! She’s Indian!” You protest. “She was born there! She’s said it herself, her skin is white but her heart is brown! Isn’t that what counts?” No, it doesn’t count. It does not count because the fact of the ma\er is that she is a white woman in India. Yes, she was born and raised in India. So yes, her na=onality is Indian. That, unfortunately, does not ma\er. In the words of an educated & lovely babe on tumblr, “[Kalki] will never be racialized as an Indian.” So why is that dis=nc=on important to make? That she’s only Indian by na=onality & nothing else? It’s important because she benefits from a system her ancestors put into place. Yes, as a woman she faces sexism. But sexism has so many layers. The sexism faced by white woman, especially in a place like India when light skinned girls are idolized, is far different than the sexism and the struggles faced by a Indian woman, par=cularly a dark skinned one. As a white woman, she cannot speak for Indian woman. And this is the problem. She cannot speak for the millions of woman in India but she tries to anyways. Kalki’s success in the Indian film industry owes a huge chunk to systems her ancestors put into place -‐ systems that con=nue to torment the average Indian woman both in India and abroad. Her feminism does very li\le for the advancement of Indian women as a whole. Her par=cular brand of feminism caters to a very small group of Indian women and ignores larger issues (one of the biggest ones being shadism & white supremacy!! -‐ again, systems Kalki benefits from!). It’s frustra=ng to see a white woman be so successful in Bollywood AND be cast as ethnically Indian in many of her roles. That just further emphasizes white supremacy in India and it’s disappoin=ng to see. Her privilege is also evident in portrayals of Indian feminism. More ohen than not, she is made the face of the feminism movement in India. It’s wrong because 31

there are so many other prominent figures just in Bollywood that also talk about feminism and issues in the industry and Kalki gets to speak over all of them. Kangana, Priyanka, Parinee=..these are all talented and educated women who have made it in the same industry as Kalki. Yes, they also do benefit slightly from systems such as the idoliza=on of fairness but they are s=ll racialized as Indian therefore making it more appropriate for them to be at the forefront of this movement in Indian pop culture. Kalki may have good inten=ons but the fact that she ignores her privilege as a white woman and even a\empts to make the argument that she has suffered because of her skin tone makes her a bad candidate for “India’s feminist savior.” Her oversimplifica=on of issues that Indian women face has done a great disservice both to Indian women and the feminism movement as a whole. You can’t have feminism without intersec=onality and you can’t speak for Indians when you’re white. No ma\er how ‘brown’ your heart is. (submi\ed anonymously.)

KAASH YEH PAL -‐ a mix of Nepali, Indian, and Pakistani alterna?ve + rock songs. (listen / credit)

F I R E P R O O F I can feel the burning in my lungs. It threatens to come spilling out, I can barely hold it in. My shaky hands move on their own; they pry my mouth wide open only to find an en=re universe inside. There’s an ephemeral silence that soon becomes a fierce outpouring as strong as the monsoons. My shaking slowly stops as the floods con=nue for what seems like forever. As it slows, I’m met with an ineffable peace. I remind myself to breathe. Three shallow breaths: in...out and repeat. My hands return to my side, shaking again as I feel the sparks start up again. This =me I smile and proudly let them blaze; I shouldn’t apologize for the fierce love I have for myself.

There are few things as exhilara=ng as accep=ng yourself. In a world full of depressed and uninspired kids, it’s rare to feel this way. I remember the harsh cri=cisms that spilled from the other kids my age. I think being a teenager is hard but being a teenage girl is a whole new level of hell. A lot of us have this en=re fantasy of how our teenage years will be, how we’ll be, and when we face the inevitable disappointment, it hits hard.

Even back in middle school I could see the poison bubbling in the other girls’ veins. They clawed at themselves, just trying to get rid of the toxicity. It was always something or the other; “I hate my hair”, “my skin is horrible”. Before eighth grade I’d never even heard of the term “thunder thighs!” But as I soon discovered, the ways to hate yourself were vast and many. All I heard from these girls was nega=vity, it almost seemed like a compe==on of who hated themselves the most. And it didn’t stop there. I dis=nctly remember being told I was “too loud” for someone like me. It was as if my size, race, and whatever other physically deﬁning elements I possessed could be used as fodder against me. My own rela=ves would hush me, reminding me that Indian girls weren’t vibrant or obtrusive. I remember feeling strange for not ha=ng myself -‐ it felt like a taboo of some sort.

Twelve year old me was very impressionable and just wanted to ﬁt in. So I bought into it, I started looking hard for ﬂaws within myself. With that mindset, it wasn’t hard and before I knew it, I’d sunken into this pit of self-‐loathing.

I’d been convinced I needed to recreate myself completely; I remember abandoning what felt comfortable. I par=cipated less in school and isolated myself to the best of my ability. Aher all, I didn’t want to be obtrusive. Those were deﬁnitely the worst months of my life, ﬁlled with misery and disgust at myself. Thankfully, it didn’t last too long. This change hadn’t gone unno=ced by my mother so she got me help. A few months of therapy and the contempt I felt for myself eased.

I’m s=ll nowhere near the way I once was and in all honesty I don’t think I ever will be. I think self hatred at such and young and fragile age breaks you in a way that can never really be ﬁxed. That’s something no one ever tells you. No one ever warns you that once you go down that road there’s no oﬀ switch, no turning back. It’s amazing what a couple months of nega=vity can do to someone’s self esteem. Looking back I realize what a waste it was, how stupid it was to get caught up in this self loathing. Your youth goes by a lot faster than you think it will; it’s far too short to be apologe=c about loving yourself.

M Y G R A C E

M Y P R I D E

M Y T U R B A N

A S Y M B O L O F M Y F A I T H 39

(listen, credit)

001. asalaam e ishqum / gunday 002. chikni chameli / agneepath 003. desi girl / dostana 004. dilli wali girlfriend -‐ yjhd 005. fevicol se -‐ dabangg 006. ghagra -‐ yjhd 007. kajra re -‐ bunty aur babli 008. kamli -‐ dhoom 3 009. lal dupatta -‐ mujhse shaadi karogi 010. love mera hit hit -‐ billu barbar 011. mehboob mere -‐ fiza 012. munni badnam hui -‐ dabangg 0013. radha / soty 0014. second hand jawani -‐ cocktail 015. sheila ki jawani -‐ tees maar khan