A suitable career

Being desi in Australia in the 80s and 90s was a lonely experience compared with the rise of other cultures. The Italians introduced lattes, the greeks new restaurants serving delicious food and then the chinese were making their mark with their academic abilities. In this period of time, we started to get comedians from these backgrounds emerge and work against the 'usually WASP' Australian television images. Shows like Acropolis Now started to make its mark, giving the Greek Community a great opportunity for their culture, language and humour a place to shine.


The Desi Community was still growing and encouraging people to move away from the arts and move into more traditional careers. They still do it today. When a person is a writer, they usually work as a lawyer during the day or a person with a medical background afraid to pursue what they love, like a fashion career, is encourage to dismiss the ideas and go for something more 'respectable'. What happens is that we get these talented people who later on in life, want to make the switch.


 Most do. And it gives us the chance to have an opportunity to share their stories and talents.

It's inspiring but also sad that these creative souls did not have the courage to do what they believed in and loved instead, the pressure of family, friends and the community as a whole contributed to choosing a 'suitable' career.
It's a similar case for the duo from 'Fear of a brown Planet' in Melbourne. Amir Rahman and Nazeem Hussain were studying law when they fell in love with comedy. They dabbled in gigs relating to desi and australian muslim life whilst studying and at the end of their courses with  with some heart break for their parents, decided to pursue this 'alternative' career full time.

Congratulations to them for working against any hardships and pursuing what they love.

What they are doing is important because they are reprsenting the alternatives to the desi communities and also, bringing their stories and humour to the mainstream Australian Community.

They are funny and for desi's it's great to have them as role models.

Russell Peters

why bollywood means so much

There she stood, at the cliff top, dancing around her lover, girating her hips and claiming her never-ending love for her beloved.

This is the image of the bollywood heroine in 1983.

The bollywood heroine I grew up with looked Indian and in most cases wore a sari.

She played an important part in our lives. We did not want to be her, but in most cases liked what she represented. For the children of non-white migrants growing up in a western society it was sometimes a difficult task looking for role models. The image of beauty we were bombared with in advertising was of women who were tall, blonde and had blue eyes. We used to wonder how the rest of the community, especially the brown people could be 'beautiful'.

Bollywood films gave us this. Desi beauty, fashion and love were presented to us. It was a place where brown women were beautiful. Where the men would fight and die for the desi woman. Looking back, those vhs tapes gave us so much more than dancing and singing, it was a place desi beauty was celebrated.


Sridevi-   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XplYZEUqfiU
Shabana Azmi:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=243wjJ_Z8yI
Parveen Babi interview- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znDwCIKYjcU
Tribute : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k21iGFay5OA&feature=related

Students

I remember the 90s as a time of change, when most of us were moving into adulthood and into new life experiences. It was an exciting time, when techo music was beginning to make it mark on the world and Seinfled was the greatest show on earth!

There was a new wave of Pakistani's popping up on the streets of Melbourne. They were young men, dressed in daggy clothes with the classic 'papadum' accent. These guys also presented the 'new' and modern outlook of the 'motherland'. Most migrants in the community had migranted in the late 70s and as they became parents maintained the same values from that time. So the first generation grew up with old values like their parents being strict and maintaining 'old fashion' views, values or traditions from the sub continent.


These 'students' did two things a) became potential husbands b) started a culture clash.


While most of the parenst regarded these guys as 'poor',  some considered them 'low' class and 'bad' people because they were away from home and free to enjoy the benefits of Australia. The parents refused to acknowledge these guys even though they themselves migrated here. There was a disconnect between the community and students. The experienced migrants, behaved in the classic 'sub-continent' way and developed a class system. The lower class,  where given little support. The community felt that it was only fitting that  the students fend for them selves and consistently referred to them in a degrogity way.

I was reminded of this point of view, when a woman from our community was husband hunting, she's Australian born but the type that loves the desi clothes, language and culture. She'll accept most things but not a husband from there. We were at a party and the husband topic arose. She said, 'that she would never marry anyone from there and that they were a bunch of losers'. She was adamant that if she did marry someone from there she would spent her life married to a taxi driver. While, the world had moved forward(post 90s) in the last twenty years, the men who came through as the first wave of 'students' were now working professionals, I found myself somewhat surprised the the old 90s mentality lived on.

Sara's Tune

Growing up, Suicide was always an off-limits topic. It was regarded as the thing 'other' people did. That implied anyone non-desi. We were taught this from an early age, that being 'desi' meant we were different because of our religion, culture and value system.

Some of us believed this, others not so. The idea that anyone would take this action was so beyond anything imaginable.

This path was taken by people we least expected. Gregarious, beautiful and talented people with what seemed like the world at their feet.

Sara was a childhood friend, with personality, brains and beauty. Perhaps I am biased but I felt she had everything and yet, I knew there was little else I envied. She was bulimic and would spend time self hating. Her parents would beat her. All kinds of physical and emotional abuse. She would race home from school to avoid another beating, if she was late even 5 mins her father would accuse her of 'having a boyfriend' then start at her. Sara tried and really tried to be the good daughter.

At the first chance to escape, she accepted a marriage proposal at 17. She landed in similar place to where she started with another monster.Devastated she overdosed on pills. She woke up in hospital disappointed that they had pumped her stomach. Sara escaped from her husband and parents. Sara tried to rebuild her life with a new place to live, career and wardrobe. But the cycle would repeat- boyfriend, marriage or relationship, trouble, escape, an attempt. Sara moved to the country then overseas and built a successful career but she was not complete.

One evening, Sara's aunt came to my house. She stood outside with a young man that I did not recoginise. He looked as though he had been crying, his eyes were red. Her aunt told me what had happened. One of the hardest things was knowing that she died in her car alone. The second, that I could never speak to her again. At that time, I realised that there were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn't speak. The only sound I could hear was a deafening silence.

Sara had left.
Her parents wanted to know why.
?

Being Pinky

From the moment I set eyes on her, I knew she was trouble. But I also knew that I would not be able to resist her charms. It was 2002, I was going through the not so mid life crisis of  'i don't know what i'm doing with my life'. In a bold move, I decided to take a year off from my life to take a few steps back and go back to school. But in the tradition of being a desi, not just any school or course, I went for the grand prize, the Masters.

This woman was unlike anyone I had ever seen before. So bold, determined and out there!

She stood with her waist length blonde hair, carefully placing a cigarette to her lip glossed mouth and inhaling that nicotine like it was the last breath of clean area on earth. She wore the tiniest of tiny tops and tightest of tight jeans that I had ever seen on an volumptuous woman. She had hips, bits and a bust that were strategically placed for all to see. Every part of her screamed out 'i am woman here i come'. She would strut(that's right strut in her 10 inches heels) across campus with a small fan club of young Indian men following her every move. Her name was Pinky*. She was the first Indian woman that I ever met, who embraced and celebrated her gender, beauty and every asset with passion.

Like the bollywood movement that has influenced the youth in India, she was the new wealthy highly educated(with her first degree from London-of course!) and label obssessed generation. Although she was bright, her only focus in life seemed to be finding the 'rich**' husband. There would be endless parties and plans to go to the 'latest and trendy' places where she could sit at the bar, smoke her endless supply of cigarettes and 'sigh' at her glass of red wine. She would complain about her lack of prospects (conveniently neglecting to mention the two men she was dating at the time- Shane and Vikram) and her love for hip n happening-London. Her heart and soul ached for the pace of big bad international city and the celebrity party lifestyle.

Towards the end of our course, everything can to an screeching hault. Vikram and Shane found out about each other and Pinky went underground. Well, not so much underground, stayed locked in at her Docklands apartment painting her nails as she received angry messages from her lovers. There's a saying that 'good things can come from bad experiences', for Pinky, it was a marriage proposal from Vikram.

Eights years later, Vikram and Pinky are happily married and live in London. They travel the world and are regulars on the London 'party' scene.

* Yes it's her real name
** Anyone with citizenship and a job over $100k

The black sheep

There's always a black sheep in every family. You know, the standout 'perfect' daughter or the one child that hides away smoking a ciggie round the back of the house. But over the week-end, I was reminded of another long forgotten person. Samira* was the desi aunty who was outside the square of the normal 'desi' conventions. Although she would look the part, having a successful career with a large home and mercedes in the driveway, it was not enough.

No matter what Samira* did, the divorce would haunt her. In those days**, divorce was taboo and she was considered to be tainted. She never remarried, partly, I think because her generation didn't do that and also, because Samira was responsible for her children. But deep down, I know she was a party girl and the fact that she was attractive didn't seem to throw off any suitors. Over the years, I would catch her in 'tender' moments with her usually 'married' lovers(yes I was always in the wrong place and time) or save her from falling down the stairs after one too many drinks. There were rumours and endless discussions about her who, what and where Samira was sighted.

At the time, I used to find all this slightly amusing, but now, I see she was lonely and probably needed company. In reality, Samira was a single mother, who didn't have much to do on the week-ends(the kids would be with dad) and I guess, just did what other Australian Women did, go out and look for love. Maybe Samira didn't feel that she could date openly or felt that she had to be with a desi as a result ended up atttracting the wrong men who would boast about her. UNFORTUNATELY, it always seemed to be the sleazy uncles who still wore flared pants from the early 70s even though it was 1985. Today, although she has aged, Samira still manages to work the room. She  reminded of the days when she was a hot topic***!

* Not her real name
** In the 80s
***Any gossip was considered 'hot' in the 80s

The Colour Comp

Being the first generation Desi Australian teenager was a testing time. It's not an experience for the faint hearted. I have survived the wars and lived to write the 'colour' tales.

There was always competition between the teenage girls from which school they attended, what they wore, who had what and how. Most of the things related to materialist things like, clothing, records, shoes and then the size of the parents house and type of car. But there was one competition that out did that rest. If a person had a fair complexion, he/she was somehow 'better' and would be an 'automatic' winner. There would be converstions like, 'but it's ok for her she's fair' or 'she's so white'!

It was a very desi trait to judge a person by what they wear and the dismiss the people who were not 'worthy'. In the desi wives world, I've watched women size up a person to see if she's 'their' type and run their analysis of the newbee's class, education and family. One of the latest topics that keeps rearing it's ugly head, is a person's skin colour. I thought I had left all of this behind in high school! While the western world risks cancer from sun bathing, in the desi world women are coating themselves in 'Fair and lovely' face cream to whiten up! Yes, like in the Hindi films, all the heroines seem to be white! The most popular and desireables on tv, film or modelling are western looking and well, white.

We have a new member that's migrated, who comes from the darker majority of the sub-continent. The Newbee would be at parties working the room,  trying hard to create a place in the Desi Wives World, placing herself in the middle of the action, not knowing, that the same women were commenting behind her back.

It's a behaviour that's at odds with our upbringing. In school we learn to tolerate and believe in equality. But when people openly ridicule the skin colour of others, I want to run away from all of them and hide under a rock! I've tried in vain to understand their reasons for this and the only conclusion I've come up with is that they need a 'hobby' and take up a game of tennis?

1980 Desi Aunty

Back in the 80s, as youngsters in the community we had a lot of respect for the 'desi aunties'. They were women we looked up to and held as important guides to our future. They were mothers and wives who had never-ending knowledge and a type of wisdom. They also seemed to be the ones who would catch you at the wrong place and time, always when you were wagging school, hanging out with a guy, lighting up a smoke or probably something even worse, wearing a short skirt! These were the women that your mother warned you about, that is 'what if you get seen coming out of maccas' or 'what if they find out about the birthday party at a licensed restaurant' etc. Your mother would claim in despair that she would be ruined, when in fact it was your reputation as a young unmarried woman that was really under threat.

It's interesting how now as adults we see these women for who they truly are. They were women who had migrated to Australia with their husbands, they set up house and became mothers. In their time, women didn't work outside the home even though they were educated. They raised their children and had alot of time to discuss others. These same women (I write this with amusement)were the ones who provided us with career advice! Always willing to put in their ten cents worth and yet, we took their opinions to heart instead of weighing whether or not, the advice was relevant or sound.

When I see the same women who are now elderly, I wonder if they have learnt their lesson, accepted the fact that their advice and opinions may have been hurtful and if they really understood what they were saying. They had so little life experience as independent working women, did they know? Do they know that we still remember the comments? That we still associate the comments with them, even after twenty years? Have they passed this on to the next generation?

At a crowded function a couple of weeks ago, I watched one in particular who promoted a 'rich' versus 'poor' class society. Which is funny because Australia is pretty much a classless society in comparison to the Asian sub continent. She wandered about the hall, meeting and greeting people. She would offer her limp hand for her salaams and air kiss women in the same way she did many years ago. I hoped that she has changed and that her children were better people.

One thing I have learnt is that I will not be like them!

The motherland- mine or yours?

Motherland- a simple word. One that I identify as being the place where one is born, raised and holds much affection. In my marriage, there are two places referred to as this. Each has played a part in the types of people we have become and will help to shape our children. I remember when I was younger, my father would always refer to the 'magical' motherland as the place where life was simple, full of memories of family and experiences. A village, a family, hardship but a place where love and self-belief made people stronger and able to overcome hardships. My parent's generation was the first wave of migrant in the late 60s. They were one of the many people who travelled to Australia just after the abolition of the White immigration policy. They came with little but great hope for the future. Did my parents know that many years down the track, they would still miss there motherland? That they would still be having discussions about it? Cheering for it's successes and  holding back their tears for her tragedies?

The man I married behaves in a similar way with endless stories of college antics, history and family stories. It's difficult to be encouraged to visit a place that's different and be expected to hold it with the same affection. To listen to the stories of it's past and share in the saddness of it's present state. To look at his 'motherland' in the way I respect and love mine.............. is a challenge.

The Designer War

The fight for designer clothing is ruthless and a brutal business in the Desi Wives World. Who wore what and where discussions becomes a national occupation. If it doesn't have a label then it's not worth the discussion. It seems everyone has an informed opinion. The more clothes they have and hours spent infront of satellite tv, the greater the expert.

The interesting thing about this is that people in the desi Wives world come from different parts of the country and cultures with different interpretations of style.Over time together they seem to have developed one style that's created simply because they exist as a group and need to look alike to compete.

When a new store opened in town, women rushed to check out the clothing, then long winded discussions flowed over dinners about what they saw, what the latest trends were on satellite tv and who was wearing what.

At functions, many clothes in similar colours and designs flooded the halls, each women taking compliments about their outfits and what was more interesting was that they felt obligated to stress where they had purchased the outfits. It was not for the sake of the advertising the store(which is doing well mind you), but the fact that they wanted people to know that a)they paid AUD for their clothing b) the clothes were expensive designer outfits. It became a game of 'I paid more that $100 for my outfit, oh you purchased your outfit overseas? You cheapskate!'.

The Davaat Queen 2010

The year has rolled around so quickly, it was on this new years eve were my life kinda fell into place. I had so many questions and little answers about the best way to become a Desi Wive. Unlike previous years of hanging around at home, we were dressed up and out. Not on an all nighter raging new year party but at  a Desi Wive's home for a lavish dinner. I suspect the hostess had been slaving away in the kitchen for a few days. There she stood in all her glory before all. Her hair and make-up perfect, wearing a designer salwar kameez. Smiling at her guests as she carried a huge tray of biryani to the dinning table. It all looked so perfect- the food, the hostess and guests. As she glided towards the table, her loyal guests 'ooohed' and 'ahhed' at her efforts causing her smile to deepen then  grow into a grin.I could tell that she was used to this, she looked like a queen walking slowly towards the altar. She'd pause occassionally to meet the eyes of her loyal followers. I think it's what Oprah calls an 'ah ha' moment. I had one of those, while watching her. It's the moment that all Desi Wives aim for, it's where the adulation and success meet publically. It's where she is formally crowned 'queen'. 

Why?

I wonder why,
We made the choices we did,
Why we chose the inexperienced,
The ones without wisdom,
As our guides,


I wonder why,
So many people left,
Travelling into a world alone,
Leaving their parents and friends behind,
In hope of a better life,
Away from the pain and anguish,
Faraway..
Burying their pasts,
Becoming another,
Someone new,


Two cultures,
One person,
So many critics,
Few Supporters,
A lone journey,
To find a place,
Between East and West,
A balance,
A love that's illusive,
Happiness and sorrow become one,
It's an existence,
One that's accepted,
A compromise..
Is it worth it?

The Eastern Man

On the week-end I was reading the paper and came across an article about a vibrant and decisive Syrian actress, Nihad Alaeddin. She'd led a colorful life as a dancer and then actress eventually becoming a writer and director making films criticizing the double standards of the 'eastern man'. She gained a cult following turned her back on the public eye. She was the first Muslim Syrian actress to perform a nude screen in the late 70s. She never felt the need to apologize for it when the Syrian public was outraged. The public demanded an apology but attendance at the screenings were high(wonder why?) then the film became  a box office hit.  In her interview about the 'Eastern man' she says, 'He studies in Europe (or anywhere in the West), but comes back East and returns to his old attitudes. if he could lock up his wife and sister, he would'.

Got me thinking...the Aussie Desi women have similar issues. We have the eastern man study and then stay in the west, he's happy to adopt a lot of things when he's single. But when it's time for marriage he'll fly back home for a bride or if he can't, will marry a local Desi. Then for the rest of his life when he enters his home the western values are left at the doorstep. Inside, he expects the eastern values- the food, language, clothing etc. The Eastern Man reverts back to this(often) and holds onto customs and expectations that don't even exist today in his 'motherland'.

Aussie Desi's always hope for a man who has both east and west values. i know I did. Many moons ago, the dream was to marry a desi who was modern and yet held onto important things like culture, language etc.. What I didn't know was if these things were important to me? Did I know myself well enough to desire and define these qualities? No, these were the hand me down values that we were taught, by our friends, family and the ever present Desi aunties who always seem to catch you in the wrong place and time. The First generation born didn't really develop a way to handle the Desi attitude, we just accepted that what the elders said to be right. Even though we didn't necessarily agree, we stayed quiet. There were a few people who left their families and moved onto to define a different lifestyle. Some parents were really strict, some liberal and others inbetween. Looking around now,  the inbetweens turned out the best. They hung out and did their religious obligations and then enjoyed the luxuries of the west but also got what they wanted. In the late 80s to early 90s, people began to swing against the 'imported husband' scenario and started looking around for local guys. Suddenly at functions you'd see aunties huddled in the corner of a room, pointing out guys and girls, giving a status update of their upcoming 'love marriage'. They would whisper the word 'love' quietly..I'm sure they found this to be outrageous, or perhaps, maybe they had wished they had the option but at the time, I knew a change was coming and it made me smile.It was then, that I knew I was going to join the masses in this radical movement of 1991. I wanted to move away from the lonely trips to Pakistan looking for a suitable 'life partner'. I'd watched so many people do repeat trips to Pakistan without success, I just didn't have the stamina to waive my Australian citizenship around looking for the 'doctor, lawyer. engineer'-in that order. Lastly, but happily, unlike the rest of my family, I wanted to break ranks and not marry my third uncle's son from his first marriage, who's wife’s sister is related to the cousin who owns a house next door to my aunt's house in Islamabad who is the sister of the mother of the guy who has a wheatish complexion and an accounting degree and is now working in Dubai... !

A Blogger's Side Step - Sara's Story - Part One

Pakistan is famous for being a terrorist’s training ground but for Sara, it’s a place that holds memories, many that are bitter sweet, those of joy, happiness and sadness. The country is full of contradictions, in the year 2010 people still living in small mud brick homes, and yet, the modern world intrudes with each boasting large satellite dishes and mobile phone towers on the village edge. It’s where women wear the Burqas’ in public and yet, at home are infatuated with makeup. It’s a country with booming beauty and fashion industry that thrives behind doors.

 As Sara disembarked from the plane onto the Karachi Tarmac, the polluted air hit her fast, the sounds of people speaking in Urdu and trying to find her way, amongst the colorful clothing worn by the women.

As Sara waited in Custom’s line, she could recognize the different ethnic groups of the Pakistani people, the fair and taller people, from the northern parts of Pakistan, were known as “Pataans”, then the Urdu speaking who had darker complexions waited patiently. She could hear the different accents in the crowd. This was a skill she had learnt from her husband, recognizing the difference races and dialects amongst Pakistanis.

Karachi is known as the city of lights, it’s the most cosmopolitan city in Pakistan. It  has the most ethnically diverse population. Karachi is like the LA of Pakistan, where people come to make a fortune and start a new life.  Over the past twenty years, it’s also become the target for terrorists.

Sara moved through to the luggage carousel where she collected her bags and made her way outside the airport. Because of security concerns, only passengers and airport staff are allowed in the airport. Sara could feel her heart beating as though it were the only sound in the world; her hands were shaking .She stopped and tried to calm her nerves. She said one quick prayer before stepping outside.

Her niece was the first person she saw, and then there was another. Suddenly she surrounded by her relatives, with greetings and hugs.  As they began to disband and walk towards the awaiting cars, she saw him, so handsome.  He still had the same affect on her.

He smiled and nodded at her. That was her greeting. Sara could feel the anger rise in her belly but knew that the rules of engagement in the Pakistani world were different- no scenes. She wasn’t in her hometown, Melbourne. She was in foreign country, surrounded by her in-laws.

            They walked to the cars, there were three and everyone seemed to jump into the seats and on each others’ laps. She noticed that no one wore a seat belt and the she looked out the window, to a see a reminder of the West. She felt somewhat reassured, the big golden arches loomed above her- McDonalds had arrived in Karachi.

            As soon as they drove out from the airport, her brother in-law began to entertain her with the family news for which Sara responded with the right amount of questions and sound effects of concern. Sara looked out the window, and watched the city pass by the high-rise buildings, traffic and people enjoying the evening.  They drove on a highway past a newish looking Nandos restaurant, mansions with guards patrolling the property, the people walking along the streets going home from a night out, and many billboards advertising beauty products. Sara smiled when she the “fair and lovely” ad, it was a cream that was designed to lighten complexions. While westerners were burning themselves in summer for a tan,  lightening cream for the complexion seemed to be an obsession with Pakistani.

            A week ago, she’d been watching the news; the Australian government had recommended it citizens to avoid travelling to Pakistan in the wake of Benazir Bhutto’s death. Sara had wanted to stay in her home, away from the troubles of another politics and country, but she’d been summoned to Karachi. There were many questions that required answers, some of which she knew and others were dependent upon emotions and guilt.

            When they met at university both were young and seeking a life different from their childhood. Jamal had grown up in rural Pakistan where women were mothers and wives with little expectation. She was from Melbourne and a two working parent household, where career was not an option but a natural path in life. Maybe it’s the attraction of the opposites, or maybe people running away to become someone else, their love had blossomed quickly. Like many of the girls in her social group, Sara had very little romance experience and when she fell for Jamal, she fell hard. Her wedding was quickly arranged by her parents and his, before she had any real time to adapt to change, she had moved into her marital home. A small flat in Footscary owned by her father and she began life as a married woman, all at the tender age of nineteen.

            Nineteen is not young for marriage in Pakistan, it’s the ideal age.  In Australia, it’s young. Her family friends were not surprised but her friends from high school and university were shocked, the most common question her friends asked where “why and are you pregnant?” Sara would blush and laugh at the questions knowing all too well, that she had little option. Unlike her friends, Sara had no chance of dating and meeting Jamal, every time they did meet before marriage, her heart would pound and she would spend most of the time looking around making sure she didn’t get caught. Always on the lookout for the lone aunty accidently catching her out and reporting it to her mother.

            Were she and Jamal ready for marriage? The first few years were like how any other couple would date or live together. Even though she’d grown up in Melbourne, she’d never been along the great ocean road, spent week-ends away in the country or stayed out past one am.

The Tuff Wives Club

It's interesting when people are forced into situations. For some, it's difficult, for others, who like a challenge, it's exciting. I didn't really know what to expect. Growing in Australia amongst people of different nationalities, religions and socio-economic backgrounds, a level of respect for all people is learnt and carried throughout life. I felt pretty confident as I embarked on the 'Desi' society as a newly married woman.

Looking back, I can see that I was naive and yet, somehow ambitious in my desire for light but stimulating conversations about world events or films and books discussions over a curry and naan. Coming from a society where friendships are developed and based upon mutual interests, respect and tolerance for others, little did I know, that my upbringing would provide very little support in the Desi Wives World. Who's really taught to attack and survive in a warzone? Soldiers! If you're Desi, it's housewives.

These 'Desi Wives' are a minority in the real world, people you can listen to at functions and then with a polite 'good-bye' ignore and move on. Unfortunately, these wives are the majority in the my world. There are the 'high school' graduates and then the 'educated', who happily live a warzone. Each group has one leader and the rest, are deemed as followers. The leaders have similar qualities, excelling in everything they do(i.e cooking), well developed social skills, have a cleaning fetish and surround themselves with as many people as possible. The main objective is to be competitive as possible and ensure that the weaker feel their wrath. As easily as one is accepted, they can be dumped.

So began the journey that I quickly abandoned. Being decisive, I knew that this group was well beyond my capacity, so I watched from afar as people joined, then as they were tossed aside, the lies, the comments and the snipes from cooking skills, upbringing of children, clothing and wealth just to name a few.

There's a difference in value systems, language barriers and experiences  between the Australian Born and 100% Desi. Because most of these interactions are required for the sake of the husband meeting his friends, the friendships are forced and unrealistic. I've been to loads of dinner parties where the women and men have been segregated. In the men's area, we can hear the laughter and happiness overflowing. In the ladies section, it's quiet with the occassional discussion about an Indian film(always a winner- the safe conversation). If you are confident and carefree happy to discuss anything and involve other people in conversation they shoot you down(behind your back of course).

How to move on from this? How much does a wife need to compromise? How many insults and snide comments can a person take? Should there be a warning label on a potential husband's head before marriage? 'Look Out, Danger Aussie Desi Gal'. I say yes........

I woke up from a really bad dream. That's how I felt  the morning after my wedding. For most of my childhood I fantasized about my wedding day, initially it was being the woman dressed in a white gown walking down the aisle towards her beloved. But when I realized that things were going to be different like from the age of six, the image changed to the scared woman hiding behind a veil waiting and hoping that the man sitting next to her, would be a 'nice' and good husband. I remember in high school, there would be crushes and fantasies that all fell short, whilst other classmates would drool and openly talk about their 'perfect man' and what they would be looking for.  Our conversation, in the desi world, went like this, 'is he dark? does he come from a good family? Which city? is he education?' and I used to wonder, 'does he speak english?'. I wondered because most of the potential husbands were deemed 'imports'. What facinated me, was the fact that my peers would openly accept this option as the norm. Maybe it was the fact it was the 80s and that we were the first generation to grown up in Australia where no rules existed. But at that point, I didn't want to be apart of this, I couldn't understand why we didn't marry the people we really wanted. I remember, there were families, grooming their daughters to marry a 'doctor, lawyer or an engineer', in that order. They would make endless trips across the globe, searching, hoping and then eventually sealing the deal with prized 'doctor'. Having said  that, some people have ended up in happy unions with a great family and life, but if things could have been different, given the choice, would they have settled for the 'arranged' option? I woke up the morning after my reception wondering if having a big 'desi' wedding was worth the hassle, 380 people and a few good photos- too tiring and too many compromises on clothes, desi music- to have music or not, to allow dancing or not, enough food or too little, containing arguments and differences between the grooms and brides side? A clash of cultures? or egos? given the chance again, I would ditch the big wedding and go to vegas for a civil ceremony with an elvis impersonator conducting the ceremony.............. :)

Why I started writing this blog....

One of the most interesting things about growing up in Australia whilst being of Desi decent(either Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi- or from anywhere in South east Asia) is the expectation that you have to hold onto a) religion b) customs that belong to the motherland of when your parents migrated to Australia- i'm talkin' pre-1970s c) be bilingual d) the pressure to become the perfect Desi wife.

I'm going to share part of my journey, being Australian born and adapting to a whole new world of people, customs and the art of survival in the Desi World, in particular, the Desi Wives world. It's a place where comments fly out of wives' mouths in the chaos of suburban dinner parties where four families and 20 kids are crammed into a tiny house or when the best meal served by the worst cook, is examined then dismissed by the wives and then praised by the over weight biryani loving husbands two weeks later.
A strange world? As one aunty said on my last trip abroad, "DAARRling, compromise, you must try to be a good wife". Trying I am :) but recording the events as I go along. Perhaps therapy would be better the option? But being part Desi, means I'm too tight to pay - I'm taking the other option and sharing it with you  :)