Overachiever Magazine: The TV Issue

With articles on...

Indian Representation in Western Media The Flaws of Electoral Politics The Bold Type And interviews with... celebrity choreographer, Joya Kazi Emmy-nominated writer/director, Roxy Shih queer, trans, and Taiwanese American activist, Kara Chang

Editor’s Note Dear OM readers, Like many children of immigrants, I saw the culture of my parents’ country through a television screen. In my house, the remote control was off limits every Saturday morning (cartoons rot your brain anyways, my mother reasoned), and Indian music videos, mostly from Bollywood movies, would play on the screen from 9 AM to noon.

It is from these shows that I picked up my fashion sense, attitude, and the little bit of Hindi I can speak (it’s an eclectic vocabulary, as you can imagine). Beyond those shows, produced by and for the Indian-American community, I never saw my culture on the small screen. Today, I am thrilled with the strides Indian-American and other Asian-American women have made towards representation (shoutout to Mindy Kaling, who carried Indian-American representation from the early 2000s to now). But it is not enough. We need more representation regionally, and in size and sexuality. We should celebrate the strides we have made, but we cannot become complacent, or accept whatever is given to us. We need more than Asian actresses - we need Asian casting directors, producers, and network executives. If we cannot have a seat at the table, we need to make our own table. Representation matters - and it’s time we took that into our own hands.

Yours, Rehana Paul Editor-in-Chief and Founder

Interview with Joya Written Kazi by Charlotte Drummond

Joya Nandy Kazi is Los Angeles’s celebrity choreographer known for pushing Indian arts and culture into the mainstream, whether it be through entertainment, education, behind the scenes, or on camera.

She has been a vocal driving force in advocating for representation and authenticity in the dance industry and has dedicated her life to carving a space for her art and creating opportunities for aspiring artists. She founded her dance company at the age of 16, and now Joya Kazi Unlimited has grown to be a multi-pronged Bollywood entertainment company encompassing a professional troupe known to house the most highly trained and skilled Bollywood dancers, an academy for pre-professional dancers, and services ranging from choreography to costume design for film and television.

Linktree: https://linktr.ee/joyakazi Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joyakazi Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/joyakazi/ TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@joyakazi Website: https://www.joyakazi.com/ YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/joyakazi?sub_confirmation=1 Charlotte Drummond is a part of Overachiever Magazine’s Editorial and Outreach teams. She is an Indian-American student and writer from Los Angeles, California. She is currently attending Emerson College, and studying Writing, Literature and Publishing. At the moment, she is working for multiple on-campus publications as a part of their writing and copyediting teams. In her free time, she loves reading, taking pictures of plants, getting emo over female singer-songwriters, and hanging out with her dog.

INSTAGRAM: @charlotte.drummond

The first Indian dancer Joya Kazi remembers seeing was performing on MTV. At the tender age of three, her eyes were glued to the screen as an Odissi dancer moved the music of Michael Jackson’s “Black or White.”

“It was the first time I saw someone on television that looked like me,” Kazi admits. “brown skin, big eyes, a beautiful red bindi. I told my mom that I wanted to dance like her.”

Soon enough, Kazi started taking Odissi dance lessons when she was four years old.

“When I would dance, I would feel like I was flying in the sky,” Kazi explains. “There was no better feeling than being in class, watching my Gurus’ every move to match the detail and challenge myself with all the knowledge they shared. I completely fell in love with dance because it was where I felt most complete, and dancing brought purpose to my life.”

Joya Kazi is no longer the beginner who longed to be like the brown-skinned girls on her television screen. Now, the Los Angeles-based 32-year-old sought-after choreographer is teaching and spreading Indian culture through dance to be infused in every aspect of the entertainment industry. Her work includes being a part of TV shows like New Girl and Never Have I Ever as well as teaching master classes all over the world to founding and directing her own dance company. She uses her platform to continue to share the beauty of the South Asian arts, which is a common thread throughout her interview with Overachiever Magazine.

How has your South Asian background influenced your love of dance?

Being South Asian definitely steered the direction of my exploration of dance. I was attending ballet as a child, but my mom felt that I would always be able to access ballet living in the states, yet finding the right Gurus to learn Indian classical dance would always be hard to come by. That’s why she really wanted me to focus on building a strong foundation in Indian Classical Arts. I studied Odissi, Kathak, Bharatnatyam, and Kuchipudi amongst other classical forms and then double majored in Political Science & Theatre & Dance at the University of California, Davis with an emphasis in Choreography and Production Management while minoring in Managerial Economics. Within my first month in college, I quickly came to realize that we were the only university in the entire state to not have a competitive Bollywood team, or as we called it then, Hindi Film Dance. So, I founded Toofan, meaning “storm,” the very first of its kind at UC Davis because my culture has always been a strong part of my identity, and my love of dance was my best form of connection to it.

Do you have a particular process when it comes to choreography? How do you connect with your fellow dancers, especially in circumstances when you’ve just met them and need to be in sync as quickly as possible?

My process has morphed through phases over the years but generally comes down to starting with the part of the song that resonates most to me. I then build from the beginning to the end. Sometimes choreography begins with freestyling to find what speaks to me most or with a concept that I need to portray through movement. When I’m working with my dancers, we have a sense of camaraderie and understanding of the style, so we are able to quickly connect and match each other. In new scenarios with dancers I’ve never worked with, we generally have a strong foundation of dance and technique that allows us to interpret movement similarly and quickly adjust with visual cues. That’s what being a dancer is all about; being both strong and trainable in your dance.

What are some of the most fulfilling things about being involved in dance in the entertainment industry? What can be frustrating?

Seeing the pride in my parents’ eyes will always be the most fulfilling part of my work.

The sacrifices my parents made as young immigrants who moved to this country without knowing a single soul to create a new life full of opportunities are my driving force.

The frustrations I deal with are usually centered on combating the appropriated ideas of what Bollywood dancing should look like within the industry and a sense of having to prove myself as successful being a female entrepreneur in the arts within my South Asian community.

Who are your dance-spirations (dancers you look up to)?

Artists like Guru Kelucharan Mohapatra, Michael Jackson, and Misty Copeland have been long time inspirations for me in my dance. Each of them has had a uniquely different connection and journey with dance that I’ve always admired. One thing I’ve learned from their careers is that the path one artist takes does not necessarily have to be the one that you follow yourself and that you should never let the opinions of others or their definitions of success define the possibilities in your own life.

What do you consider to be your greatest accomplishment?

Getting back up every single time I was knocked down, and not giving up on myself is the single greatest accomplishment I could achieve. Pursuing dance professionally and being a fulltime artist with a specialty in a cultural style so different from the industry I work in comes with the greatest struggles, tears, and heartbreaks. There have been so many times that I felt beaten down, defeated and came so close to walking away from all the closed doors or giving in to everyone else’s opinions of me, but my mom always taught me that you have to roll your own red carpet out yourself to walk down. Everyone else will follow if, and only if, you truly believe in yourself. If you don’t, why would anyone else?

What do you think are the biggest challenges facing Asian women today?

Our community. As much as we’d like to think that we are a very modern and forward-thinking community, we have misogyny woven into the fabric of our society, and it generally guises itself as culture and tradition. Really it’s just a way of devaluing and undermining the immense power and potential of females. People are always quick to assume that everything I have achieved in my career to the house I live in or the car I drive are given to me by my parents or my husband, when in fact, they are things I have diligently and relentlessly worked towards on my own. Many in my community have told me to my face that there is no way I could be completely financially independent and that the only reason I can “just dance” is because my husband is a doctor. What people fail to see is that a daughter of their community had a dream, started her own company at sixteen, worked to become financially independent by the age of eighteen, and has been able to support herself and her husband far before he was ever a doctor.

It’s strange how, when a male accomplishes anything, it’s seen as a given and boasted about with pride, but when a female does so, it must have been handed to her.

Do you have any advice for the young South Asian girls who want to pursue a career in dance/choreography who may be afraid to do so?

The South Asian culture has a very closed mentality when it comes to the performative arts as anything more than just a hobby. You will forever find people that have something negative to say about you if you pursue dance professionally, but who are you living your life for? With anything, knowledge is your greatest power, and in dance, especially, it’s something that will forever remain limitless. Part of my strength as a choreographer lies in my spectrum of dance technique, history, theory, and artistry. In a world driven by social media, it can be very easy to fall into the trap of self-proclamation of being a dancer or choreographer based on likes and views from the internet, but training, experience, and professionalism are what will carry you through a career with longevity.

You have to seriously train in dance and the art of choreography. Don’t waste your time trying to persuade people around you to let you pursue something. Instead, create a strong game plan, maintain a dependable and professional approach just like you would any other career, be open to the new, and be trainable as you seek to learn under the guidance of seasoned veterans in your field.

What’s next for you? Any exciting projects?

This year has definitely put an undetermined pause on some amazing work, but I hope that 2021 will allow for you to see these projects make their way onto TV & film. In the meantime, I’ve been teaching online, and you can subscribe to my mailing list on my website for updated details on my teaching schedule and upcoming projects!

Interview with Roxy Shih Written by Charlotte Drummond

Roxy Shih is an internationally acclaimed, Emmy-nominat ed writer/director and speaker. Born in Europe, Roxy’s third culture background has given her a distinct perspective. As a filmmaker, she is known for her versatility and has worked with many independent companies both overseas and domestically, making her one of the most in-demand cinema artists today.

She also hosts a lifestyle podcast with one of her best friends, singer-songwriter Priska, called Two Horny Goats, which is available on Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Charlotte Drummond is a part of Overachiever Magazine’s Editorial and Outreach teams. She is an Indian-American student and writer from Los Angeles, California. She is currently attending Emerson College, and studying Writing, Literature and Publishing. At the moment, she is working for multiple on-campus publications as a part of their writing and copyediting teams. In her free time, she loves reading, taking pictures of plants, getting emo over female singer-songwriters, and hanging out with her dog.

INSTAGRAM: @charlotte.drummond

Introduce yourself!

Hi everyone! I’m Roxy Shih and I’m a Taiwanese-American writer and director based out of Los Angeles. I co-founded the Taiwanese American Film Festival (www.TAFF.la) in LA, and I currently have a podcast that I co-host with one of my best friends, Priska, called Two Horny Goats (www.TwoHornyGoats.com), where we discuss culture, food, sexuality, and what it’s like growing up Asian-American. I hope that everyone is maintaining their health and sanity in this turbulent year.

Why do you love making films? Are there any distinct memories that connect/illustrate that love you have for them?

Who doesn’t love the movies? The ones we watched growing up made us into who we are today, and the ones being made now reflect the values and times we’re living in.

Growing up, I had a steady diet of Julie Andrews movies (Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music were on daily rotation), and for some strange reason, Ron Howard’s Willow and old-school Hong Kong Martial Arts films were also in the repertoire. I think these films are mostly responsible for the type of work I make today: intensely violent, visceral films with...deeply whimsical, romantic musical scores (lol).

Becoming a filmmaker wasn’t a childhood dream. In fact, I was afraid to want it due to the fact that I never saw or heard of anyone who looked like me being able to direct and make films (representation is important, y’all!) But I’ve always been a storyteller; I’ve played music, was a dancer, writer, and dipped my feet into different mediums of expression growing up. It wasn’t until college when I was taking a Film 101 class for a humanities requirement when I first watched The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and found myself overwhelmed with such powerful, lingering emotions and tears long after the other students left the screening hall. I was struck by something that day; seeing how cinema encapsulates all the artistic mediums I love to tell a story and know that it can affect a viewer’s emotions and point of view decades into the future was a profound moment for me. I didn’t know how to get there, though. All I knew was that I wanted to be a part of it.

You have done a wide variety of projects filling all kinds of roles, from directing and writing for your horror television show Dark/Web to producing a Panic! At the Disco music video to even have credits for production, casting, and even acting. Do you have any preferences for what you like doing the most? What do you like or dislike about all the different kinds of departments you’ve worked in?

I think that it’s important that you get your hands dirty. It doesn’t hurt to start from the bottom, so you have an understanding of the world you’re working in before you make it to the top. Try different jobs when you’re starting out - it allows you to have perspective and humility when you finally get to a position where you are able to make big decisions. Being able to direct is a huge privilege because you’re entrusted to deliver your best work while having to be a good leader by earning the respect of the crew who works for you.

I mostly direct now, which is something I never thought I could do when I first entered this industry. It wasn’t the goal because it felt like such a pipedream, but stepping into it felt so natural. It’s what I enjoy the most by utilizing my strengths and what I’ve learned by watching different directors I’ve worked with in the past. It was definitely a growing journey; you’re never going to immediately fill the shoes of your dream job when you first start out, but every experience becomes a resource in your toolkit of life when you’re finally ready to take it on.

There are things that I like and dislike about everything because every position has a different set of challenges. I have my dream job right now, but I’m always learning something new in every show I do, and I always encounter a new set of obstacles. The most important thing you have to ask yourself is that despite all those hardships, do you still love and enjoy what you do? If you can confidently answer yes to that, then you are headed in the right direction.

From looking at all the work you’ve done, I see the recurring theme of horror as a genre included to some extent. Why do horrors/thrillers call to you, and what are some of your favorite horror shows/movies?

I always laugh when people ask me this because I was (and still am) the biggest wimp when it comes to watching horror movies. I originally entered the space for a strategic reason; I wanted to ensure I had a sustainable career after my first jump into directing.

Filmmaking is a high-stakes career, and you want to minimize your financial risk when you consider your longevity. Horror was a good avenue because it’s the best-selling genre; fear transcends language, and on the producing aspect, doesn’t require famous names to become a hit. If it’s executed well, it will draw interest, attention, and hopefully... the next job.

Fortunately, that’s what happened for me, and most of my career path has been in this space. I embrace it, though, because I’ve come to realize that my voice lives authentically in genre; I love elevating reality, challenging my audience, and exploring darker, more unorthodox themes that live deeper beyond the convention. Some of my favorite horror movies are The Shining, Psycho, and Hereditary. And the best horror television I’ve ever seen is The Haunting of Hill House. Now that I think about it, all of these picks have a traumatic family drama rooted at the center of its story. I wonder what that says about my taste.

Who inspires you in filmmaking and in everything?

It’s people. Stories from personal conversations, whether it’s a stranger in an Uber Pool, the barista you get your daily latte from, or even those closest to you when they decide to share a secret part of themselves in a sudden moment. I love connecting with different types of people and being able to engage in their personal experiences. Listening has become my most valuable tool because everyone is a storyteller, and if you choose to listen, whoever you’re speaking to will pull you into a world from their perspective.

Some of these stories linger for weeks, months, and even years. Eventually, they may manifest into a project (for me, it was my Taiwanese film, The Visit) And to me, there is nothing more powerful than that; the conversation may affect one individual, but the story on screen can have the power to influence many. Every intimate conversation you have with somebody is a gift.

What are the most fulfilling things about working in film and TV? What can be frustrating?

The only frustrating aspect would be the long and odd hours. But the rewards outweigh the cons by a thousand-fold; I get to travel around the world and work with incredible people, surrounding myself with new material and ways to grow… but there is nothing more rewarding than waking up every morning knowing that you’re doing your dream job. How many people can actually say that? I’m incredibly blessed, and even though those odds were stacked against me as an Asian woman becoming a director a few years back, it’s not lost on me now that I have a responsibility to pave the path for future filmmakers in my community to also have the same, if not more, opportunities.

What do you think are the biggest challenges facing Asian women today?

Opportunity. It’s funny, I answered the last question with this same word as well. If you’re not in the majority, every layer you possess of a marginalized community makes it even harder to have opportunities. So not only are you Asian, if you are also a woman, the difficulty of obtaining those opportunities are likely to be doubled…if you’re queer, disabled, these are also extra toppings on the “invisibility” sundae.

The most important thing that needs to happen now is to create space for Asian women to have more opportunities in male-dominated roles. Especially roles of leadership and power. Only in doing so are we really able to create change and balance the scales.

Before, when there was only one seat for us, we had to fight each other for it, but now if we’re in that seat, we have a responsibility to create space for others.

Do you have any advice for all the Asians gals and nonbinary pals who want to pursue a career in filmmaking?

Be mindful of who you surround yourself with, work laterally, not vertically (and what I mean by this is don’t expect to work with Ryan Coogler right when you graduate film school, build with who you have around you and rise together) and seek mentorship.

Ask yourself why you want to pursue this career, and if you’re ready for the long journey ahead. Understand that it will take time, failure, and perseverance. And lastly, drop the ego, be open to learning…There is no telling how far you can go and what you can accomplish if you do so. The sky’s the limit!

What’s next for you? Any exciting projects?

I’m currently in production for an exciting new series that is still under wraps.

The plan is to also shoot another feature in Los Angeles before the year is over (we must take back 2020 somehow). Aside from making films, the most exciting project for all of us right now is fighting for this year’s election. Make sure to vote!

Kara Chang is a queer, trans, and Taiwanese American ac tivist. Born and raised in Sugar Land, Texas, Kara graduated from UCLA in 2016 with a degree in communication studies and double minors in Education and LGBT Studies. During her time at UCLA, Kara was credited as the first openly transgender resident assistant in UCLA history. In 2017, she was the first runner-up for Miss QUEST, a transgender advocacy pageant. Kara now works for the Los Angeles LGBT Center as a health educator, where she serves homeless LGBTQ youth and also performs as a stand-up comedian.

Kara has shared her story with audiences upwards of 8000 people and was most recently a finalist for the Uncle Clyde’s Comedy Contest for Flappers Comedy Club in Burbank. www.instagram.com/karageous Charlotte Drummond is a part of Overachiever Magazine’s Editorial and Outreach teams. She is an Indian-American student and writer from Los Angeles, California. She is currently attending Emerson College, and studying Writing, Literature and Publishing. At the moment, she is working for multiple on-campus publications as a part of their writing and copyediting teams. In her free time, she loves reading, taking pictures of plants, getting emo over female singer-songwriters, and hanging out with her dog.

INSTAGRAM: @charlotte.drummond

Interview with Kara Chang

Written by Charlotte Drummond

Introduce yourself!

Hello! My name is Kara (Kar-uh), and my pronouns are she/her/hers. I live in Los Angeles byways of Sugar Land, Texas. I graduated from UCLA in 2016 (go Bruins)! I am an activist, comedian, and health educator. I identify as a queer, trans, and Taiwanese-American woman.

What made you want to pursue comedy in the first place? Is there a specific memory that is connected to that initial ambition?

Being pretty was already taken on YouTube and Instagram, so I had to be the funny one!

Just kidding. As a queer and Asian-American transwoman, I never saw myself represented growing up. No one was telling my story, so now I am. Performing stand-up is a love letter to myself, a way to empower myself through pain and laugh at the absurdity of life. All humor comes from pain, and without a sense of humor, we aren’t going to get very far in life. Ali Wong’s comedy special “Baby Cobra” was what inspired me to start performing. An audience watching you in the spotlight as you talk about whatever you want? Sign me up! Seriously, it’s cheaper than therapy.

Who are your most profound inspirations in comedy and everything?

Ali Wong is my ultimate comedy inspiration: an Asian-American female comic hustling in Hollywood with child to boot. She taught me that the best way to connect with people is through the power of laughter, however crude. Margaret Cho was also a big inspiration for me. Growing up in Texas as a queer kid in the early 2000s, I was starving for a sense of queer culture and community, and she definitely gave me my fix. Other inspirations include Michelle Obama, AOC, and of course, Britney Spears. If Britney could make it through 2007, I can make it through today.

How would you describe your typical stand-up show? How do you brainstorm ideas during the writing process?

My stand-up is largely drawn from my lived experiences as an Asian-American transwoman. In recent years, being trans has been both a hot topic and a taboo. Many straight and cisgender comics take cheap shots at the trans community to be edgy without consequences. I perform stand-up to hold people accountable and say, “I’m going to call you out on what y’all are thinking but afraid to say, and we’re going to laugh about it.” I go in for the jugular and don’t mince words. On paper, an Asian transwoman is not very relatable. I take my daily struggles, embellish them, and do it with a smile and a wink. I play off of society’s often misguided perceptions of trans people and don’t take myself too seriously. I’m in the driver’s seat of my comedy show, and I take the audience along for the ride. At the end of the day, we are all aboard the struggle bus, and we are not as alone or different as we may think.

What are some of the most fulfilling things about being involved in comedy? What can be frustrating?

I love getting to put a face to an issue through my comedy. Many people have never knowingly met a trans person. In performing stand-up, I am humanizing an entire community to the world. I am giving a voice to a community that has been systemically silenced. I am in a powerful position of being able to open minds and hearts. That said, with great power comes great responsibility. There is an enormous pressure to represent the community of my intersectional identities. There is an unspoken expectation that LGBTQ and people of color comedians perform material centered on their marginalized identities.

Moreover, Hollywood and comedy are not exempt from politics. Diversity, representation, and visibility are not enough by themselves. LGBTQ people, people of color, and women are the most visible they have ever been, yet they are not recognized or compensated equally compared to their white, straight, cisgender, and male counterparts.

What do you consider to be your greatest accomplishment?

My greatest accomplishment is having made it this far. I grew up in Texas, getting death threats with people telling me that I was never going to amount to anything, that I was fated for failure. I am living proof that in the face of adversity, you can thrive and prosper.

I get to be the hero that I didn’t have growing up. If we leave the world the same way we left it, we haven’t done our job. I’m a fighter each and every day, fighting for my right to exist in a world that says that I shouldn’t. Existence is resistance. Love is Love. Trans Lives Matter.

What do you think are the biggest challenges facing Asian women today?

Exoticization, fetishization, and stereotypes - oh my! The challenges facing Asian women today are deep-rooted in racism, sexism, and xenophobia. Asian women continue to face mischaracterizations as being docile and submissive. These stereotypes, paired with the Model Minority Myth, erase the diversity of the Asian diaspora. Furthermore, the COVID-19 pandemic has brought back Yellow Peril and anti-Asian prejudice that never truly abated.

Do you have any advice for all the Asians gals and nonbinary pals who want to pursue a career in comedy?

You have a story worthy of being told. Make your voice be heard, and never apologize for being who you are. There is a seat for you at the table. If there’s not, Asian squat and make your own seat. Write, revise, perform, and repeat. Bomb freely and often: that joke you came up with at 4 AM probably sounded better on paper than at the open mic. And remember, to stand in front of an audience and share your truth is perhaps the bravest thing a person can do.

What’s next for you? Any exciting projects?

Look out for my interview with the On Your Gaydar podcast, which will be available on Spotify, Apple Music, or wherever you get your podcasts!

The

BOLD type

Written

by

Maria Tariq

Maria Tariq is a writer passionate about the power of storytelling for advocacy. Her writing interests include creative nonfiction, poetry, and personal essays. She is the founder of The Rani Review, a platform to discuss topics through a feminist lens. Maria encourages all womxn to tell their stories.

Instagram: @ranireview Website: https://medium.com/@theranireview When I first saw an ad for the TV show The Bold Type, my immediate reaction was just, “no.” The trailer screams about the emergence of a queer Muslim woman artist that the magazine “Scarlet” is hoping to feature. More like dying to show off, it seemed. If “bold” meant fetishism and sensationalism, the show couldn’t be as progressive as it claimed.

After the first couple of seasons aired, it finally piqued my curiosity when I was looking for something to watch out of boredom. It turns out that the character of Adena, proud lesbian and Muslim, was believable and complex. A passionate artist, she develops a relationship with one of the three main characters of the show, Kat, head of social media at Scarlet. The effort to represent diverse relationships is one of the central themes of The Bold Type. I can’t speak for a member of that community, but it seemed that fortunately the representation didn’t fall right into the trap of tokenism. As the seasons progress, we find Kat exploring the nuances of her sexuality and how her relationships are affected by her changing self-awareness. On the other hand, Kat, and Aisha Dee, the actress who plays her, have some unfairly heavy burdens. In a Vulture article, Dee revealed that the production was sorely lacking when it came to BIPOC representation, commenting that “in her time as Kat, it took ‘three seasons to get someone in the hair department who knew how to work with textured hair,’ and two seasons to get a single BIPOC in the writers’ room, ‘and even then, the responsibility to speak for the entire Black experience cannot and should not fall on one person.’ There were no LGBTQ Black or Muslim writers on staff when they wrote that tumultuous love story of a queer Black woman and a lesbian Muslim woman, she adds.” Disappointing, to say the least. Fortunately, the producers of the show reacted positively, releasing a statement showing their support

and willingness to hear Dee’s input. A striking facet of The Bold Type is that it doesn’t put the characters on a pedestal in order to accomplish the goal of portraying strong women. They make mistakes in their work and personal lives, at times comically (or seriously) disappointing their bosses or unsuccessfully navigating personal relationships. Kat struggles with communication issues with her partners. Jane, a writer at the magazine, has difficulty with intimacy. Sutton, the aspiring stylist and current assistant, shows the ups and downs of a relationship with a much older man who is also an attorney at the magazine. Her character also deals with a difficult relationship with her mother. The straightforward and rapid trajectories of their careers still keep the mood light as long as the women are at Scarlet, almost as if the magazine serves as a sanctuary from the real world. It’s unsurprising that “A series that was marketed as a walking Neta-Porter ad for surface-level feminism, The Bold Type quickly and skillfully crafted an escapist media-world fantasy where, one night a week, a career in journalism was as easy as a fully funded magazine.” That is until a major plot point throws a wrench into Kat’s career, but the result is still positive in the end. Instead, complex issues are given to Jane, the writer character, to explore. If someone were wondering why the rampant sexism of corporate America wasn’t being represented, they would find it in Jane’s articles. She takes on investigative pieces about sexual assault and unfair treatment, as well as more personal and moving articles, prodded by Scarlet’s editor-in-chief. Jacqueline, Scarlet’s editor in chief, is portrayed as a mentor to her staff and especially to Jane. The talented Melora Hardin plays a sharp, but kind and mission and driven boss. One critic observed that the feminism of Scarlet’s leadership is “inclusionary and intersectional in a way real life never was” but it’s definitely something to aspire to. A good mentor pushes you out of your comfort zone and is always in your corner, much like Jacqueline.

Where similar shows such as Girls and Sex and the City fail, The Bold Type picks up the diversity torch and carries it a little more successfully. Sex and the City has to be acknowledged as a landmark in exploring taboos and portraying empowered women, but it fell short of the mark in representation. It should still be recognized for paving the way for shows such as The Bold Type or even Insecure to focus on other aspects of women’s lives so sexual independence can be treated as a given. The Bold Type writes different characters and plotlines without such a large focus on their romantic relationships.

Instead, the plot is just wholly interesting. Each of the three main characters has their own unique storylines in every episode. Whether it’s a rising career move or dramatic identity conflict, each character is fully developed. The female friendships feel authentic and male characters don’t just serve as significant others or romantic partners.

In fact, one episode handles a difficult topic centering a (male) Scarlet staff member’s controversial sexual encounter. It’s rare to find accurate representation of ambitious, independent women. Maybe The Bold Type sells a bit of a fantasy, but its shiny, hopeful aesthetics are still endearing, which is the complete opposite of its first impression.

Artist: Melissa Mendoza H Title: “But I Was There Too”

Wishful pause by Alice Fontaine A North American September An iconic window to autumn A time squeezed tightly Alongside a sigh of sweet relief You can slow down now Do the winds stir up a longingness?

A welcomed reach into the memory bank Of true or imagined belonging?

Past and future comforts reside here Blowing off the dust on the oven Remembering the hedonistic pleasures Of sharing baked goods Yet your grip slowly loosens As time reminds you that it never stopped The mind is already on the next Wondering how first rain brings such comfort But last rain such relief You look to your calendar Searching For the silent rise and fall of the sun Sans distraction A wishful pause Until the leaves begin to change once more And you remember that you miss the rain

Never Have I Ever Seen Myself on TV

Written by Mira Patel Mira Patel is a student in Pennsylvania interested in economics and international affairs. She is a Bharatnatyam dancer and teacher and runs her blog, BharatnatyamwithMira. Mira is an Education Research Intern at the Foreign Policy Research Institute in Philadelphia.

Instagram: @mirapatl https://www.bharatnatyamwithmira.com

Like most people, I’ve never seen myself on the big screen before. Not only because of the fact that I’m not famous, but also because until recently, American television has shied away from featuring nonwhite characters. As an Indian-American teenager, I've long awaited the moment when a character like me, with a family like mine, would get a chance in the spotlight. Luckily, it seems as if the world, America in particular, is turning over a new leaf.

For a country that has long prided itself in being a melting pot, it’s about time that we start embracing different stories, especially coming of age ones.

The show Never Have I Ever made its debut on Netflix nearly a month ago on April 27th. Created by critically acclaimed actress and producer, Mindy Kaling, the show has maintained a 96% freshness on Rotten Tomatoes. The show has also made it onto the Netflix top ten list in ten different countries. Never Have I Ever centers around 15 year old Devi Vishwakumar who attempts to navigate high school life after her father dies and she temporarily experiences paralysis in her legs as a result of the trauma. Oh, and the show is narrated by star tennis player John Mcenroe, which by the end, makes much more sense. Many of the struggles she faces, from attempting to find a boyfriend to trying to get into her dream college, are ones that most teenagers share.

Other struggles, like learning how to balance two cultures and getting used to the discomfort of a sari, especially resonate with those who share the same heritage. While humorous and entertaining, the show has a focus on mental health which is exemplified through Devi’s raw interactions with her therapist.

As an avid Netflix fan, the one thing that has been missing from my viewing experience is someone I can relate to. Sure, there are countless coming of age shows about young girls, but none have been centered around the trials and triumphs of an Indian daughter of immigrants, which happens to be an integral part of my identity. Although I have to admit, when I first found out a show featuring an Indian-American family was coming to life, I braced myself for disappointment. So many times in the past, when shows like “Jessie” on Disney Channel or “The Simpsons” on Fox feature an Indian character, they end up burying the character’s personality under thick accents and stereotypes. While these characters are often funny and entertaining, the problem arises when this is the extent of the depth at which Indian people are being personified.

After binge-watching all ten episodes on the first night the show came out, I was ecstatic to learn that Never Have I Ever is different: the characters are multi-faceted and have dimension. The show finds creative ways to transcend the stereotypes often associated with Indian people, such as having Devi play the harp instead of the piano or violin and it also depicts the Indian women as bold instead of subservient.

Despite this, the show still stays in touch with reality and captures what it means to be an Indian person in America through interactions such as the one Devi has

in a coffee shop. A woman standing behind Devi in line asks Devi, who’s dressed in a traditional sari, to take pictures with her daughter as if it were a costume.

Most importantly, Never Have I Ever delicately showcases the experiences of three Indian-America women on a journey to find who they are and where they stand in their culture. Similar to Devi, her mom Nalini and her cousin Kamala, each have unique struggles. Nalini, a confident, career driven woman, must learn how to find her place in her Indian community after her husband dies and she is pitied by her friends at a Ganesh Puja. By the end of the season, she also has to decide between remaining in California and uprooting her and Devi back to India where she feels more comfortable. Kamala who moves from India to California stays with Devi’s family while she pursues a degree from Caltech.

She’s independent and smart, and Devi’s mother considers her the perfect role model. However, a few episodes in, the audience learns that Kamala is harboring a terrible secret: she has a boyfriend. While this may sound ordinary, Kamala must hide this truth from her family who encourages her to meet another man in hope of them having an arranged marriage. The stories of these three women interwoven together realistically depict the qualities of the modern Indian-American women that I know: bold, ambitious, grounded. But what’s most encouraging to me is that while being Indian plays a huge role in the main character’s lives, it’s not the only aspect of their identity that’s portrayed in the show.

There’s plenty of funny, binge-worthy, and relatable shows on TV that have caught all of our attention during this quarantine. So what makes Never Have I Ever worthy of special attention? Well, as straightforward as it seems, when we see ourselves and our stories on TV, our experience is validated.

There’s an untapped amount of potential in the first generation, teenage girls who have long been discouraged by the media that hides their stories. And when confidence and courage is sparked in these young women like myself, it inspires us to play our part in changing the world. Through representation like this, our struggle is recognized and our strides are better appreciated. For me this show is proof that America is taking measures to transform itself into a more inclusive and unified country, and for this I am grateful.

I don’t think that the show is perfect. The Indian accent that Devi’s mother and cousin have feels exaggerated and artificial. And in the words of the actress Maitreyi Ramakrishan, who plays Devi, “No one label or character can fully represent all the stories waiting to be told. All our pasts are just as complex as our heritage.” This show doesn’t capture the essence of all of the complicated and equally important coming of age stories that exist in America. But it is a huge step in the right direction, and the show’s success is proof that people are now willing to hear different voices. Never Have I Ever gives me hope for a future where everyone can see a version of themselves on TV. In the meantime, I look forward to Never Have I Ever’s likely return to Netflix for season 2.

Artist: Gabrielle Lewis Piece: “Homage to the Indigenous Spirit” Medium: Procreate “My name is Gabrielle Lewis, a half-Filipino designer based in Las Vegas. As the subject line indicates, I saw the posting for the Asian Art Roundup, and would love to make a submission! The title of my piece is formally called “Homage to the Indigenous Spirit” and is mainly inspired by the strong, fierce women of the Kalinga tribe in Luzon, Philippines. It was created entirely in procreate on my iPad. My model/ muse for this piece is a dear friend of mine, Gabrielle Silveroli (yes we both go by Gabby too), who is also half-Filipino. If you need (or would like to know) more information on the symbolism as well as the Kalinga women who inspired it, I have a more in-depth explanation in the caption for this piece on my art account @gavrielle.art. Lastly, a large thank you to the magazine as a whole for not only the representation of the Asian community, but for talking about and tackling issues that aren’t often fully addressed.”

Artist: Min Yeongseo IG: @satanslittlehelllper Project: “little pea” Title: “hallway of POD(before sleep..)”

Artist: Min Yeongseo IG: @satanslittlehelllper Project: “little pea” Title: “entery(before sleep..)”

Artist: Min Yeongseo IG: @satanslittlehelllper Project: “little pea” Title: “hallway in 2 different angle(before sleep..)”

Artist: Min Yeongseo IG: @satanslittlehelllper Project: “little pea” Title: “inside of hotel POD(before sleep..)”

I Can Be Me, So Can You Written by Katrina Romero Tran

Katrina Romero Tran is an educator, writer, and aficionado of ridiculous memes. When she’s not surrounded by stacks of middle-school English essays to grade, she enjoys reading, binge-watching YouTube, and eating her way through Asia. She strives to empower and foster a greater sense of understanding, empathy, and clarity in herself and those around her.

“Yan can cook, so can you!” This phrase is something I succinctly remember as a kid in the 1990s, watching Chef Martin Yan quip around as he showed how to neatly fold pork dumplings and roast the crunchiest crispy ducks. Back then if I wanted to watch Asian TV, Los Angeles’s Channel 18 (KSCI) was the place to turn to, where cooking demonstrations and often-unsubbed K- and J-dramas played, often leaving my siblings and me guessing and grasping for the plot.

We didn’t have cable back then and so flipping through the channels provided an activity during those lazy summer days off school. As a ‘90s kid, there was a general lack of representation on mainstream Western TV save for sidekick spots like Dion Bosco playing a struggling Hispanic-Chinese teen on “City Guys” and the shining exception of Thuy Trang as Trini, the Yellow Ranger on “Power Rangers.” (I know there’s many other characters I haven’t listed, but I also know that as a kid, there wasn’t a whole lot I was allowed to see.)

Not realizing it until now, this lack of exposure likely shaped me into self-consciously thinking I would end up as a sidekick of a main character, a token Asian within my high school posse. It may have even perpetuated a subconscious notion that Asian culture was something viewed as non-mainstream, that it was my destiny to be braised and boiled into the great American melting pot, eventually losing all sense of “exotic” ethnic flavors. Being exposed to what was or wasn’t on TV was probably one of the many things that made me want to be what I thought was “American,” whether it meant bringing Lunchables instead of bistek and rice to school, or the ability to go to sleepovers, which I flat-out was forbidden to do. For whatever reason, the idea of being “American” resonated with being cool, being what I saw on TV, being anything other than what I had to live with as a Filipino kid.

Once the early 2000s came into play I started to notice more Asian representation in mainstream shows in the form of characters I could increasingly relate and commiserate with, from Keiko Agena as Lane on “Gilmore Girls” to the cartoon “Jackie Chan Adventures,” where ALL the characters were Asian! There was a burgeoning awareness that there was more to entertainment than seeing the same Caucasian characters on TV; it also led to the realization we didn’t have to be relegated to hosting cooking shows or dancing on variety specials, nor did being Asian-American mean being blanketed under the umbrella of being only Chinese or Japanese. Rather, it meant that there was a place for more, to see characters I could relate to interact with their main counterparts on mainstream media.

And to make it even more significant, these characters didn’t need to be immigrants: they were Asian AND American, many of them were facing the same daily foibles as I did, including navigating life with immigrant parents, building the bridge between the country of one’s citizenship and one’s heritage, and trying to figure out ways to become more comfortable in one’s own skin when looking different from those around them.

This in turn translated into a greater sense of self-confidence for myself: it became more ok to not be embarrassed of sharing my own cultural traditions, including inviting friends to raucous family parties or sharing what it meant to be called Ate. More than endless hours of entertainment, seeing this representation on television helped me embrace an environment where I could begin to merge my Asian and American worlds together.

These days, I see more of “my kind” than ever, whether Vincent Rodriguez III plays a love interest on “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” or on Netflix, Claudia Kishi hosts another shoeless meeting of “The Babysitters’ Club” in her expansive bedroom. Seeing these characters has made it easier to show more of myself to others, to include heritage as part of a proud and strong definition of who I have been before, now, and will continue to be in the future. Though there are still times when I still find myself having to explain what I’m eating or why certain rituals need to take place, it’s become less of an embarrassing chore than it used to be.

Although I have no aspirations to be on TV or entertainment, I can’t help but think how this exposure has benefitted those with a desire to become entertainers. I can’t help but wonder how many aspiring actors and actresses have someone they can turn to and show to their parents that “He/she made it, so can I.” Watching others carve out an on-screen identity that’s not just that of a child of an immigrant--but rather Asian-American in and of itself--has only helped build self-confidence within my own circles.

Seeing others trailblaze those paths only gives me the courage and confidence to take my own steps, to think about how I will leave my own positive footprint for those who will come after me. Though it may be seen by some as “just TV,” seeing this representation has become more than something to enjoy after an arduous day of work: rather, it’s become more of a calling, a duty, even an encouragement to do and be more of myself for others as well.

Indian Representation in Western Media Written by Manavi Nag Manavi Nag is GenZ-er from India. She is a self-published author and an avid writer. She hopes to pursue her passion for writing even more and explore new styles and forms of it.

Manavi is passionate about various social causes such as feminism, women's rights advocacy, pieces related to the South Asian diaspora, menstruation awareness and rights and mental health amongst many others. Manavi uses writing as a creative outlet and a medium to share her opinion, thoughts and feelings. She strives to use her voice for change as a Gen-Zer living in the 21st century. Through her writings she hopes to shift perspectives, change mindsets and raise awareness.

Instagram: @manavi_naggs

The portrayal of Indians in Western media is an emblem of misrepresentation, generalisations and stereotyping.

Many people still think of Indians as nerdy, curry-loving, convenience-store owning people, whose only main purpose in Western Media is to provide a diverse facade. The way that Western Media has depicted Indians throughout the years has enabled stereotypes and microaggressions towards Indians. Indians have been underrepresented in Western Media and in the off chance in which they are represented, it’s a misrepresentation. As we progress into the 2020s, we have seen shifts in the way that Western Media has portrayed Indians, however, that doesn’t dismiss the years of underrepresentation and misrepresentation that Indians have faced in Western Media.

interests. Western Media tends to get very creative with how they generalise and portray Indians in specific ways that have remained common tropes throughout Western Media. Whether it’s the funny cab driver on the way to the airport providing comedic relief, the wise old Indian who shares advice in a strong accent, or simply the sidekick to the white hero, Indians are thrown into a few boxes by Western Media and essentially told to deal with it.

The problem lies wherein Indians are underrepresented in Western Media, and when they are represented not only is the character enabling stereotypes which deviate far from the truth, but they tokenize Indians, creating a single-surfaced, uninteresting, unrelatable character that is a step back and promotes misinformation.

Indians are usually stereotyped as being nerdy and dorky, heavily accented, working-class people. Some- There have been many notable characters that symbolise times they’re exotic, cultured, or family-oriented love the demeaning stereotypes labelled on Indians, however

arguably one of the most offensive is Apu from The Simpsons. For a lot of South Asians, Apu was the first representation they saw of someone that looked like them, which was monumental. But Apu’s character is deeply flawed.

To start off with Apu is a convenience store owner, reinforcing a demeaning and common trope of Indians being cab drivers, convenience store owners, waiters, and working other service-class jobs. As Hari Kondabolu, who created the documentary The Problem with Apu, said, “We (Indians) are fundamentally defined in the show as part of the service class”. Which is not to say that there aren’t Indians who are part of the service class, but Apu’s character promotes the stereotype and generalisation that all Indians are. Next, Apu’s accent is problematic because it’s so inaccurate and feels like a mockery. Apu is also voiced by a white man, who only stepped down from the role earlier this year. Why couldn’t Apu have just been voiced by an Indian man in the first place, who could surely have provided a more accurate accent? Apu is shown as a man with octuplets in an arranged marriage. Again this isn’t to say that there aren’t Indians with many kids and are in arranged marriages, but it reinforces a stereotype. Apu is also shown as a cheap character who re-labels expired food in his store and re-packages food that has fallen on the ground as if nothing happened, again pushing forward a stereotype. It is worth noting that while Apu’s character may be supposed to be satirical and an exaggeration, there are instances in the show where the show’s white writers have stereotyped Apu, displaying “soft” racism.

Raj Koothrappali from The Big Bang Theory is also a character that highlights stereotyping in the media. The Big Bang Theory was an iconic sitcom and having an Indian

character be part of the main friend group was refreshing. However, on a show about nerdy guys, Raj is at the top of the list. He’s the nerdiest guy on a show about nerdy guys. He’s never good with women, the butt of most of the jokes, and a reinforcement of a common trope.

Not only are Indians misrepresented in Western Media, but India is too. Scenes filled with elephants, dirty roads, poor people, crowded spaces and more, depict India in a one-sided, outdated manner, that fails to show even a fraction of the country’s true colours. On the contrary - India is a colourful, diverse melting pot of cultures, technological and innovation hotspot, full of cosmopolitan metropolises, which isn’t usually shown in Western Media, further contributing to misinformation and misrepresentation.

People develop notions of Indians, mirroring what is displayed in Western Media, and which are usually extremely incorrect and can be subtly and unintentionally racist.For example, people tend to be shocked when they encounter an Indian who isn’t academically smart, or when they meet an Indian who doesn’t enjoy curries or spicy foods, or even when they see Indians with liberal parents that aren’t strict. Small instances like these are not only perpetuated by Western Media but embraced. ith an audience spanning the globe, Western Media has the power to spread accurate representations of minorities like Indians, but rarely does and continues instead to flaunt the tropes and stereotypes that real-life Indians are tired of seeing.

Some of your favourite movies probably tokenize people of colour and minorities. It’s as if throwing in a

couple of people of colour here and there actually diversifies the narrative. Indians are rarely the main protagonists of popular film and TV (with a few exceptions) and are usually two-dimensional characters, comic reliefs, or sidekicks that only serve to aid the rhetoric of the story.

Indian representation in Western Media has been deeply flawed and based strongly on biases. However with shows like Never Have I Ever, The Mindy Project and Master of None representation is slowly becoming more accurate and reflective of Indians. Never Have I Ever, created by Mindy Kaling, features Devi, an American-born Indian girl trying to work her way around high-school and all its ups and downs whilst balancing a relationship with her traditional Indian mom. What Never Have I Ever got right was the depiction of many first or second-generation Indians, who feel unsure of their identity because they don’t feel Indian enough, or American enough. Devi doesn’t feel Indian enough at times, which can be highlighted in an episode where they attend an Indian festival, and other times she doesn’t feel American enough, having been raised in an Indian household. This is reflective of how a lot of first/ second generation Indians feel. Devi’s character is not an over-exaggerated caricature of an Indian person like Apu and Raj, and it doesn’t reinforce insensitive stereotypes. Instead, it provides a normal depiction of a young Indian girl trying to figure herself and her world out.

The beliefs of many people have been impacted as a result of years and years of Indians being portrayed in stereotypical versions of what they actually are. Western Media needs to break the boxes that Indians have been put in and start creating real, multi-faceted Indian main characters with more depth to them than the tropes we are used to seeing.

“Seeing others trailblaze those paths only gives me the courage and confidence to take my own steps, to think about how I will leave my own positive footprint for those who will come after me.�

-Katrina Romero Tran

“Sacred Browness� by Meesha Sharma (she/her) Instagram: @alchemystic_studio Melanated Like the Earth That gave birth To us all The nutrient rich Soil that Lives and crawls Mycelium Like neurons Speaking secrets Of our roots.

Hair raven black Eyes chocolate brown Dominant genes Shackled by the law The blacker the berry The sweeter the fruit Camouflage in the wild Suffocated by the boot Waterfalls Rivers Healing element Between my legs Held down By the government Waiting for the day Sacred reverence returns For the brown The black The indigenous ones Until then I take Refuge in Gaia My escape From the toxic The illusionMaya

2020

Election Coverage: The Flaws of Electoral PoliWritten by Ashley Ashley Chen is the political columnist for Overachiever Magazine. She’s an undergraduate student f rom New York majoring in Political Science. Her activism is centered upon voter education and civic engagement. Her other areas of interest would include educational equity, reproductive rights, gentrif ication, climate change and the list goes on. In her f ree time, she loves to watch f ilms and create collages.

INSTAGRAM: @ash.leyyyy As we approach the presidential election, there is a lot of discussion about the importance of voting and the need to head to the polls. These urges make sense because there is a lot at stake in this election and it’s important that we continue to be civically engaged. However, we need to remember that our political landscape has never been simple nor has it ever been tailored to the needs of marginalized groups. As someone who has centered her activism work on voter education and has mobilized young folks to head to the polls, there is a sense of uneasiness that I have in saying that voting will not fix all of our problems. Nevertheless, this statement is true as voting for someone like Joe Biden will not end police brutality or climate change. While I am not saying that we should not head to the polls, I am imploring that privileged white folks stop harassing BIPOC communities if they choose not to vote in this election.

I was always confused by the mantra “Settle for Biden.” I always questioned why we were being forced to be complacent with an unfavorable candidate in every single election. Perhaps this mantra helps white liberals sleep better at night or

keep their conscience clear. This is a sign of privilege and BIPOC communities shouldn’t have to settle for Biden. Some would argue Biden seems to be the best choice in this situation and that there is no such thing as a perfect candidate.

While I agree with the latter, our elections have never provided a candidate that is truly representative of the needs of marginalized groups and that’s where the cracks of our democracy lie. We are the ones who will suffer the consequences of either presidency. Therefore, white liberals are not in a position to tell BIPOC to vote. If folks don’t want to compromise their beliefs, that’s completely fine because we have suffered enough at the hands of politicians who have targeted our communities for decades. Especially in elections where we are given the choice between two candidates who have a record of hurting BIPOC communities, we should not be forced to participate in this type of system. It is our communities that are consistently told to settle for the candidate that is the lesser of two evil.

We were told in 2016 to do this and we are now being told to do the same thing.

The point of Get Out the Vote (GOTV) Campaigns have always been to mobilize people to register and participate in elections. However, these campaigns fail to inform the general public of the next steps. The big question is: What exactly do we do after the election? This is where these movements fall short.

Constantly telling people to vote without any follow-up actions is quite meaningless. Responding to concerns by telling them to head to the polls is also not an honest conversation nor is it a conversation that is productive. Voting will not solve all of our problems and it never will. Voting should not be the backbone of our movements as the political power lies within our community members. Radical change is only made possible when we are out on the streets protesting for change and finding ways to uplift our community members.

While this article may seem like a deviation from the conventional conversations that we have about this election and a strong discouragement from voting, this couldn’t be further from the truth. If you are able to and choose to participate, I think that you should head to the polls. We most certainly do not need an impulsive, racist, misogynistic, transphobic, xenophobic, and ableist leader for another four years. But, I will not stand for the notion that voting is the end all be all. There is still so much work that needs to be done after election day regardless of who is in the Oval Office. Whether you are heading to the polls or choose to stay at home, I respect that. But, I hope to see you continue to do the work that goes beyond voting. See you on the streets with a mask on of course!

Artist: Karlie Wu IG: @wukarlie www.karliewu.co.uk Pieces: “山墳 II / San Fun II, 2020” (above) (Oil on Canvas on Board, 31cm x 21.5cm / 12.2” x 8.5”) “衣草 (衣紙) II / Yee Chau II, 2018” (left) (Oil on MDF Board, 20cm x 30cm / 7.9” x 11.8”)

The Slumdog Not-so-Millionaire by Divita Pandita Instagram: @divigence “2008’s most acclaimed film, Slumdog Millionaire, sets itself in Dharavi 17; the biggest slum in Mumbai, India” Gazing upon the faces of actors caked with makeup I watch perfect bodies glide across a widescreen to the track of “Jai Ho”; flawless costumes and figures clashing harshly against dilapidated train stations of Dharavi 17 in the background.

Peeling myself away from my grandparents’ TV I rush out to their balcony hoping for glimpses of glittery dance numbers but instead return empty-handed as hazy, pollution-filled skies obstruct my view of the real Dharavi 17 below me.

Here in the real Dharavi 17, no starry skies fill the heavens for slumdogs to wish upon: here, dust replaces everyone’s atmosphere.

Breathing in bacteria and shit slumdogs clean themselves in garbage infested ravines making the most out of the leftovers of others.

Here in the real Dharavi 17, *dhamakedar dance numbers don’t give slumdogs their highs: *dhamakedar drugs do.

Buyers book black markets for some slumdog *bhaang as slumdog women and girls sell their bodies too while Mumbai elites buy one to get the other item free.

Here in the real Dharavi 17, there are no chances for slumdogs to answer million-dollar questions: illiteracy prevents slumdogs from answering basic questions of escaping poverty. Metropolitan bathrooms stand bigger than slumdog schools so

slumdogs stand big-hearted instead compensating for their empty pockets.

Dharavi 17 might have been featured in Slumdog Millionaire but there is only one man that benefited from that movie and he wasn’t the dog from the slum. *bhaang= Hindi slang for cannabis *dhamakedar is a little hard to translate but closely related definitions are solid/ crazy/ banging/ blockbuster.

Pen15 and the Eternal Feeling of Adolescence Written By

Jennifer Nguyen

Jennifer Nguyen is a Vietnamese-American writer based in the Bay Area, CA. She has a deep love of pop culture and likes to stay up-to-date on the latest trends in music, TV, and film. She can be found collecting new recipes and hobbies or having a picnic in the park.

It almost doesn’t need to be said that I’ve had a lot of time to catch up on TV shows lately. In the last six months of quarantine, binge-watching has been a pleasant, temporary escape and a way for me to focus on something other than the constant stream of news on my phone. Many of the shows I burned through stopped airing years ago, others were set to begin production in the Spring. By summertime, I started wondering what Fall TV would look like as the global pandemic continued and several shows put production on hold or were even canceled. When the premiere of Pen15 season 2 was announced in July, I was incredibly excited to have something new to look forward to—a lighthearted respite from the dramas I’d been diving into.

To quickly recap for those who haven’t seen the show: Pen15 centers around Maya Ishii-Peters (Maya Erskine) and Anna Kone (Anna Knonkle), two outcast 7th-graders in the year 2000. Described as “middle school as it really happened,” the show follows Maya and Anna as they navigate the perils of puberty, boys, AOL Instant Messenger, annoying parents, and the delicate social pyramid of middle school in the year 2000. Erskine and Konkle, both 33-years-old, transform themselves into fictionalized versions of their 13-year-old selves, dawning braces, lowcut bell bottom jeans, and the occasional tasteful butterfly hair clip. All while the rest of their classmates are portrayed by real middle-school age actors. It will dig up memories in your body you thought you’d repressed for good as you ride through intense crushes, rejection, broken homes, and unwavering friendship.

Even if you can’t identify with the specific experiences of Maya and Anna, the show is the most successful at realistically conveying how time feels warped when you’re 13. Adolescence feels like you’re running in a dream: there’s a sense of urgency to grow up and experience all of your firsts, yet everything feels like an eternity all at the same time. You’re finally a teenager and feeling on the brink of adulthood, ready to carve out your independence and personal identity. The sacred bond between best friends is either unbreakable or they can become your biggest enemy. Every decision you make from your outfit on the first day of school to speaking to your crush could have a butterfly effect and impact the rest of your life, or so it seems.

Watching the show, I am immediately transported back into time to my 13-year-old self nearly 20 years ago (gulp). I moved and transferred schools in the middle of the year. I wore uniforms throughout grade school up until then, and I was starting at a school where we got to wear our own clothes.

Suddenly I was met with the daunting task of choosing my outfit every day.

It was a chance for me to express to my new peers who I was and what my interests were. My new uniform became a dusty pair of Converse hi-tops, a short-sleeve button-down and tie I found at a thrift store, and bell-bottom jeans so long the hems were torn from dragging underneath my shoes.

As if the pressures of middle school weren’t traumatic enough, our bodies are changing at a faster pace than we can control and there’s little we can do to hide it. Growth spurts, lanky limbs, mustaches and body hair, and for many of us, our first periods. The show deals with puberty head on in a refreshingly honest way, and doesn’t why away from how ugly and grotesque it can be.

They are freakishly obsessed with boys in their class and are desperate to get their first kiss soon, no matter what it takes. In one of most memorable episodes, Maya discovers masturbation and becomes increasingly addicted.

Maya is saddened to find out she’s discovered her period for the first time as it marks the end of her childhood. Ashamed and unsure of what to do, she pulls a long stream of toilet paper, wraps it up into a make-shift pad, and puts it in her underwear. Having to MacGyver a pad out of toilet paper felt like a universal rite of passage but something that was unspoken. Growing up watching TV, periods were about PMSing, craving chocolate, and feeling bloated. For the first time now, I was seeing periods as something messy and embarrassing. There’s a huge sense of shame and embarrassment surrounding periods and something that still carries on into adulthood.

I see myself a lot in Maya, who grapples with balancing her Asian-American identity at school and at home. I struggled to see myself as “Vietnamese enough” to my Asian peers, and found myself struggling to be “American enough” in a predominantly white school. In the episode “Posh,” the girls and their classmates put together a Spice Girls-themed project for class and Maya is told she can’t be Posh Spice, although she called dibs. Instead, the group convinces her that she should be Scary Spice because she’s “different” from the rest of them (she is AsAm, they are all white). She’s uncomfortable but can’t fully articulate why. Maya makes herself small to fit in with the group: she agrees to be Scary Spice and acts like their server, doubling down with a thick racist accent. The group continues to ostracize Maya, and she is confronted with her shame when her brother, Shuji, asks her why she’s embarrassed to be Japanese.

Pen15 offers a rare glimpse into the lives of middle schoolers during a specific and pivotal moment in culture. Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC were at their peak, the internet was relatively new in households, and the quickest way of talking to your friends was either on a landline or passing notes in class. But even if you aren’t a millennial, the show is universal in holding a mirror up to your 13-year-old self. A reminder of all the awkwardness and how any misstep felt like you could die. Looking back on the time that’s passed since 7th grade, I think maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

Pavanee Giroti

IG:@artbyp

Piece: “critical cartography”

pavanee

”मलमल (muslin) is a cotton fabric with a deep-rooted cultural significance. th M. F. Husain’s controversial representation of Hindu goddesses, rape cultur associations, however in this piece it represents a woman’s red dress on he a contrast of embodying purity and sensuality as it places the idea of

hese maps are three manifestations of India, working around the themes of re, broken borders, and my place as a woman artist. the color red has many er wedding day, the color of Goddess Shakti, and at the same time it creates f bruises and the horror of sexual assault of women, all in one piece.�

Half Asian in America by AsiaKai Dang Instagram: @asiakaikim I got my hair cut today At a salon I’ve never been to Situated right by the college I attended The stylist was Vietnamese We have the same last name. I saw her business card and smiled softly to myself.

She washes my hair Her hands smell familiar They say scent is the sense best tied to your memory My mom has a perfume that takes her right back to an old casino in Vegas.

The shampoo on my head continues to lather Her hands smell like a home I’ve never been to A family I’ve never met Holidays I’ve never celebrated She is overjoyed to know I am Vietnamese She must long for belonging too She rinses my hair Her hands smell like a language I was never taught to speak I’ve been getting my nails done since the 6th grade I sit in the salon chair as she trims my dead ends and I look at my hands I don’t know if I even like manicures But that hour every few weeks is the closest I’ve ever been to Vietnam.

Outshining Taboo by Ishani Trada My mother had me when she was 23, It’s not appropriate to say I want to have sex at the same age because I am not married.

Isn’t marriage is to much to do, just for Sex! I kissed a guy, all of my friends asked “How was it? Give us details.”

I kissed a girl, they said, “Have you gone crazy or what!”

What’s the craziness I’ve done here!

I had sex with one of my friends, but said ‘No’ to another one from the same friend’s circle.

Should I sleep with everyone to justify the sex with first friend?

an ode to the color blue by Ruby Xun When I dropped your crisp blue dress shirt into the dancing flames all I could see was red, but as the fabric curled and blackened around the edges I felt the lightness of the thread dissipate, into the sky, or the ocean.

The color blue paints the inside of my hands as I ran the traces of you down the back of her spine.

Your tearsand the ribbon, now tangled in her scarlet hair, all blue.

Most colors scream at me.

Sharp corners and plastic buckets of my childhood.

Faded polaroids with its dull

white shine throw daggers at the back of my mind.

But bluewhat a color.

Thirty shades of blue, color the depths of your eyes, and seems to move with the beat of your heart.

Blue, so genuine, and warm, I am floating in this water, that rapidly turns cold.

Freezing, shakingI am left with your now blue lips.

All I can see is blue.

It paints me the color of you.

Who is That Girl I See by Kailani Tokiyeda Instagram: @kai.laniii You might have seen me on the screen A slanty-eyed, beauty queen A smart aleck and often mean Or socially dumb, no in between Porcelain skin kept nice and clean The china doll, the figurine But no, I couldn’t intervene And remind them all, that wasn’t me.

You see, I loved to dress in Mulan’s clothes Well really, just my mom’s bathrobes But I dreamt of a story of my own I wanted to be me and stand alone I used to where shoes that were very old Holey, maybe, but wholesome I wore my honor, but had I known My face was Mulan’s, that’s all they were shown.

The tv stayed off for quite some time Being Kailan felt like a crime I would watch her with an eagle eye knowing that I missed me, myself, and i.

Now, it’s on in the back of my mind but my brain has left those worries behind That’s what happens when no one knows your name.

You simply become stamped by the blind.

How to Be Indian Written by Sabine Gaind

(Lessons Learned from the Screen)

Stereotypes, side characters, comic relief. When I was younger, these were the things that Brown people were reduced to in Western television. In short, people who looked like me were rarely at the forefront of popular culture. Imagine my excitement, then, when there were such people on the screen.

Years ago, when life seemed simpler and the future seemed brighter, I’d come home from school, change into some comfortable clothing, and sit down on the couch to relax after a long day of geometry and reading comprehension. I’d turn on the TV; my favourite networks were Disney and YTV. Amongst my cohort, Disney shows were the most popular, so it was the channel I turned to the most.

One of their most popular shows, Phineas and Ferb, is a cartoon about two brothers and their friends creating crazy inventions in order to make the most of their summer. One of these friends is Indian: Baljeet Tjinder. Baljeet is an immigrant and has the accent to prove it. He’s polite and soft-spoken. To him, the worst thing in the world would be to fail math.

Throughout the show, Baljeet’s “Indianness” is portrayed as something comical, something that makes him different, something that he has to overcome in order to have fun with the other kids. Another show on the channel, Jessie, featured a similar comically endearing Indian character, Ravi Ross. Born in India, Ravi is adopted by the Ross family and brought

to live with them in America. His siblings often tease and prank him because he’s so hilariously clueless about American culture, which the audience is consistently reminded of through his accent and other cultural “quirks”. Back then, when I watched these shows, I don’t think I fully understood that, while I was laughing along at something Baljeet or Ravi did, part of the joke was on me.

Along with the “funny foreigner,” another trope common in mainstream media is the “rebellious South Asian teen.” While it’s technically a movie, Lemonade Mouth premiered on Disney channel.

The story is about a group of 5 teens who decide to form a band in order to defy the social standards of their high school and, ultimately, be who they want to be. The movie itself is revolutionary, both in terms of its messaging and its departure from the usual Disney Channel Original Movie conventions of the time. Particularly, out of the 5 main characters, 3 are racial minorities which contrasts the white lead + token minority best friend formula Disney followed. One of these characters, Mohini, or “Mo,” Banjaree is of Indian descent, yet from the first time the audience is introduced to her, it’s understood that she prefers to be a “normal” teenager. She defies her parents’ strict upbringing in favour of lip gloss, a boyfriend, and a passion for non-classical music. By the end of the movie, Mo stands up to her father and she gets to live the modern life of a teenage rockstar, separate from old-school Indian values.

Look, I’ll be honest: I will occasionally watch old Disney shows for their nostalgia factor and I still believe that the Lemonade Mouth soundtrack is one of the best film scores of all time. What’s important to recognize, though, is that nothing is without its flaws. It’s okay to enjoy something and yet be critical of it. So, I admit to having a love-hate relationship with these Indian characters. On one hand, seeing Brown characters on the screen is great, which is exactly how I felt all those years ago. But now, looking back, I see how these conventions can potentially be harmful and send the wrong message to viewers. Ac-

cording to these shows, being Indian means fitting into a stereotypical mold, like Baljeet and Ravi.

If you don’t have the funny accent or love of all things mathematics, then being Indian shouldn’t stand in your way; in fact, you need to completely break away from it in order to be happy, like Mo. Where I think Phineas and Ferb, Jessie and Lemonade Mouth fall flat is in not giving any dimension to their Indian characters. That’s where I think How to Be Indie and Never Have I Ever succeed. At first, both shows seem to have female protagonists who fit into the “rebellious South Asian teen” trope.

How to Be Indie is a Canadian television show that aired on YTV about 10 years ago. The main plot follows Indira, or “Indie,” Mehta, an Indian- Canadian teenager. She doesn’t want to adhere to the traditional Indian values of her parents; instead, Indie wants to carve her own path, and for her, that means fitting in with the other “normal” kids at her school. Similarly, Never Have I Ever, a teen drama that was released on Netflix earlier this year, follows Devi Vishwakumar, who wants to shed her identity as the Indian nerd in favour of being popular. Both of these shows have an episode where the protagonists are confronted by the reality of who they are: Brown girls living in a Western society.

How to Be Indie’s “How to Get Some Cred” is about Indie trying to prove to her cousin that she’s Indian enough, which, through her desire to be cool, is something she never truly accepted as part of her identity. In fact, by her cousin’s standard, Indie might as well not be from India, despite her brown skin. Indie only speaks English; she can’t take spicy food; she’s not up to date with Bollywood drama; she can’t dance Bharatanatyam. Indie spends the entire episode trying to prove to her cousin that she is as Indian on the inside as she is on the outside. The Never Have I ever episode, titled “Never Have I Ever...felt super Indian,” follows Devi and her family attending a Hindu festival. Throughout the episode, Devi dismisses and even makes fun of the entire event. However, when she sees others her age enjoying themselves, Devi only becomes more frustrated that she can’t fit it anywhere. At the end of their respective episodes, Indie stands up for herself and Devi has a heart to heart with her crush. Things resolve themselves. Life moves on.

These two episodes, that aired almost 10 years

apart, hold a special place in my heart. Like me, Indie and Devi sometimes feel like outsiders in both their cultures: the one of their ancestors’ and the one they grew up in. They are faced with the challenge of juggling their Indian heritage and their desire to be accepted as normal in a society where “normal” tends to inherently exclude people like them. At the same time, they see others in their position (that is, other first-generation Indian immigrants) find comfort and community in celebrating their cultural heritage.

Navigating these complexities is no simple feat. It’s difficult, confusing, and, honestly, tiring. As a child of West and East Indian immigrants living in Canada, I’m still learning how to exist in this space. It’s a process, one that I imagine isn’t the same for everyone.

I am lucky enough to have grown up in a supportive household where my parents always taught my brother and I to be proud of who we are. I wish I could say that it was that easy, but the reality is there are other sources that offer different messaging — one of which is television. So, to see characters on TV undergo this similar struggle between two (seemingly) conflicting identities, and to know that I am not alone in feeling this way, offers a comfort I didn’t even know I needed.

Poison of Choice by Iris Orpi Instagram: @irisorpi Let’s talk, before the layers, the peeling back—the sound it makes when you put a knife to the comfort responses and expose raw will to the questions, when you pick apart the abstract constructs like semantics and “cultural nuances” and the past distorting the present, what didn’t you have enough of in life, or what was on TV when you were most impressionable. Can we call it what it is, you know there is power in naming things.

Or will that make you feel “personally attacked”? Is it desire? If it’s the most irrational kind, I can try to understand that.

Vindictiveness? Like one of those soap opera villains who spend all their energy trying to destroy someone?

Is money involved? A quid pro quo?

What’s the sun your world revolves around?

What book might you take a right-hand oath on that would make you think twice about perjuring yourself?

Where’s your line in the sand?

I mean you might as well be judged for who you really are, right?

If you don’t care, you don’t care.

Maybe other people’s currencies don’t mean anything to you. So maybe just say that?

So they can stop haggling and everyone can move on. I don’t have all day to stand here.

Describe for me the method of hurting when you coerce from behind the briar the one or two actual motives that would be otherwise unclothed, pungent like screams.

Let’s talk about the kind of conversation it takes to draw the truth out like blood.

Away, away from emotional rhetoric.

We are not our vulnerability, our exploitability. We are the evils we choose to fight for, emaciated and god-like, on the other side of the needle’s eye.

OM