Retrograde - 2022

RETROGRADE monsoon monsoon

SPRING 2022

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THIS IS A ZINE FOR STRANGERS FRIENDS LOVERS DREAMERS THOSE TRAPPED IN THE LIMBO OF AN HOUR AND THE WEIGHTLESSNESS OF A SECOND THOSE WHO WAKE UP EACH DAY FEELING NO MORE PREPARED TO GREET THE SKIES THAN THEY DID THE LAST 3

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS “A GENERATION WHICH IGNORES HISTORY HAS NO PAST AND NO FUTURE.” - ROBERT HEINLEIN OUR HISTORY IS SOMETHING THAT PERMEATES EVERY PART OF OUR LIVES. AS MEMBERS OF THE SOUTH ASIAN DIASPORA, WE CAN NOT IGNORE THE CULTURE AND PAST THAT HAVE SHAPED GENERATIONS. YET, IT CAN BE DIFFICULT TO REMEMBER HOW MUCH OUR PAST MEANS TO US, DISCONNECTED AS MOST OF US ARE FROM OUR HOMELANDS. WE COULD USE A BIT OF THE PAST INFUSED WITHIN ITS CHAOTIC MADNESS TO GROUND US. IN THIS EDITION OF MONSOON, WE WISH TO TAKE A STEP BACK INTO THE PAST, TO MOVE INTO RETROGRADE. WE EXPLORE SYMBOLS THAT HAVE STAYED CONSTANT ACROSS CENTURIES BUT WITH THEIR MEANING ADAPTING TO EVERY NEW GENERATION. WE LOOK AT HOW POPULAR CULTURE BINDS US TOGETHER AND GIVES US A GLIMPSE INTO OUR SHARED IDENTITIES. OUR PAST IS TOO RICH TO EXPLORE IN ONE ‘ZINE BUT WE HOPE THIS ENCOURAGES YOU TO EXPLORE YOUR OWN PAST AND IDENTITY. COME ALONG WITH US AS WE TAKE A STEP INTO THE PAST. SINCERELY, LASYA AND SHRUTHI MONSOON CO-PRESIDENTS

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CONTRIBUTORS presidents editing chairs design chairs content chairs social media chair social advocacy chair

writers sonali senapati kayal udaiyar

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lasya kambhampati + shruthi subramanian anshu shah + srinithi srinivas zuhaa asrar + hemali patel joshitha leo-charles + sonali senapati sherin stanley jahnavi alapati

artists josephine justin zuhaa asrar keerthi balaji sreya boggarapu

table of

CONTENTS

the red dot medley the faces of a generation monsoon mixes feeling noncommittal toxic and bigoted blueblooded my motherland

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What’s the red d ntal image I ha ther, aunts, gra olves a small r ddle of their for owing up in the gely multicultur vironment, I wa estion often and 7

the red dot.

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sonali senapati

“ hat’s the red dot mean?” The mental image I have of my mother, aunts, grandmothers involves a small red bindi in the middle of their forehead. Growing up in the USA, in a largely multicultural environment, I was asked this question often and never had a satisfactory answer.

The bindi is meant to be an auspicious mark worn generally by women. The name is derived from the Sanskrit word “bindu” which means “dot” or “point”. It is worn between the eyebrows on the forehead. It used to be a vermillion (red powder) mark, but now it is similar to a sticker. Bindis used to be worn as a sign of a woman being married, but now they are worn by unmarried women as an accessory or beauty mark.

There used to be certain colors and types of bindis which would be worn for certain occasions or stages in life- for example, married women would wear red bindis and widowed women would wear black bindis. These practices are not strictly followed anymore. For religious occasions, men can wear something called the “tilak” which is a red mark drawn on their forehead, but is not the same as bindis worn by women.

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"The spiritual meaning of a bindi is as a reminder of your higher purpose in life and your journey to enlightenment and self-knowledge."

The spiritual meaning of a bindi is as a reminder of your higher purpose in life and your journey to enlightenment and self-knowledge. It is seen as a sort of third-eye and something to ward off bad luck. It increases your connection with God by keeping God in the center of your mind. Hindus also believe there are seven chakras and the bindi is placed where the sixth chakra- the Ajna Chakra- is located. The Ajna Chakra is where one loses their ego and reaches self-actualization.

From a health perspective, the bindi is worn at the place where the pineal gland is located. The pineal gland is a nerve center and should be kept cool. Bindis used to be made of sandalwood, turmeric, saffron, flowers, and zinc oxide, which had cooling properties. Today bindis are not made of these ingredients and are used more as accessories.

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art by

keerthi balaji

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medley medley I grew up watching old Tamil movies, full of brave heroes serenading wideeyed girls, evil mothers-in-law, and colorful dance numbers.

They were my mother’s favorite, as she curled into the damp depresses of the couch, the dingy light of the tv highlighting her face in an alien glow. I watched as tiny figures moved in the mirror of her irises, only to be interrupted by the curtains of her eyelids.

when my father commuted to the city for his work, and every night it would be a different one. She’d teach me about our history, and I hung onto every word like they were treasures, afraid that they would spill out and be lost to the unknown if I didn’t grab them and hold them tightly against my chest. I remember everything that she said, about the kings and the warriors and the gods, of men slaying demons and gods bringing boons, and how they sought to capture it all in a twohour special.

I grew up listening to grainy music, flutes and drums and violins, a cacophony of sounds that tingled the insides of my eardrums as I rode the bus to school.

Keerthi Balaji

It was only me and her on the weekends

Kayal Udaiyar Kayal Udaiyar

As I began to be molded more by my friends than my family, radical opinions seeping slowly into my young and fresh mind, ripe for picking.

I realized one day that my mother was not right about everything. She was not right about how color films were produced, and the effects of GMOs and birth control on the body. Neither was she right on how to put a tampon or for laughing at an inappropriate joke.

And as our paths diverged and we grew farther apart, the movies no

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longer held the same wonder. I looked through the lens of my beliefs, now muddled with age and modern thought. All at once, in crystal clear clarity, I could see everything that was wrong with them. I was too sickened by the misogyny and the racism and the homophobia that blurred the lines between my mom and the screen.

I don’t accompany my mother anymore in watching movies, nor does she try to teach me anything.

I told my mom that I liked girls and then ran away to college, like the coward that I was. When I pulled up my songs, all I could think about was how every single person was homophobic. Their place was somewhere different, untouched and magical, where song and dance lived in the air and willowed through the reeds of storytelling. It wasn’t a place where I could belong.

We tried to talk once when she was at home and I was at school, but it escalated into a chorus of frustration and hurt, ping-ponging through the telephone lines in an endless battle. In a burst of anger, I hung up.

It took a couple of months for us to talk again. When I picked up the phone, half expectant to hear another chiding remark, you surprised me by inviting me over to watch a movie. It was called Karnan, a story of a man named Karna, a lost prince who got ridiculed for being poor by the people around him. But despite how people viewed him, he grew up to become a virtuous and kind man. It was the first Tamil movie I had watched, sitting on that same dingy couch, eyes wide and feet kicking as my toes barely brushed the carpet floor.

Out of a sense of curiosity and maybe even a glisten of hope, I accepted. I came back home, sat on the couch, and watched the movie. We didn’t say a word, letting the movie talk in the presence of our bodies. I had forgotten how nostalgic it all was, and in the end, I found myself tearing up.

As the actor delivered her monologue on the TV, my mother said quietly into the empty air that she would always love me. A feeling of warmth bloomed out of my heart and seeped into my limbs until it tingled my fingers. I didn’t trust myself to say anything back.

As I put on my shoes by the doorway, my mother asked me whether we could do this again. I said yes, and left with the sounds of the movie and the music thrumming in my bones.

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of a

the faces generation women in south asian media sonali senapati

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women in south asian media

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screaming woman, draped in a sari, which she tries in vain to drape around herself but cannot seem to succeed. A villain chasing her because he aims to take her for himself, and the woman’s valiant hero fighting the villain to save his love. These scenes were what I grew up watching: damsels in distress, women who sacrificed their wishes for the will of other men, and not one ounce of strength to do anything for themselves- their sole purpose is to serve.

Almost 100 years of Indian cinema- yet almost all of the great blockbuster movies display only weak women. The movies I will discuss below fight the representation of this archetypal woman, who lives to be a wife and a mother. The women in these movies rebelled against these archaic stereotypes and built radical positions for themselves as actresses and role models for other women.

Saheb, Bibi, Aur Ghulam- 1962 Saheb, Bibi, Aur Ghulam is not centered on a female character, but instead centered on a male character who greatly reveres and cares about a woman in his life. The movie is set in a “haveli”, or a mansion, with a very rich man who runs the house and his wife who live lavishly with their family and a variety of servants. The male character, Bhoothnath, arrives to stay with his brother-in-law, a teacher in the haveli, and is looking for work. He begins working near the mansion and is entranced by the rich man’s wife. She is never given a name other than “choti bahu”, which translates to “younger daughterin-law” because her husband is the youngest son in his family. This title reduces the character to her role oriented around the men in her life and calling her only Choti Bahu is blatantly anti-feminist. Choti Bahu does so for most of the movie, attending to her husband and attempting to please him even though he rejects her company and goes to brothels instead. Bhoothnath becomes her confidante and in this way, Choti Bahu has her way- she pursues a friendship with a man other than her husband. There is no indication of Bhoothnath or Choti Bahu wanting any romantic relationship, which is odd in such movies. Men and women were not generally able to have these close platonic relationships. Choti Bahu protects Bhoothnath, even if she cannot gain any other authority in her household. As she continues to attempt to earn her husband’s affections, she begins drinking, which used to be heavily frowned upon in Hindu India. Her character is multifaceted and complex, which is not characteristic of female characters in the 1960s. Another character by the name of Jaba, who has a romance with Bhoothnath, is also a strong woman presented as a headstrong character who has responsibility and manages some of the finances where Bhoothnath works. Although she does not have a significant role in the movie, she is presented as an independent woman, especially after the death of her father and her determination to forge her own path.

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women in south asian media

Arth- 1982 Arth is the story of a woman, Pooja, who finds herself in a unique position when she finds out her husband is being unfaithful to her. She attempts to navigate her new single life alone at first, then with the help of a friend, Raj. Even in the 1980s, in the most modernized parts of India, this is quite a feat.

Divorce and separation between a husband and wife had a significant stigma and most of the blame would generally rest with the woman. As Pooja tries to untangle herself from societal pressures associated with being unwanted by her husband, her character transforms from the woman who wept on her bed when she found out of her husband’s affair to a bold, financially and emotionally independent woman with the guts to sign divorce papers. While Pooja used to lament her life without a husband, she blossoms into a woman who rejects the advances of her former husband and her benevolent and generous friend Raj. The real testament to her character is when she takes in her maid’s child when her maid goes to jail for killing her alcoholic and abusive husband. Being a single mother, divorced, and alone, even if she lives in a more modern city was horribly unorthodox and would be condemned in Indian society. Regardless, Pooja remains a dignified woman, true to her own ideals and independent. She does not need a man or a marriage to be satisfied with her life, a theme which was scarcely highlighted in Bollywood movies. The movie ends with Pooja walking into the sunset with her maid’s child as Raj looks on from a distance, a clear contrast to the usual “man and woman riding off into the sunset” scene that culminates in most Bollywood movies of that time.

Damini- 1993 Damini is the name of this 1993 movie and the name of the main character, a lower middle class woman who marries a rich businessman, Shekhar, and moves in with his family. On the festival of Holi, she witnesses Shekhar’s younger brother rape a maid in their house, Urmi. Shekhar’s family does their best to hide this incident, but Damini refuses to listen and informs the police. Damini is then condemned as an insane woman and committed to a mental institution by Shekhar’s powerful family.

She escapes one day and happens upon an alcoholic lawyer, Govind. Govind helps Damini re-open the rape case- but Urmi dies soon and the police conclude it was a suicide. Damini fights this ruling, proving Urmi’s suicide note was forged- to no avail. A woman fighting a powerful family by herself while married to their oldest son and breadwinner is the uncharacteristic crux of this movie. Damini is subjected to mental, emotional, and physical torture because of her choice to seek justice for Urmi. In one pivotal and iconic scene, Damini is chased by several men in broad daylight on her way to testify in court. No one stops to give her more than a glance, until she reaches a construction site near a packed apartment building. The residents gather as she raises a pickaxe above her head and fends off several men by herself, and the bystanders finally begin to aid her as they see her distress. While the movie ends with Shekhar and Damini reuniting, the courtroom scene that ensues before, with Damini giving a jolting and eye-opening statement on the importance of truth and corruption in the justice system, conveys her unwavering strength.

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women in south asian media

These movies were groundbreaking in their time and allowed me to see an entirely different side of Indian women. Some of my other favorite movies with strong female characters are Bandini, Raazi, Anjaam, Mrityudand, and Mother India. It is vital to have strong female characters, especially today, to represent how societal expectations have changed from the ever-subservient woman to the independent and powerful woman who can stand up for her own values with or without the help of a man.

Where Can I Watch These?

Saheb, Bibi, Aur Ghulam is available on YouTube.

Arth is available on YouTube.

Damini is available on Netflix.

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I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

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I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

I have never taken stardom seriously.

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from the files of...

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art by

zuhaa asrar

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Sreya Boggarapu

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Toxic Bigoted AND

Sonali Senapati

A Look at “Fair and Lovely”

A beautiful girl sits sullen-faced on a couch while her boyfriend watches TV. She sulks in a corner because he refuses to give her any attention. The camera cuts to a smooth, glistening, white and pink tube with the words “Fair and Lovely” written on it in bold black letters. The girl applies the cream and her skin immediately lightens several shades. Her boyfriend finally glances in her direction, wraps her in a hug, and gives her the attention she craved.

It’s hard to believe such advertisements still play in today’s day and age and these products continue to receive celebrity endorsements and are sold at all. Impressionable young girls grow up thinking that the only way to get the job they want, gain attention from men, and earn respect is to have fairer skin. The obsession with “fairness” in India is so deep-rooted to the extent the word “gori”, which is used to mean “girl”, has the literal meaning of “fair-skinned woman”. The most successful models and actresses remain women with lighterskin tones. Darker-skinned Indians are repeatedly marginalized and disrespected as colorism remains rampant.

“Fair and Lovely” is one of the most famous skin-lightening creams in India and is made by the Hindustan Unilever Limited (HUL) subsidiary. “Fair and Lovely” is India’s best-selling skin-lightening cream and is a huge industry, with almost 24 billion rupees ($317 million) in revenue. In a country where lighter skin is synonymous with beauty, the product strongly appeals to women, especially those between the ages of 18-35. A new cream for men, by the name

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“Fair and Handsome”, launched by a separate company named Emami. This unhealthy obsession with skin-lightening cream has grown so much that there are more of these creams being sold than Coca-Cola in India.

The backlash to these creams has been increasing due to the explicit colorism of skin-lightening creams. Petitions to ban “Fair and Lovely” creams increased more so after the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement across the world after the death of George Floyd. In an attempt to satisfy protesters and petitioners, the name of “Fair and Lovely” was changed to “Glow and Lovely”.

Some celebrated this change, but others continued to condemn the cream, saying a name change was not enough to dismantle generations of discrimination against darker skin tones. Campaigns like “Dark is Beautiful” and #Unfairandlovely have attempted to reduce the stigma around having darker skin.

It seems almost primitive to still have any discrimination around the color of one’s skin in 2022. These themes continue to promote harmful narratives for children today and future generations. It is vital to tear down these beliefs and remove conscious and unconscious biases as we move forward. Lighter skin should not be equated with beauty, intelligence, or respect in any world.

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“ The obsession with ‘fairness’ in India is so deep-rooted”

Sreya Boggarapu

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25 asrar zuhaa art by

art by

josephine jeni justin

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with l e d

lh ape ill

e in ch v o c ma ,n