I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

thisisnotindia:

beyondvictoriana:

Saree Dreams is a PoC-run boutique out in LA. On May 25th they’ll be introducing their “steampunk saree.” You can catch a preview of it here.

steampunk sarees? 

I am done with tumblr for now, later everyone!

OH MY GOD MAKE IT STOP

1:30am and here’s my bedtime ritual. Also pls note the #desi lady bookmark k gnight Tumblr. heartheartsmileys #personal

thisisnotindia:

2brwngrls:

Oh, goodie! More racist fashion editorials! 

This time, it’s Diva magazine’s photospread entitled “Be My Slave.” Pakistani designer Aamna Aqeel decided, for whatever reason, that the best way to showcase her fashions was via these seriously offensive images, which feature a white model clad in chic duds, accompanied by a little boy playing her “slave.”

When confronted about the photos, Aqeel insisted that the spread’s concept was to bring awareness to child labor, and that the fact that the boy is dark-skinned and dressed in ~*tribal*~ gear was purely coincidental. 

However International Herald Tribune writer Salima Feerasta has quite rightly called bullshit on Aqeel’s flimsly excuse, saying: It’s facetious of the designer to claim that she was trying to stimulate a debate on child labour. The model wearing her clothes is clearly comfortable with her dominant position. She is not made up in a way that shows her to be the villain of the piece. The use of a dark skinned child in a shoot entitled “Be My Slave” certainly reeks of racism, however much the designer may deny it. And if anything, the shoot seems to condone child labour.”

What do you guys think? Will the fashion world ever get a clue?

What the ever-loving fuck. 

300000000000000000000% done.

Mom just spent an entire hour ranting to me about how she can’t live in America because their pomegranates and mangoes are subpar, plus they drink their tea without milk and sugar.

Lolol #desiproblems.

Can Chitrangadha Singh stop being so perf.

(Source: nicematterindian, via alltheblacksheep)

2brwngrls:

The comments on Iggy Azalea’s culturally appropriative new video for ‘Bounce’ are pretty telling. 

39473663228819200384% done. IN A TEMPLE, TOO. Ugh fuck this shit.

(via faineemae)

attainednirvana:

Here’s a clip of the very first Bollywood film, which released on May 3, 1913:

Raja Harishchandra is based on an Indian epic, and tells the story of a noble king (Harishchandra) who sacrifices his kingdom, wife, and son to fulfill a promise to the revered Indian sage Vishwamitra. Impressed by his ideals, the gods declare him to be the living embodiment of truth and restore him to his former regal glory. All the parts are played by men, as female actors were frowned upon at the time.

The costumes are pretty opulent, but it lacks the signature song-and-dance numbers that make Bollywood movies so memorable today:

Happy Birthday, Bollywood—and thanks for everything.

OHAYYY

Indian Rain - Colonial Cousins (by AR Zubair)

Listening on repeat. This song is perfect for every mood. 

I really wish I could trust people, particularly strangers, more.

Last night, we were in a cab, headed for the temple. The taxi driver was Muslim, and he seemed to be Indian (he was), so my Dad started off the conversation by telling him where we were from, what we’re doing here etc. I was suffering silent agonies in the back seat, and was secretly pleased that the driver was, at first, curt and professional.

But as time went by, he opened up too, telling my Dad about his life and family here, how he graduated from IIT Kanpur (the Indian equivalent of an Ivy League). They traded stories of their experiences in engineering school in India, and by the time we got to our destination, the driver didn’t want us to pay him, but my Dad insisted. The driver turned back to Suppi, who’d also been conversing with him, and laid his hand on her head and told her (with a sincerity that made me tear up) that she would get well soon, and blessed her.

Once inside, I started berating my Dad as usual for exposing us to many potential dangers. I was like, “he knows where we live!” As always, my parents just laughed me off. I can’t really blame them; they make friends so easily, and it’s not uncommon for them to exchange contact information with people they meet at the supermarket or in an airport. In Indian culture, people are far more outgoing and the threats of things like stalking and serial killers (my biggest fears) are virtually unheard of. Indians think nothing of divulging their personal information in India, trusting total strangers in a way I could never comprehend. All my friends and family members have made countless casual friendships during fleeting encounters and conversations.

I’ve always been far more reserved with people I don’t know, but it wasn’t until I lived in America that I became downright paranoid. I still am. Maybe in that sense, I’m more American than Indian now. And I envy my family their casual, easygoing faith in the inherent goodness of people. It makes me feel like such a jaded cynic.

Heading to the temple with Mom and I decided to do my bit to reclaim the #bindi tag on Tumblr. #personal #nofilter #notculturalappropriation