Onam, the festival of unity

Onam lands on September 8th this year, and every Malayali heart wherever it is, will skip a beat that day. It’s a nostalgic season which takes us back to our childhoods, to the country lanes, swings hung on the branches of mango trees, green rice fields, blue skies and clear streams hugging coconut palm groves. Here’s the story behind it, a story close to our hearts.

Once upon a time  Keralam was ruled by the perfect Asura/demon King Mahabali /the Great Bali. During his reign all were equal. No cheating, lying, or thieving or plundering. No wars, diseases or famine. Happy, content, the people loved their King. The gods/devas got jealous, and worried that they maybe forgotten, rushed over to their chief, Maha Vishnu. A plan was devised to exploit the king’s famed generosity. Vishnu took the form of a dwarf Brahmin/Vamana, went to Bali, and asked for three feet of land, which Mahabali granted. The Vamana grew huge, as he measured all of earth with one step, and the heavens with the other. He looked at the king for the third, by then the King knew who this person was. The King bowed his head before the god, and Vishnu placed his third step on the King’s head. Before he was sent to the netherworld, Mahabali asked for one thing - could he come visit his people once a  year? Vishnu agreed. 

So every year on Onam day, Mahabali or Maveli returns. No matter how hard their lives are, people present  happy faces to their king. Onam is our harvest festival.The heavy rains gone, the harvesting will be ongoing, the roadsides green, heavy with wild flowers. Dragonflies assume their drone duties. Decked in  traditional outfits, we prepare our world for Mahabali. Depicted as a jovial, big bellied, big mustached man, in a yellow dhothi and wooden slippers, a golden crown on his head, a palm leaf umbrella in his hand, the return of the King, is the magical bittersweet foundation of the season. Following the Malayalam calendar, the festivities begin on Atham day, and on the tenth day, the grand finale of Thiruvonam occurs. Pookkalams, designs with fresh flowers appear in yards, along with clay Thrikkakarappans/Father Onams representing Vishnu. As the end of quarterly exams coincides with Onam vacation, children participate joyously.

Laughter, games, dances, and sadhya, the elaborate vegetarian lunch served on banana leaves. The star of the sadhya is our own brown streaked plump matta rice, accompanied by a number of  dishes, most embellished with coconut in various forms- ground, grated, dried, fried, milked, and spiced. A place is set for the King. We begin dipping daintily into parippu and neyyu/ daal and ghee, followed by a frenzied nosedive into Sambar, Aviyal, oalan, erissery, koottucurry, to a steady glide over kaalan, mezhukkupuratti, thoaran, injanpuli, varavukal, wading in pachadi, kichadi, pappadam, ripe plantain, coming up for air with banana chips, in several avatars, pickles/achar, relishes, a  gentle splashing in spiced buttermilk, and  rasam, and end in an exhilarating plunge into the  sweet oblivion of payasams. 

Apart from the sadhya, each region, each temple, and each Hindu family  has its own traditional rituals. Aranmula temple traditions come to mind, for instance . Pulikkali/tiger dance, Kummattikali, Onatheyyam are some of the various folk arts performed during Onam. Vallamkali, Kerala’s snake boat races, accompanied by its rhythmic vanchipattu/boat songs is a staple.

The paradox that is the story of Onam, where the good demon is  punished by  the good gods, is intriguing. And while Malayalis celebrate the return of our King, other Indians celebrate Vamanjayanthi, victory of Vamana/ Vishnu, the god over the demon. Kerala Hindus worship  Vishnu and Vamana, but they also celebrate Bali. We all do. And we don’t just give the devil his due, grudgingly, we give it wholeheartedly, gleefully, proudly.  Food for thought.

Significantly, now I am aware that things aren’t idyllic at all behind the scenes. Not sure if there was a real King named Mahabali, if the myth was real. I hear there is an Emperor mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita, on the banks of the Narmada named Bali. That his flaw was his great pride in his goodness, for which he was punished by the gods. Then I hear that Thrikkakara in Kerala was where his palace was, and that is where Vamana appeared. And then there is the other side. The Onam story, as with many romanticized holiday origin stories, has some legitimately sinister, very real hurtful, ugly truths behind it, the consequences of which are still experienced by many. History/her stories of domination and plundering of the indigenous people of a land, by newcomers. Whatever the story is behind the myth, I prefer the part of the story where we, as one, wait for our great and good King, showing our best sides to him. 

And While acknowledging all that pain and anger of the displaced and the dispossessed , and knowing that we have a long way to go to reach that perfect world, with love and respect, during Onam, we focus on our collective intermingled cultural and genetic ancestry. A culture that evolved out of a coexistence spanning over thousands of years. Bringing people together, Onam is a symbol of hope- for a better, equal world for all.

Happy Onam, everyone!

 Patterns

I see a pattern in some of my recent dealings. Well, over time I have seen many different patterns in my life, patterns that sometimes I shouldn’t allow to perpetuate, but does anyway. Not going to analyze what is behind that attitude right now. In any case, one instance was when I went to this Hindu temple. Even though I am not a believer in gods and organized religion, at that point in time, I respected spirituality, that supposed positive energy centering around a certain spot where people sent up their prayers and good vibes, hopefully, over centuries . And an incidental pattern here - my eagerness, sometimes, to please, to belong, to feel good with my friends. And it was a secret! At my age, I shouldn’t have been so thrilled to be keeping such a secret, any secret, but I was. I was a good girl in my youth, and you can deduce the rest.

Anyway, the visit with one of my friends went well. I was enamored of the interiors and surroundings of the little temple, the rituals and the traditions. I conveniently forgot that I was not allowed in there, because I was not a Hindu. It was a collusion between me and my friend who is a Hindu. (Which pact later was broken, which was a betrayal to me, by the way, and I felt a rift between me and the friend. Not a big deal that the “ secret” was out, but still, it disturbed me some. I shouldn’t have been, I guess. )The  next day I visited a Church too where miracles were supposed to happen. For an atheist, this was way out of character, as you may have noticed..  Coincidentally, a “miracle” happened the next day. Well, kind of. So now I had to pay the gods. This time, I went alone to the temple. This is when the pattern occurs. I knew I was going to feel bad, but still I went ahead and did it. I went to pay the gods to the cash counter at the temple, and told the priest there that I was not a Hindu, and if I could enter the temple. He said, no, not that. I said ok, I would like to pay the nercha for a wish granted, and wondered maybe he wouldn’t take a pariah’s money, as touching and using that may entail a cleansing of the temple. Not a problem there! He gladly accepted the money. I came away from that spiritual place feeling hurt, sad, angry, and dirty. As if I had tainted myself and him with the whole experience. What did I expect? Even though I had known this was what would happen, I went ahead and did it like that. No one to blame but myself.

Recently I sent an article to my local newspaper. Even though there were doubts as to their accepting it,  because it is specifically about my culture, which was not easy for them to relate to, or they knew their readers would not,  and it stated some ugly truths, I went ahead and did it. I reasoned that it is my voice, and I am one of the voices that exist around here. And when they did not publish it, I was disappointed, even though both their not accepting it, and my being disappointed at that was expected.  

Somewhat similar is my dealings with a rude neighbor. It was a sharp jolt to my system when I first encountered that baseless hatred towards me. Inviting someone to your house and then treating you like you don’t exist - even though I have been subject to versions of it before, never had I felt such intense, visceral aversion. After this happened twice, apparently, I was still not convinced! How else could I explain my accepting her invitation again? I am not a masochist, I think, but I do give people the benefit of the doubt thanks to my upbringing. It is always my fault, according to my people. So again I go, and experience that utter degradation where she and this time, her husband too, speak over my head while standing near me, complement someone’s potluck item profusely, without touching it. And ignore me and if at all her eyes landed on me, turn away suddenly like she was shot. So it was mind boggling to see them both turn away from me and stuff their faces with the dish I had brought! What is this, kindergarten? The hatred and rudeness towards me did not stop them from eating that, sort of like the priest in that temple! So what do I do? I make it a point to get her attention and say my proper goodbyes to her as a guest at her place, deciding never to be in that space ever again.

One reason for this pattern that I can discern is that it gives me a sort of closure. Making  sure that I did my part. Another variation of this maybe picking a fight with someone or something that you would not want to have anything to do with ever again. Burning bridges, however, is not ideal. That I have learned over the years. But, I do need  a kind of closure, and this pattern facilitates that, for good or bad. But then we never know, things change, of course.

The Horse Whisperer (1995&1998)

 I read the book last week, and saw the movie afterwards. After all these years! Just didn’t get around to to it till now. Don’t need me to tell you that they have  been best sellers, both the book and the movie. And I am a little hesitant to air my opinions regarding them. I am going to, anyway. First, I will talk about my thoughts on reading the book. Briefly, I liked the parts about the horse(s), about the young Grace and her mother, Grace and her father, Tom Booker’s character, his family, his land. Not so much the oh so sublime divine lust between Annie and Tom. Just wasn’t touched by it as I was say, by the love in The Notebook, or the one in Bridges of Madison County. And while Tom’s mind boggling sacrifice  made me thoughtful,  ( why did he do it? To prove that it was not mere lust? To make Grace’s world a better place? Then what about his son? Or just because he  was fed up with life, with the whole love thing?) it still breezed past me without sowing any seed of pain or awe or regret in my mind. Could be that I am older and jaded,

Now, for the movie. I liked all the actors, especially Redford and a young Scarlett Johansson. They are good together. Kristin Scott Thomas is nice too, even though she looked different from Annie in the book. But I just did not get the chemistry between Tom and Annie. Beautiful land, beautiful horses. The ending is different from the book, which I did not mind. Usually I  get so mad when they change a book for a movie. But when I heard little Grace talk about how her parents met, I couldn’t help but wonder why they had to change their place of meeting! In the book we are told they met in Africa, where the newcomer Annie was directed to the “tubab’s”/ white man house. In the movie, we are told they meet in India, and she was directed to the “ tubab’s” house! Why? We don’t say tubab!  Is India and Africa the same to those who made the movie? And why spew misinformation for no apparent gain? Mind boggling. My natural reaction is to think it’s all phony, the “ love”, the sacrifice. I know movies are constructs  , but you know what I mean. That willing suspension of disbelief that we happily offer, I can’t seem to do that here totally.Whereas I got lost with tears in my eyes in the movie Bridges of Madison County and The Notebook.  Here the horse did make me feel that a little, but more in the book than in the movie. But in the book too,the  affair overshadowed the horse story. The rather phony affair. In the movie everything seemed to be  washed out, faded.

Who do I think I am? Some kind of writer?!!

 What’s on your mind, Asha? Facebook asks.

Answer: do you have the time to listen?(cliche!). Because it is a long list.

of people, of matters past, present and the future. Short term goals, long term goals (?)The beginning, the middle and the end... and so on. But then that is part of my existential angst. Like everyone.

The matter of perspectives is on my mind. For instance, when I look at something as “glamorous” or “romantic”, or blessed, I am not aware of, or do not want to be aware of the amount of hard labor, the sweat and the blood , the loneliness and the feelings of alienation behind all that. But then what is the use of my understanding? I mean, my understanding or not understanding, their understanding or not understanding doesn’t mean anything. Does not matter. Most of those doings, that I do or they do, are mindless stuff in any case. Anyway all that hard work obviously makes me or that person happy, hopefully. Also, I know it is naive of me or anyone for that matter to assume that everyone understands where you are coming from, all the time! As they say, you need to walk a mile in someone’s shoes... .

Related to this is another issue that comes to mind— my unfortunate habit of oversharing, of thoughts, ideas, hopes, dreams, pictures, activities... . Who fo I think I am? Some kind of writer? Right! Mostly I do it to just prove to myself that I am alive. And to share, to inform, a wish which is a double edged sword. Actually the predilection for extremes. It is either oversharing or not sharing at all. Have never learned that balance, that lesson of putting up, maintaining boundaries in the right place, at the right time. Well, maybe I have, in some areas, but not all. Now I know I am never going to master that. Apt for a jill of many trades, and master of none.

Then there is the matter of that young man and woman who have been calling me the past two days asking me to update my credit card details over the phone.They are scammers, by the way, and they are on my mind. News Gazette, I hope you are aware of the goings on regarding this matter. They said they are from the News-Gazette, which is the local newspaper for those who wonder.I am not pointing out their accents, I don’t want to assume anything. But it is sad.

All the things I have to do today are on my mind too.. Good that I have those things to do, and that I am able to. Still, can’t help but think of that old saying in Malayalam, നായ നടന്നിട്ട് കാര്യമില്ല, നായയ്ക്കിരിയ്ക്കാൻ നേരവുമില്ല. Translation, (for those who want to know, you may not want to, which is fine, which you already know, I know 😂) anyway, it just says that you are like the dog who walks back and forth thinking he is accomplishing something, and doesn’t have the time to sit and relax, when actually you know what. A metaphor for life on the whole - you are just running towards the end. One way or the other.

So those were some of the things on my mind just now. Now I have to go do my stuff. And wear the mask. Which I like!

Thank you for asking.

Onam is a feeling, many feelings

I have heard that before. And it felt right too. Now I agree with it —wholeheartedly. Well, it is a feeling of fullness, on the one hand. Of the stomach. 😀Kidding. But seriously, I had the good fortune to celebrate Onam with my mother and my sister’s family this year. It was perfect in every way, with the exception that some family members were absent, and one special one will never be there again. In fact there was some anxiety right before the day, as I hadn’t celebrated one for the last 10 years. My last Onam was the one we celebrated with my father. And exactly one month later, he was gone. And coincidentally, this year’s celebration fell on a September 6th, a Sunday, same as back then. A sensitive, disturbing time.

Like I said, it was a wonderful Onam. That little niggle of worry disappeared. Talked a lot, laughed a lot. Good times. Then as we were driving back to my place, the feelings started coming - in waves. It was a collage of memories, flashback scenes of old Onams, faces that were dear to me, the sheer happiness that seemed to envelope me. Onam is a feeling.

Memories

The brown checked border on my pattu pavada (long silk skirt) and the check blouse that my dad bought for me and my sister, as onakkodi. My baby sister was not born yet. Wonder what my brother was doing amidst all this! Like in a Hindu household, we started making pookkalam (flower design in the front yard) on Atham day. 10 days before the main day- Thiruvonam. We got up early, showered, picked flowers from the yard, wild and garden, and made simple designs enthusiastically. Meanwhile quarterly exams lent a different kind of excitement. Onam is the longing. For freedom, for good times, for gatherings. The anticipation.

The rains will have stopped by the time vacation started. That last day of the exams was the best, that feeling was the best! Smiling from ear to ear, we threw our bags down and set out to enjoy the season. The sun was shining, the world was bright and green. In the countryside, harvest season was in full swing. The heady aroma of harvested rice, going through the process of being threshed, boiled, dried.... .Ponds and little streams were overflowing and little fish jumped up and about. While little white “thumbappoo” and yellow mukkutti peeped shyly on the banks. And the dragonflies! They zoomed around like busy choppers and we chased them with abandon.

And on Onam day, the grand design of flowers that we planned on a notebook paper at first and then on the ground. And the memory of my mom letting us know, “ that’s enough of picking all the flowers in the yard, Appachan will get you flowers from town.“ And every year, he got us piles of flowers from the flower market,for Onam day. Marigolds, chrysanthemums, amaranths, ...we made our pookkalam. Our mother will be busy in the kitchen. Like a little whirlwind, she will be doing her magic shouting orders, directing others, and cooking away. Onam is family. The ideal.

And then the sadya. We sat on woven palm leaf mats and ate from banana leaves. My parents, my siblings and a few relatives. My father’s face as he smiled at my mom, at us.It was heaven. Contentment. All is well with the world! Carefree. Idyllic. That all encompassing feeling of loving and being loved. Safe and secure. Of belonging and being a part of something wonderful. It was Onam. The feelings of Onam. Onam is love. It is home.

And the lying around afterwards. As usual, mom would have gone overboard with the sadya items. (My mother who stood young and tall!) And we have a sneaky Onam on Good Friday, which , I hear , is now frowned upon by certain church authorities . Anyway, before all of today’s extreme pieties, we were fortunate to have had those days. So after lunch, we children lounged on the cool floors, tummies full and hearts bursting with joy. For a few minutes, then we were off jumping around again till tea time. As I sat in the car reliving those days again, I realize how dependent all that happiness was on my parents’ efforts! How they made it all so special for us. How hard they worked to make it so. And how we missed those days, and how we missed our father! I felt immense gratitude to them. Onam is a feeling - of gratitude. A blessed feeling.

Onam has its roots in Hindu mythology, but it is our national festival. Each Malayali regardless of caste and religion, wherever they are, observes it, celebrates it one way or the other. In awaiting our great King Mahabali, we are one. For me the last ten Onams were a blur. Somehow I pretended I was busy otherwise, and deliberately ”forgot” about it. But it was there at the back of my mind. In my heart. Maybe that is why it was so intense this time. I can never forget it altogether, as it is part of who I am, and how I feel. Such a feeling. Even without the sadya, or the new clothes, the Onam in my heart will evoke all kinds of warm feelings. Of wistfulness, of hope, and of love. And have to add, Appachan would have loved this Onam too.

Indians, skin color and the complexities of internalized racism: an evolving essay

Just now I read that the actress Priyanka Chopra tweeted her support for the Black Lives Matter movement, and many, especially Indian men, branded her a hypocrite because she endorsed fairness creams in the past. So what?! Do you think no other culture does it? The Chinese, the Koreans, the Middle Easterners, the blacks, the whites, — they all do it. Chemical peels, cover ups, creams, and whatnot. Most of the time it is to get an even tone, whether you are fair or dark. No one wants to have patchy, blotchy, hyper or hypo pigmented skin. ( although if you, an Indian woman, go to certain dermatology offices here, there is a chance that your skin problem may be looked at through racist eyes, not by a doctor, maybe, but by his or her minions - as if you are meant to have that problem, as if it was not a problem, but something as it should be, as if only she or people like her deserve to have “ problems” corrected. Implication - “are you trying to be white? As if you ever will be!”) And then there is the hair. There is the teeth, the chin, nose, the eyes... oh the lips! the list goes on. For whatever reason, people get this idea of beauty. Even Elizabeth Taylor got a nose job! And a chin job, and numerous other jobs. It is not that we run after just fairness, we run after youth too, by the way, otherwise why do we dye our hair? Vanity, thy name is human. And then there is the tanning craze. They are not necessarily adapting to “white cultural standards”. But the criticism by these Indians are that, in these times.

Internalized racism

Many of these people, who try to change their appearance, rightly condemn this particular blatant racist act. Do you call them hypocrites? So why call Priyanka one? Makes one wonder - is it racism? Sexism? Or plain envy? Actually I figure that it is internalized racism on the part of the Indian male or female to just assume that any dermatological treatment to enhance on the part of an Indian is naturally their wanting to be white.These assumptions do not have a simple basis, obviously. The only benefit of this kind of oversimplification and jumping to conclusion is for the person who does this - to convince themselves that they are anti racist and enlightened.

No one laments, “Woe is me! I am not white!”

The other side, especially the earlier side, when we had our caste system at its strongest, where we worship white, fair, light skin tone. The same Indian man who called Priyanka a hypocrite will only marry a fair skinned girl! Now that is problematic. I am not blaming anyone here who wants to be straight haired, blonde, blue eyed and tall and willowy. When a girl grows up in a society where fairness is the ideal, the perfect, the true standards of beauty and success and power, it is natural to want to be like that. And if she grows up in a society where the dominant majority are white, and if she is on the receiving end of slights and name calling and discriminatory behaviors, the problem gets an altogether different aura. In India, it was the lighter skin tones of some upper caste individuals and newcomers. Although the blending has been going on for thousands of years, and nome among the current population is “pure” upper or lower caste, there are still vestiges of this notion here and there. The colonial powers added to this nonsense, but in this time and age I do not think there are that many in India who still hold on to whiteness as perfect or the ideal. I don’t think anyone sits there lamenting and beating their chests, crying “ woe is me! I am not white!” (Maybe in the Northern part, there is! I am not sure) Most of them are not even aware of the existence of white people! Anyway, if there is this idea in some people’s minds, naturally, but obviously mistakenly, some of them will look upon themselves as somehow inferior, ugly and different or inadequate in a bad way. Even less human. And the trouble gets bigger, when the white or any other person from a dominant majority starts to think s/he is somehow better and perfect than that person with the darker skin. That s/he is the only one who deserves all the good things in life.

The construct

Mind you, even in that dominant white group, not everyone has straight golden hair and blue eyes! But many of them pretend that they are all that. And here enters the sprays, bleach, the peroxide, the colored lenses for eyes, and of course, surgery. Many whites’ “typical Caucasian” features are constructs. Just like the North Indian who pretends to be something better than the South Indian. Who thinks he is white! And mocks his fellow country man based on skin tone. Which again is the same as some of his own family members! With all the henna and the bleach, they still remain brown. Come to think of it, it is ironic that the North Indian Priyanka finds herself in this pickle!

Now let us look closely at some of the deep rooted reasons behind this inordinate worship of whiteness, be it on the part of Indians or any other black and brown race. As said before, caste system and slavery found a perfect partner in crime in colonialism. Plain, old greed for wealth and power took a more devious and dangerous turn when they started using skin tone to initiate and perpetuate oppression. And racism was nurtured and it flourished. If we look at history, any older culture who have been dominated by a newcomer group goes through this. I remember the panic and frustration and total disbelief of certain white people when a group of archaeologists and scientists said that the ancient European was dark skinned. Or that the ancestors of all people are in Africa. They wanted to believe that they had dropped down from the skies!Much like the so called upper castes of India. Actually once I listened spellbound to a half white half North Indian declaring that all North Indians were high caste and South Indians were low caste! So much for superior intelligence that was once touted to be the monopoly of the Westerner.

And I did not see any Indian take umbrage when that great humanitarian George Clooney talked casually about a pathetic occurrence in a rich country as “something that would happen in aThird World country”. That is assumption, racism and hypocrisy all rolled into one handsome white celebrity. Or when another philanthropic celeb says “showing that even the tall, blonde foreign lady wanted to use it" when she is describing her philanthropic work in a certain Third World country ( this is from an article in Vogue), no one seemed to be aware of the disturbing sense of racial superiority on the part of this lady. She might as well have added “Aryan”!Which by the way is an Indian word, which means "noble", not racist. And to the ones who think and say smugly that they will shine like jewels in India among all those dark people, it may be a wrong shine. As in the case of the above mentioned blonde saviour. Those poor Third World women are too busy putting the next meal on their tables, living their mundane or not mundane day to day lives, not think of , let alone adore your skin color. They may see you as strange, as alien, so far removed from their own realities, not necessarily as a paragon of beauty. And as for the adulation by many of the male set, there is that colonial/caste worship of whiteness, but to many, sadly, white females are easy. Sorry.Very wrong, I agree.

And as for us Indians, we are in the shadow lands. Especially in a western country. We could be perceived as either black or brown or Latino or Asian or even white (like the North Indian who condescendingly lets you know that you don’t look like a South Indian! As if it is a compliment! )or no one, depending on the beholder. We could be invisible to many. Our children have to do ten times better than the white in order to get ahead. No problem, we think and hope that it would make us all better human beings, build character. Heck, we don’t even have our own nationality. They call native Americans by our name. That is fine too, because many of us have a little bit of native American in us too. A teeny tiny bit. And because we are in the shadow lands, we have to fear too. Our young men have been murdered by white men who have walked free afterwards. The other side is that if it had been a black or brown perpetrator he would still be in jail, or dead. I have been afraid when my son goes for a run outside. We do not talk about it outside our “safe” walls, out of politeness? Fear? whatever it is, we do not want to make waves, so anyone can get away with saying or doing anything when it comes to us. We are aliens. Just like we women back home keep quiet and out of sight, under the radar. We behave like good little kids before nuns. We say things the dominant majority likes to hear, we keep quiet when they want us to, and we try to keep out of the way, keep our heads down. We pretend we didn't get their racist comment. Most of the time we are embarrassed for them.

The layers of racism are visible in all walks of life. One instance is the medical field. While it could be blamed on the subtle and not so subtle takeover by power mad corporate culture, racism may be another factor. I suspect that the slow stripping of the powers of physicians and surgeons in both private and public sector is related to this. Indians, do you know what doctors are called here? Providers! It is all well and good that the administrative group wants to blur the distinction between doctors, nurses, physician assistants and nurse practitioners. But then why should the doctors go through all that trouble to get into med school, spend years studying hard, and long, jumping through numerous loopholes, over high hurdles, getting the training , incurring massive debts, foregoing all social life,if there is no distinction among the different groups? And why not call the CEO and all the assistants and clerks Managers? Well, there are many Asian and Indian doctors in this country, and the majority of the doctors in the government hospitals and clinics are from these groups. And that could be one significant reason that this stripping of power, putting them in their place, this is all they should get mentality on the part of the higher ups is taking place. But that is another story. And we still accommodate, oblige.

Now we see “Karens” cropping up everywhere in the news. The very obvious, conspicuous racist. That to me, even though, is just like some caricature, is also very real. But that is just one kind. There are layers and layers and degrees of racism, most of which we ourselves are unaware. Sticking a placard in your front yard about “hate does not have a place here” or holding up a Black Lives Matter sign or grinning at a person of color does not make one not a racist. I have experienced toxic hatred from such apparently humane persons. Again, it is complex— exaggerated feelings of entitlement, envy, begrudging Others’ perceived good fortune/easy life, ignorance, basic bad nature are just some add ons to racism. The bottomline being “ all are equal, some are more equal”.

None of that stands out now in the light of what the mothers of young black men here go through on a daily basis. To not feel safe in the hands of those who are supposed to protect— just because of your skin color. That pain and fear and anger — that makes one stop and think and feel. We are familiar with this in India too. So this is to Indians. Don’t waste time branding your celebrities this and that when they use their well earned platform to protest great injustice when they see it. Instead look around you, do you see a young man from the so called low caste being stepped on by our law for no reason other than his caste? Getting sacrificed when the dominant group decides, be it in politics or war. They are fodder. Then they are forgotten.

Having said all that, I still admire and respect this country. Especially, its advances in every area of our lives, its women who paved a freer way for the new generation, its way of life. I still look up to it in many ways, and have great expectations for it. That a woman can walk alone anywhere or has the option to, and not be judged — that is one of the main reasons I feel great calling this country my home.

For a great country, being aware of the evil , shameful and totally wrong practices and attitudes and ideas of racial discrimination is urgent and important. Racism is a blight on its noble brow. Also important is the awareness of the past, humility, forgiveness, reparation and reconciliation to all those who were affected, be they native American and/or black. Those are not weaknesses, that is the sign if greatness, of sanity. Exclusion and division is always hurtful and end up destroying civilizations. That is one reason I admire Obama and Carter.I know there are many in any dominant group who mean well, who want to do good, who are empathetic and evolved. So here’s to hoping for a real new world filled with love and ideals of global and national brotherhood/sisterhood.

PS: To me, it makes no sense at all to blame Russia or China or anybody else for all the election troubles here, Democrat or Republican, I think it is the whites, the majority here, who are responsible for electing their leaders. They elected Obama, and then they elected Trump as a backlash against Obama. And then they got embarrassed. They were uncomfortable at seeing themselves , albeit, an over the top version, in Trump. Both the Presidents were and are Americans, fyi. Then they elected Biden. Just my opinion.

Whoever itiit ks, I wish all the best for this great nation.

Asha Bernard