Why I hate Indian People…

First of all, thank God we are all still alive!   Another Rapture averted!   I ended up surviving End Times (again).  How about you?  Are you still alive???  Well… are you?  Or do you just exist in this world?

Existential Thoughts Run Through My Head... Whee!!!!

Well, now that the Apocalypse is settled (for now), let us get back to the topic at hand: today’s blog post.   The title of this article presents a problem, as I AM Indian… oh wait.  Oops!  To be honest, I don’t really hate all Indian people.  I think Indians, as a whole, are truly one of the most physically beautiful people in the world.  (I’m biased.) And many of us are doctors, professors, computer engineers, gas station and motel owners (zOMG, there’s smarts too!)   And you can’t argue with our food… c’mon now.  Bring on the spice!  And the basmati rice…

And really, who WOULDN’T want to be Indian?  We have religious ceremonies that involve throwing colored powder (and cold, cold water) at each other!   We dance to bhangra into the wee hours of the morning!   And yes, I will even admit that occasionally, I’ll watch a six hour long Bollywood movie.  I love being Brown: my stupid, crazy Indian culture is what makes me ME!

But being Indian myself, I hold others like me to a higher standard.  As as I grow older, more and more desis* disappoint me.  (For a definition, scroll to the end.)

Let’s set the scene: A local DC nightclub.  I go out on a (rare) late night jaunt with friends for a birthday extravaganza.  We get there at a little bit past 11 PM in our finest club clothes, hair styled, makeup applied expertly; and are immediately whisked right in.  (What can I say???  The birthday girl, a desi herself, knows how to work the VIP line.  Even when we are NOT on the list.  A valuable life skill, I must say…)  And what were we greeted to?!?!???

Substitute a drunk Indian couple... and you get the drift pretty quickly

And we weren’t done yet: Along one wall of said club was a group of Indian guys à la douche…  They exemplified what I refer to as the “Gold Chain Gang.”  (i.e., Ill-fitting suits, hair gel galore… and oh, so much bling!  Natch.)   I know… socially awkward dudes in clubs exist along all races and ethnicities, but oh my god, desi guys lay on the Ax Body spray on thick(!!!!)   I observed two Punjabi Sikh boys trying to pick up a cute little blonde chick.   Oy.  The scene played out as a carbon copy of SNL’s “Night at the Roxbury.”  *Sigh*

night at the roxbury sandwich ]

Now imagine Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell in turbans…

And let’s not forget the single ladies.  They were stunning Indian women all… but their noses were scrunched and stuck up so high up in the sky…  it honestly looked like they were smelling God’s farts.  (Was that blasphemous?  Well, I though it.  So I’ll repeat it just for your benefit…)  They glared at us as if to say:  “Those douches lined up again the wall.  Don’t EVEN think about approaching them.  They’re OURS!”

Ummm… okay.  Seriously.  You can have them.

Almost immediately, I was embarrassed for my race.  This situation plays out regularly in my life, and I don’t understand it.  I love you guys!   But the feelings are not being reciprocated.  (I get it:  It’s not you.  It’s me.)   As a result, I have more American/International friends and acquaintances than my own kind.  And frankly, that’s very sad.  


Where did the second generation go wrong?   We all seem to be messed up, dealing with childhood issues.  Have any of us grown the f- up?  Some may have children and spouses… but we still don’t know how to deal with each other.  Mother country bulls**t such as the state you’re from, language spoken… North or South India… professions, successions… we judge each other on ANYTHING and EVERYTHING!!!!  I don’t want to compete with you.  I left popularity contests behind in high school.  (And yeah, I lost.  And I’m okay with it.)

I keep coming back to this point because I like (some of) you.  But for most, I give up.  Two (and a half) divergent directions emerged:

  • Wow, you became uber-Indian.  Traditional gender roles are still strong with these ones. Women cook, clean and do the laundry.  Men work and ignore the kids at night.  I’m convinced that some of these grown ass men still need their mommies/wives to wipe their asses.
  • You encompass everything stereotypically American (usually Black America, because, hey… you’re a rebel.)  When you’re rolling in your Audi convertible, rims a spinnin’,  L’il Wayne a blarin’,  something’s terribly, terribly wrong with you.  And did you just flash me a gang sign?  Oh, you…  go back to Fairfax County, brotha.
  • Related to, but a bit different to the last point… you’ve become so ashamed of your own culture that you hide it entirely, and try to pass yourselves off as white.  You’re a coconut (brown on the outside, white on the inside)… and sadly, you’re stuck between two worlds, not really accepted in any of them.  What a lonely place to be!

S0me of you might get pissed off because I’m laying some pretty serious stereotypes down.   Yeah, I know:  most ABCDs** are not as obnoxious as I’ve spelled out. You are unique…  just like everyone else.  I  hope that I don’t fall into any of the above paragraphs… I don’t think I do, but I’m sure some people think that I’m a cold hearted b*tch desi as well.  Oh, well, I can’t win every time!

Oh, I give up.  Let’s just spread the haterade, kay?????  That’ll make the world a better place…[/sarcasm]


* Desi: Hindi word… for well, Indian people.
** ABCD: American-Born Confused Desi

Postscript: Because it’s so appropo, here’s some Garfunkel and Oates! Enjoy!

About No Disrespect

A little schmuck in a big world
This entry was posted in Check Please!, Complaints, DC, Friendship, Holy Cow, I'm annoyed, Life, Naughty!, Stupidity and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Why I hate Indian People…

  1. Pingback: (More) Sad Stories of Online Dating |

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