The Bikram Sambat Nepali Calendar or Nepali patro is approximately 56 years and 8½ months ahead of the Gregorian calendar. Unlike Gregorian months, the lengths of Nepali months are not predetermined, and change from year to year, varying from 29 days to 32 days. 

(Source: i---i)

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed herein reflect only the views of the author and do not represent the opinions of the South Asian Awareness Network (SAAN) or any other organization.

Foeticide: it has become an epidemic within India. The killing of baby girls has become a culturally accepted ritual by many Indian citizens. This patriarchal culture sees men and boys as greater and of more worth than women and girls, who are seen merely as individuals of domestic and labor work. While many Indians are strongly influenced by their culture, as times have progressed, modern beliefs have infiltrated India, spurring change within the cultural system. 

Mitu Khurana, young Indian lady, recently became pregnant with twin girls. After hearing this news, her husband and in-laws pressured her to abort the babies. She disagreed; however, they further pled with her to abort these children. While many women do succumb to their in-laws and male counterparts’ wishes to abort their female baby, this woman took a stand and refused to do such thing. Culturally, Indian women are expected to respect and follow the commands of their husbands and in-laws. Whether it be making chai, running to the grocery store, or washing clothes, it is common in Indian households to see the woman take on a domestic role, while their husbands are seen as the heads of the household, bringing home the money to support the family. However, Mitu Khurana went against this cultural assumption, and took on a role of dominance and refused to abort her babies. In attempts to force her into aborting/putting the babies at risk of bad health, her husband and in-laws starved her and denied her water and later, kicked her out of the house. However, she still refused to abort the babies and decided to turn to the law to receive proper justice for this issue. 

While many women in India are accustomed to such torture and pressure to abort their female babies, Mitu Khurana saw that this practice has unjust and fought to stop it. Rather than fighting this fight alone, she turned to the law. However, the government responded to her plea saying that the “law needs to be explored”. Even the Indian Government was hesitant to take a stand against such a horrid practice. To this day, foeticide is still occurring and women like Mitu Khurana stand few and weak attempting to end such a practice. Without the law on their sides, they need to rally a larger group to make any attempt to gain legal recognition. Until then, however, women like Ms. Khurana will either be shunned from their families if they choose to keep their babies or, will have to fall weak to their husband and in-laws’ wishes and abort their babies. Change can be made, however, it takes numbers and motivation and right now, Indian culture and its patriarchal ways is silencing many women from standing up for their rights.

——

Shalvinder Kaur is a junior at the University of Michigan and chair of the South Asian Awareness Network’s Media committee.

fotojournalismus:

A Hindu man writes “Happy Christmas” in Hindi on his forehead on the banks of the Ganges river in the northern Indian city of Allahabad, India, December 19, 2011.

[Credit : Jitendra Prakash/Reuters]

cutie pie with pride 

south asian actors rizwan manji and parvesh cheena taking a stance against the bigotry demonstrated by lowe’s. 

~ vidhi

(Source: http)

by Teija Madhusoodanan, senior and External Chair of the South Asian Awareness Network

I was born in Chennai, India. Then moved to England or as I like to call it, Little India. From there we moved to Philadelphia where being mugged and experiencing drive-bys were not uncommon happenings. New Jersey was next with our quaint little apartment that we shared with a couple of playful cockroaches (though my mother will NEVER admit such a thing). The next move was to Connecticut with a bi-level apartment quipped with a spiral staircase (fancy!). Finally we ended up in Minnesota, first in an apartment and then we settled into a nice stereotypical suburban house.

I have had to adapt to so many different situations and try to make the best of everything. I’ve become this sort of chameleon, so ready to adapt because I don’t want to be left behind and preyed upon. Every first day of school was so nerve wracking. Will they like me? Will I get made fun of? What if I don’t fit in? What if I’m just too different? Looking back on it, I feel bad for the little kid that I was. How many times can a kid adapt without losing a bit of themselves?

As a South Asian coming to America, the fine divide between keeping our tradition and melding into mainstream America is a common struggle. Especially being a child, it was difficult for me to have this separate home and public life. In the process of adapting, sometimes I would almost bash my own culture in order to fit in better. For example, in New Jersey, there was a public swimming pool at our apartment complex. All the kids would go swim together while the mothers and grandmothers would chat on the side. There was one girl, Rupa, an Indian girl like me, who would wear a t-shirt with underwear instead of bathing suit. Being an immature 5 year old, I did not want the other kids to associate me with her because goodness gracious the girl was wearing underwear in the swimming pool! How weird! I would distance myself so that I wouldn’t automatically be seen as uncool too just because I was also Indian.

mehreenkasana:

Beautiful As You Are:

When I was growing up, I had many bullies in school in Virginia. I was sometimes called the “ugly brown girl with a bush on her head.” And I’d come home bawling my eyes out. Racist bullies do a lot of damage, I’m sure you all know that by now. When I came back to Pakistan, I taught kindergarten and high school students. I found out that skin color is still a huge issue in our culture. Girls are made to feel horrible about their complexion if it’s dark. So I decided to write a little poem for the little girls in elementary school with some doodles. I read it to them in the playground. I’m glad things started to change after that.

Here it is.

When I was four feet and five inches,
Kids at school would say,
“Hey Mehreen, buy yourself a paper bag!
Your face ruins our day!”

I asked them why they thought so,
My mom said I was pretty swell?
“That’s cause your hair is bushy!
Plus your skin’s dark as hell!”

So I wore the paper bag to school,
I wore it day and night.
I thought I’d be accepted
If I was out of sight.

Then I grew up and left home,
For college and other big plans,
I made friends around the world,
I even made some fans!

I learned that people are beautiful
If they love, respect and care.
What matters most is inside.
Not my skin or hair.

So if a girl is tall and pink,
But she’s rotten and she’s rude,
She’s not pretty in any way.
I’d rather have her boo’ed.

And if a girl is small and dark
And her heart is made of gold,
Trust me, she’ll be plain beautiful
Even when she’s old.

Now here’s a little secret.
Brown is a beautiful shade.
Of warmth, strength and sweetness
This strong color is made.

But that doesn’t matter,
Oh it doesn’t matter at all.
If someone treats you for your skin tone,
They’re not worth the fall.

You’re beautiful and you’re lovely,
Because you are you.
Aw, man, this rhymes too nicely.
Because it’s really true.

Your skin is just a cover,
Your skin is just some meat,
It doesn’t make you bitter
And it doesn’t make you sweet.

What makes you gorgeous and lovely,
Comes right out of here.
So now you know you’re perfect.
Oh, you’re beautiful, my dear.

Thought I’d share it here after it got published in South Africa for girls and WOC. To everyone who’s ever felt bad about themselves: Stop. You’re beautiful.

themcnshd:

Time Magazine Cover, December 1971

People often forget the bloody birth of Bangladesh — a violent war where East Pakistan broke free from West Pakistan. Although East Pakistan was created as part of a Muslim majority nation-state, East Pakistan’s citizens were separated from West Pakistan by another identity: language. While Bengali was the language of the people, officials in the western capital mandated Urdu as the national language and forcefully implemented language integration programs in present-day Bangladesh. This was only one of many roots of the conflict.

The multiple facets that create an identity are fascinating.

(Source: trap-theassassin)

That’s exactly what I saw.
Newspapers, plastic bottles, cardboard slivers
An olio of junk enmeshed in dirt
Kids run in their threadbare clothing

Caked with soot, grunge, filth
There’s a meager shanty barely erect
Veiled by the pollution devouring Bombay

Constantly emanating from the earsplitting TATA trucks and rickshaws
Sounds a little Slumdog Millionaire, right?

A woman in a sari sits quietly by her husband
The long fabric plastered to her sweaty palms
Covering her mouth to avert the dust
As the rickshaw speeds past an intersection without a traffic signal
Someone please help me, how can I express my love for regulation?

It was hard to find the beauty in a place like this
People constantly bustling among alleys

As some guy decides to spit from the top of a railway station

Pinpointing a man underneath him to alleviate his ennui
The marble floor still had the sheets that I had slept on the night before
I had already made peace with the fact that I wasn’t going to have a mattress
When would I be home again?

I turn back to the window
I see a woman in a sari
But this time
Her sari isn’t a mask
It’s an elaborate garment with flamboyant designs
The fabric is silky as its vast array of hues radiates everything around it
I begin to love watching the kids who lope around together
Emitting a sense of unity and commitment
And despite their need to survive
They learn things that I myself could never understand.

Isn’t there beauty in diversity?

I look around the room
Striking images
The Taj Mahal, the Lotus Temple, Kashmir

The lush green fields, the grandeur of palaces, the pristine lakes
The rich history and the ornamental structures of these locations
Embedded within the depths of India
Where else could I find such a pictorial mesh of nature and architecture? 

I’ve been perplexed by its splendor
And so I ask if it’s stunning with glamour
Or repulsive with grime

But then I realize
It doesn’t matter

No matter what

It’s a life worth living
A unique experience etched to memory
And the all-encompassing piece of who I really am.

- yash bhutada

I wrote this piece a couple years ago regarding my travels in India and how they have impacted my identity and my views. But my perception has evolved. Once a citizen, and now a visitor, I have started to understand the social, political, and economic status of India. My visits have colored my perspective and provided me with a unique insight on South Asian issues, but have blinded me from seeing the broader issues of the subcontinent at hand.