The name “Half and Halves” is derived from the same term used to describe Punjabi-Mexican individuals, typically offspring of Punjabi fathers and Mexican mothers. In the early 1900s, several hundred Punjabis immigrated as farmers to central California and came in contact with the communities of Mexican laborers. In addition to the commonality of family values, spicy-hot food, and zesty song and dance, what drew these communities together was that they were uniformly discriminated against by white society. Legislature forbidding Punjabi men from bringing wives from India and anti-miscegenation laws, which prohibited whites from marrying brown or black people, seeded familial liaisons between Punjabis and Mexicans. Not understanding what race these individuals belonged to, county clerks would simply write “brown” on marriage certificates for Punjabis and Mexicans, and thus began the integration of these two communites.

read more about the punjabi-mexican community here and here.


Pani aur Aag (water and fire) February 2013 & 2012 remnants by Khushi kataria jalpari 
drafting visions for self healing making these visions & hopes manifest delve into cosmic realms future for our people, for ourselves self balance we are all adequate, beautiful souls full of unthinkable potential self hate has its ways of creeping on your palaces of cultivating homegrown shame How do we begin healing from these gashes that opened us up.yeh zakhm /ज़ख़्म
hate feeds on us like predator and prey 
there are immense possibilities among our communities seeds are being planted let’s get this community garden started yall 
I told you, I want to see desis in the cosmos 

need 2 remind myself why i make art


My mother carries
her native tongue
beneath a prison
of foreign sounds,
because being an
immigrant is a life
long sentence.

Her accent comes out
every now and then,
mostly when she is angry;
the years she’s spent
caged beneath her voice
causes words once
familiar to taste bitter,
as if she…

At about 5:00 that evening, they heard the hissing sound of a missile and instinctively bent their heads down. The missile slammed into the center of the room, blowing off the ceiling and roof, and shattering all the windows. The immense pressure from the impact cracked the walls of the attached house, as well as those of the neighboring houses. Our research team reviewed photographs that Faheem showed us, which he said showed the destruction to the home. Faheem, who stated that he was approximately ten footsteps away from the center of the hujra, suffered a fractured skull and received shrapnel wounds and burns all over the left side of his body and face. All others in the hujra-at least seven, but as many as 15 people-were killed.

In the moments after the strike, Faheem said he “could not think.” “I felt my brain stopped working and my heart was on fire,” stated Faheem. “My entire body was burning like crazy.” Faheem wanted to splash water on his face, but he could not find any. After a few minutes of confusion, he stumbled out of the gate of his hujra, where neighbors found him. They quickly gathered Faheem into a pickup truck and rushed him to a government hospital in Mir Ali, a ten-minute drive away, according to Faheem. Medics there bandaged his wounds and transferred him to another hospital in Bannu, the closest major city outside FATA, where doctors operated to remove shrapnel from his abdomen and repair damage to his leg, arm, and eyes. Following the surgery, Faheem was transferred to a private hospital in Peshawar, where he remained for at least 23 days. In the end, Faheem lost his left eye, which has since been replaced by an artificial one; he also lost his hearing in one ear as a result of damage to his eardrum. His vision in his right eye is still blurred, requiring ongoing treatment, and he now has only limited mobility.
Faheem’s cousin Ejaz Ahmad, who lives just a few kilometers away, did not attend the gathering in the hujra that evening, and was instead at a friend’s home. He discovered the next morning that his paternal uncle, Khush Dil Khan, in whose hardware store Ejaz worked, died in the strike. “The bodies were completely destroyed,” Ejaz stated. “All we could retrieve was the torso and upwards.”


What it is like to be Hit by a Drone Strike

The article ends with this line:

Later that year, Barack Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

(via fearandwar)

(via fuckyeahsouthasia)

On this day in 1948



Sri Lanka gains independence from the United Kingdom as the Dominion of Ceylon.


4th of February

(Source: Wikipedia)

A Racist Turn in India



If you want to know what’s going on concerning the latest news headlines of the racism against Africans happening in India, this op-ed from the NYTimes will put a lot of it into perspective.

NEW DELHI — The Africans — Nigerians, Ghanaians, Ugandans — began leaving my neighborhood in New Delhi around December. Each week, more and more families exited. Some went to parts of Delhi considered more accepting of Africans; others to areas where the residents were thought to be less interfering in general. I have heard that some of the Ghanaian families had gone back to Africa, but I don’t know that for sure.

For years, they had been a part of the swirl of cultures, languages and races that makes up this part of the capital. The Nigerian women in their bright dresses out for evening strolls and the Cameroonian family with the curious-eyed baby at the ice-cream van had made a life for themselves alongside the Afghans, Tamils and Iranians.

On Oct. 31, about a month before the departures started, a Nigerian national, rumored to have been in the drug trade, was found dead in Goa. Nigerians in the coastal state protested his murder as an act of racism, while posters read: “We want peace in Goa. Say no to Nigerians. Say no to drugs.” One state minister threatened to throw out Nigerians living illegally. Another equated them with a cancer. He later apologized, adding that he hadn’t imagined there would be a “problem” with his statement.

The controversy has reverberated across the country, including in Delhi, 1,200 miles away, where the tolerance of African neighbors has turned into suspicion and even hostility.

One night, a police constable rang my doorbell. “Have you seen any man from the Congo entering and leaving the building?” he asked. “African man,” he clarified. He said he had received a report that a local resident was friendly with Africans, and he wanted to know, was this true? The question surprised me; neighborhood battles here are waged over water and parking spaces, not over ethnicity. Now neighbors had become nervous of neighbors.

Once the African communities had been singled out, complaints against them bubbled up like filthy water, in Jangpura, in Khirki Extension, in the alleyways off Paharganj, anywhere in Delhi they lived.

The fragile hospitality gave way to a familiar litany of intolerance: They were too loud, exuberant and dirty; the women were loose, the men looked you directly in the eye, they were drug takers and traffickers, and worse.

Residents of Khirki Extension, whose rambling lanes had seen an influx of artists, journalists and migrants, conducted their own investigation of their African neighbors, which they called the “black beauty” sting.

Coinciding with the city’s darkening mood, the newly elected Aam Aadmi Party in Delhi started a wave of cleanups as part of its mission to control “lawlessness.” The city’s law minister, Somnath Bharti, led a raid into Khirki Extension, claiming to be acting on residents’ complaints that Nigerians and Ugandans were involved in prostitution and drug trafficking. Media reports suggest that on the night of Jan. 15, he entered Africans’ homes with a group of vigilantes, without a warrant. In the fracas, a Ugandan woman was allegedly forced to give a urine sample, on the street, in the middle of the crowd. After she filed a complaint, Delhi’s court ordered the Police Department to pursue her case against Mr. Bharti.

These recent events have awakened dormant prejudices against Africans in India, aggravated by our tendency to prize fair skin over dark. “Habshi,” derived from the word “Abyssinian,” has become a common epithet for people of African descent.

So, on one hand, the racist turn in Delhi and Goa is unsurprising. On the other hand, we have a long, and neglected, history of cross-migration with Africa. While Indians have been settling on that continent since at least the 15th century, African roots in India run even deeper. Africans were brought over in numbers around the 13th century as slaves, but also as generals, guards, merchants, bodyguards and craftsmen. Many never went back. Now tens of thousands are here to study, and others work as chefs and in the garment and textile businesses, among other industries.

Despite our close ties and the shared history of colonialism, Africa doesn’t figure on the Indian map of curiosity and desire. Our admiration of China’s economic prowess is commonplace and unabashed; we are obsessed with the West, in terms of education, ideals of beauty and economic might. But Africa is invisible. Racist views can be spouted without consequence. Africa simply doesn’t matter.

There will be few repercussions for the Aam Aadmi Party if it continues with blanket policies against Africans. The party won on the promise of change, yet here it is, proving that it shares the same blindness as other, older parties.

These days, the Afghans and Indians stroll in my neighborhood park, enjoying the winter breeze. The Ghanaian and Cameroonian families moved away when their landlords doubled the rent only for them; the young Nigerian women left after one police visit too many.

Delhi’s residents say that the city belongs to everybody, because it belongs to nobody. As Bangalore and Mumbai became insular possessions, with political parties often driving out anyone who was from elsewhere, the capital claimed that it had room for all kinds of migrants, expats and outsiders. If the Aam Aadmi Party continues the divisiveness that older parties have excelled at, we’ll soon find reasons to go after all the people who live differently from “us,” who don’t belong here, who should go back to the places they came from.

Nilanjana S. Roy is an essayist and critic, and author of the novel “The Wildings.”


(via youarenotdesi)

The ethnic conflict between the Sinhalese and Tamils in Sri Lanka has a history spanning more than 100 years. It began when Sri Lanka was under the British colonial rule, as resentment was created when the Tamil minority was privileged over the Sinhalese for jobs and educational opportunities. The reversed happened when Sri Lanka became independent in 1948, as the Sri Lankan government passed the Ceylon Citizenship Act and the ‘Sinhala Only’ Official Language Act, making life increasingly difficult for the Tamils.

Ethnic violence errupted during the 1950s and 1960s as a result of the perceived unfair treatment. Further unhappiness was caused with the introduction of new and more stringent university admission criteria for Tamils after 1970 to limit their enrolment in university, as well as the resettlement policy implemented during the 1950s, when Sinhalese peasants, Buddhist monks and even the Sri Lankan Army moved in and took over areas occupied by Tamils. The unjust treatment of Tamils was the impetus for the formation of the Tamil United Liberation Front, a new political party created to fight for Tamil rights.

Out of this arose the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE aka Tamil Tigers), a youth militant group who adopted violence as a means to achieve their goal - to have a separate and independent Tamil state.

-Sharon Teng, Conflict and Harmony in Multi-Ethnic Societies, National Library of Singapore (via browngirlsintherain)

(Source: libguides.nl.sg, via fuckyeahsouthasia)