#I imagined him a British Indian man

[youremyheaven]

Moon Dominance & Manipulation pt 3

I just keep finding more examples and I couldn't not share. They will vary in terms of the severity of abuse and manipulation. Some are quite silly but some are pretty fcked up. Salty Moon dominants who cannot stand being criticized, stay mad boo 😘you will never stop me from speaking my truth<3

One thing I have noticed about Moon dominant individuals is that they completely seem to believe the lies they tell others. They don't think they're being manipulative at the slightest because they fully believe everything they say, no matter how absurd or outlandish it is. This means that Moon dominants are easily influenced and can be manipulated easily even if they are also capable of blatantly manipulating and deceiving others. I see Moon dominants stuck in unhealthy relationships simply because they'll just play mind games with their partner until the day they die instead of just choosing peace.

Katrina Kaif, Hasta Moon

Katrina has lied about being half-Indian and half-white her entire career to be more "relatable" to Indians. no one knows who her father is or how exactly she grew up and how a British woman like her ended up modelling and acting in India at the age of 17. She's now one of the biggest stars in the country and to this day no one knows much about her background.

She is one of 8 siblings, all of whom are extremely white looking

it is possible that Katrina is mixed while her siblings are not but it's also possible that she just inherited a more olive complexion compared to her siblings??

this is a picture of Kat and some of her siblings as kids, this man vaguely looks like he could be POC but there are plenty of spicy white men who have darker features/hair & eye color?

if this is the father in question, his name is Ronald Turcotte (Katrina's birth name is Kate Turcotte, she "Indianized" her name to be Katrina Kaif when she made her debut 20+yrs ago) and this is a pic of him with his current wife:

He literally just looks like a regular white guy with some Italian ancestry or something.

Katrina has not only lied about being "half-Indian" but also said her father's name is Mohammad Kaif and that he was a Kashmiri businessman lmao

The producer of her first film who introduced her to Bollywood said:

 "We created an identity for her. She was this pretty young English girl, and we gave her the Kashmiri father and thought of calling her Katrina Kazi. We thought we'd give her some kind of Indian ancestry, to connect with the audience ... But then we thought that Kazi sounded too ... religious? ... Mohammad Kaif was at the top, and so we said, Katrina Kaif sounds really great" (for context, Mohammad Kaif is the name of a well known cricketer)

She once said:

 “Probably it may sound very stupid. You know you must have seen enough and your friends, how you have dark children who grew up to be fair. I was a very dark child so there was no way that you would look at me and say this is a Caucasian child. I was always viewed upon as oh how exotic or how ethnic."

Even Emily Ratajkowski is very non-white looking for a white woman, imagine if she started claiming that she "feels" ethnic as she "looks" ethnic.

Here are some excerpts from a 2011 interview:

The complicated politics of a tan skin white woman feeling validated by being comparatively light skinned in a deeply colorist country like India and lying about being half-Indian is just ..... 🤢🤮🤢

Bella Hadid- Hasta Sun

Bella, her brother and mother all suffer from a condition called "chronic Lyme disease". Gigi, the only person who does not have Lyme, has Hashimoto's disease.

Lets get a few things out of the way. Lyme disease is a real, entirely treatable and completely curable illness. All you have to do is take antibiotics and you'll make a full recovery in about 2 weeks.

Chronic Lyme disease is a different condition and widely debunked by the medical community for not being a real condition.

Wikipedia defines Chronic Lyme as:

"Chronic Lyme disease is the name used by some people with non-specific symptoms, such as fatigue, muscle pain, and cognitive dysfunction to refer to their condition, even if there is no evidence that they had Lyme disease."

That said, Bella and her mom have been talking about their struggles with Lyme disease for over a decade now. Medical professionals all deny the existence of this condition and both Bella and Yolanda (her mom) are treated by various quack, pseudoscientific "alternative" medicine practitioners who are more or less ill qualified and not real doctors.

When Bella was 16yrs old, she was arrested for driving under the influence and this was literally addressed on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, the show that her mother starred in. Yolanda used to write a blog for Bravo in which she expressed her thoughts about this incident and she also mentioned writing a long letter to Bella.

Yolanda's dad died in a car accident when she was 7 and she was very frightened by Bella's accident but also relieved that neither she nor anybody else was injured.

That letter she wrote was somehow leaked and is available on the internet. Here it goes:

Interestingly enough, Bella was diagnosed with "chronic lyme" 👀in the same year. Bella once mentioned that she started smoking cigarettes at 14yrs old and clearly by 16 she was drunk driving with a cocktail of substances stashed in her car. Bella's old tumblr blog that has been widely circulated also reveals that she struggled with an eating disorder at this time and perhaps depression as well.

I mention all this because I have always suspected Bella of using "chronic lyme" as a cover up for her struggles with substance abuse and her eating disorder. Even all the symptoms for chronic lyme are so vague that pretty much anybody could experience them, but their occurrence is greatly exacerbated if one suffers from stress/anxiety/is abusing drugs etc (more on this in a minute).

In an interview, Bell said of her DUI:

"I stopped driving because I kept crashing, because my brain just stopped working.’ She had an accident — ‘It was when I first got sick. It was a dark time’ — which was reported in the press as a DUI. ‘I was exhausted all the time. It affected my memory so I suddenly wouldn’t remember how to drive to Santa Monica from Malibu where I lived. I couldn’t ride. I was just too sick. And I had to sell my horse because I couldn’t take care of it.’ It was an emotional blow on top of the physical."

Now the thing is, Yolanda mentioned in her own blog post that Bella went to AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meetings as mandated by the court:

"I decided to take her phone away, make her pay for her own lawyer bills from her savings, and we sold her car. The court suspended her license for one year, she received six months probation, and was required to conduct 25 hours of community service and 20 hours of AA meetings."

She likely stopped driving because Yolanda got on her ass and sold her car lol?? As Yolanda herself said??? Yolanda never said one word about Lyme and she's pretty much the self-appointed spokesperson for Lyme so the fact that in her own blog post literally right after the accident, she addresses the issue for what it is makes Bella's later remarks of her being tOo siCk tO drIvE sound like a lie 🤥

This is an easy example of how Moon dominants manipulate the truth to suit their narrative and make themselves look better. Bella made her debut later that year and it would look bad if everyone saw Bella as a spoilt bratty nepo baby who was also a teenage alcoholic riding her sister's coattails into modelling. Also you have to remember, Bella was the less popular sister back then and she only became an icon and it girl by like 2019ish.

It suited Bella and later Yolanda to keep pushing the chronic lyme agenda to win sympathy.

Also just btw, I think Yolanda is super fucked up and this letter offers an interesting look into her mind. She is Uttarashada Sun and Jyeshta Moon and I think its sooo bizarre how her daughter almost died in a car crash and all she can talk about is how dirty and messy the car is??? Why isn't she talking about Bella being drunk out of her mind or about her alcohol habit in general??? Why is she not pointing out her actual concerning lifestyle instead of "oh my god youre soooo messy and im soooo sad" ??? anywayyys

Ever since then, chronic lyme has been Bella's go to to describe everything about herself. Symptoms that could easily be from stress, anxiety, depression, addiction, starving herself etc are all blamed on a non-existent condition. When actual doctors say the condition does not exist and you and your mom claim it does, I think it says something 😬

Also, Yolanda was sick during the filming of her reality show and it was found out that her breast implants had ruptured and the silicon was leaking into her bloodstream and making her sick. She later said it was Chronic Lyme instead lmfaooo. So there is plenty of proof that both mom and daughter are just making this shit up.

one thing I cannot stand about Moon dominants is how they constantly seek validation for everything they do and love to win sympathy. Meghan Markle, Hasta Moon is another example. Sympathy capitalist, Selena Gomez (Cancer stellium) is another example.

What exactly was Bella trying to prove by posting pictures of her looking very out of it?? To prove to people that she is indeed sick?? There are many celebs out there who struggle with chronic illnesses, are they posting pics from their treatment??? Overall, it feels very "🥺🥺poor me, im so grateful despite everything, im so strong, look at how much i suffer and struggle!!!" as if she's trying to downplay any privilege bashing she may get by counteracting it with a "im extremely sick" narrative bc no one can hate on someone who is ill even if that is a fictional illness.

There were rumours all of last year that she took a break from modelling to go to rehab and she had also broken up with her then bf.

look at those symptoms and tell me you haven't experienced those at some point lmao. I used to struggle with severe anxiety many years ago and an eating disorder several years ago and I experienced pretty much all of those symptoms. I say this because those symptoms by itself are really vague and not specific to any one illness.

another really sus issue is why Bella felt the need to post pics of her medical history??? like she's a model not running for President lmao,,,, its obvious that she really wants to be perceived as struggling with chronic lyme. Most people with a health issue stay quiet about it (their issues are also actual illnesses but oh well)

This is a screenshot of a lab test she posted:

A clinical lab scientist who performs tests on infectious diseases (like Lyme) said:

First off, having this amount and varied pathogens within your body at once is not impossible but is highly unusual. Even one of these pathogens would make a patient extraordinarily ill. If I were performing PCR and got that many positives, I would 100% not release results until a consult with an infectious disease MD.

In that list, there are bloodborne bacteria and viruses, intestinal parasites, many of which have nothing to do with Lyme disease.

That last page is important. The source states "urine". There are virtually no PCR tests performed on urine currently because pathogens are not usually shed through urine and often urine is contaminated by urogenital flora. This is the ARUP tickborne PCR panel which details out which pathogens would be tested for and the type of sample they would need (blood). ARUP is a large reference lab in the US and performs some rare tests. Again, it's extremely unlikely to see that many pathogens positive in one sample.

All of this is to say, Miss ma'am Bella Hadid faked her hospital records by paying some quack guy for it and put it on IG for sympathy 😬💀💀

I have nothing against Bella, I think she's iconic but her spreading literal medical misinformation to millions of impressionable people who eat up her every word is absolutely dangerous, unprofessional and awful and I sincerely hope she's called out/exposed for it.

first of all, none of these words mean absolutely anything.

"energy is in proper balance" ??? "alkaline tissue pH"? ?? just say you dont have a medical degree and goooo

On this document it says the test was conducted by 'Manhattan Advanced Medicine'.

Here is an excerpt from Manhattan Advanced Medicine's LinkedIn page:

Do they sound like legitimate doctors to you?? They're just one of those scammy New Age-y alternate medicine places that rich people with money to blow, go to, so they feel better about themselves.

I sincerely hope Bella gets actual treatment for her real struggles with mental health/ED/potential substance issues etc and I hope she has the strength to admit to herself that she's using a fictional narrative to gain sympathy from others and as a coping mechanism to avoid dealing with her real problems. Bella grew up as the middle child and felt neglected by Yolanda pretty much, some say that the whole "chronic Lyme" has probably become the only bonding activity for the two of them and the only time Bella felt like she was loved by her mom (which is so sad) which is why she's been going on with it for 10yrs now. Whatever it may be, I hope they all get better.

Elizabeth Holmes- Shravana Sun

Many of you are probably already familiar with scammer Liz Holmes

She was founder and CEO of Theranos, a blood-testing company.

Prosecutors accused Holmes of intentionally misleading investors and patients. Out of the more than 200 blood tests advertised, the in-house “Edison” machines could perform a very small number themselves and could not provide accurate results. Holmes is also alleged to have lied about the scale of the company's profits. 

Two of the most striking examples of the Theranos machines’ faulty test results were two female patients. One of the women was diagnosed as HIV positive but the finding was refuted by further blood tests. A second woman who had suffered several miscarriages received test results from Theranos during her pregnancy which indicated that she had lost her baby once again. The test was faulty and she later gave birth to a healthy baby. Internal emails, however, revealed that the start-up concealed the erroneous results from investors and business partners by using a modified demo device or by partially hiding test results from them. 

The prosecution also presented a 55-page report in which Theranos officials added the logos of pharmaceutical companies GlaxoSmithKline, Pfizer and Schering-Plough to give the impression that they had approved the technology. However, a scientist employed by Pfizer testified that he found the start-up’s claims to be implausible and advised Pfizer not to collaborate. The prosecutors were able to show that Theranos had nevertheless sent the report with the subsequently inserted logos to investors and business partners. 

The interesting thing about Moon dominants and their manipulation is that unlike Saturn which is direct and in your face with how awful it is, Moon natives deceive and pretend. You will never realise the truth until you learn to look for it. With a Saturnian, you can always tell because they dont know how to hide it.

Moon does not have any light of its own. Moon also does not have a fixed form. Its waxing one day, waning the next. So it makes sense as to why these natives "manipulate" or "distort" the truth, since its kind of in their nature, to do so?

This brought me to an interesting observation of how Moon dominants seem to completely fall for pseudoscientific stuff. Bella, whom I already mentioned is one example but there are many more.

So, in Hinduism, the Moon God is named 'Soma' but the word 'Soma' is also used to refer to an intoxicating drink.

In the Vedas, the word Soma was actually primarily used for an intoxicating and energizing/healing plant drink and the deity could have received his name from the drink potentially?👀

The Hindu texts state that the Moon is lit and nourished by the Sun, and that it is Moon where the divine nectar of immortality resides.

In some Indian texts, Soma is the name of an apsara; alternatively it is the name of any medicinal concoction, or rice-water gruel, or heaven and sky, as well as the name of certain places of pilgrimage.

Whilst this connotation can explain their dizzying relationship with presenting the truth and how absolutely convinced they are of their own lies (Moon dominants manipulate others but are also easily manipulated tbh, they are both predator and prey). I think mythological backdrop also explains why so many Moon dominants are always kind of on the hunt for the elixir of life by adopting all kinds of New Age-y, holistic, spiritual 'alternative' medicine/lifestyle/treatment etc.

The thing is, there is truth to herbal remedies and holistic living but Moon dominants seldom pursue the truth of these practices, they always pick the weirdest, strangest stuff that absolutely helps no one and is most definitely a scam.

Gwyneth Paltrow- Hasta Sun & Mercury, Rohini Moon, Venus in Ashlesha atmakaraka

Lady Goop is a classic example of how Moon dominants can be very deluded with their "alternate" therapies/lifestyle. Moon dominants are easily confused and the path of wellness and spirituality is paved with many distractions to weed out the unworthy. Many get lost in this completely and mistake this Maya for the truth. Miss Gwyneth is one of them.

I have beef with this bc some of Goop's stuff is stupid but harmless (vagina candles, anyone?) but other times, she literally spreads dangerous medical advice to a very large audience (just like Bella).

On her website, she has an article about how to treat 'Candida' (a real condition which she has approached in a very pseudoscientific way). The symptoms, like Bella's, are vague, and include bloating, dandruff, sugar cravings, a bad memory and fatigue. Diagnosis includes something called a urine organix dysbiosis test (Bella's diagnosis also included a liver dysbiosis lmao) , while treatment involves limiting yourself to one piece of fruit a day and “overpowering the yeast” with anti-fungal supplements.

In 2017, Paltrow suggested women should insert a $66 egg shaped jade or rose quartz stone into their vagina to help “increase vaginal muscle tone, hormonal balance, and feminine energy in general.” Users were encouraged to thread dental floss through a purpose-built hole to help with releasing the egg. After facing backlash from gynaecologists over its dubious health claims and potential harmful results including toxic shock syndrome, Goop settled a $145,000 lawsuit for “unsubstantiated” marketing claims.

In Daoist sexual teachings, this is actually a legit practice but a white woman appropriating it and then selling it does not sit right with me :// and also its to be used along with a strict spiritual practice and has to be performed according to proper techniques. Obviously eastern spirituality is suuuper commercialized in the west and its reduced to sticking jade eggs up inside you and misses the very important context and tradition its rooted in and also sticking factory produced and probably chemically treated anything INSIDE U, is not a good idea??

A 2018 detox guide recommended an at-home coffee enema kit to stimulate users’ intestines from the comfort of their own home. A couple of years later, while hooked up to a vitamin drip on The Art of Being Well podcast, Paltrow revealed she had also “used ozone therapy, rectally,” a procedure which involves pumping oxygen via catheter into the colon. Scientists immediately dismissed Paltrow’s health claims.

In 2017, Goop suggested that anyone who wanted to “rebalance the energy frequency in our bodies” should try placing Body Vibes stickers on their arms or near their heart. The site claimed the stickers ($120 for a pack of 24) were “made with the same conductive carbon material Nasa uses to line space suits so they can monitor an astronaut’s vitals”. A fact that was quickly debunked when Nasa confirmed that they “do not have any conductive carbon material lining the spacesuits.”

There's a lot more but I'll stop here for now. Gwyneth is convinced of the validity of her claims and does not see anything wrong with it. This is how Moon dominants are and thats what makes their manipulation so damaging.

Andrew Huberman- Rohini Moon

He is a neuroscientist and wellness podcaster called "Goop for bros".

His protocols for good living involve things like taking enormous amounts of expensive supplements, ensuring you view early morning sunlight for 10-30 minutes after waking, carefully timing when you drink coffee and plunging yourself in ice baths. (probiotics and supplements are a complete scam, there are studies proving they do absolutely nothing for u)

He has covered everything from creativity to hair loss and despite having no professional expertise on all the things he covers, he acts like he does lmao

Huberman was exposed for taking steroids to achieve his body while he was promoting "wellness" and telling people to take cold showers and work out and eat clean etc lmao. He also reportedly earned millions from running adverts for dietary products and wellness supplements.

He went from science expert to guru. He used to have discussions of how the brain and body respond to certain stimuli but later extended that to broad prescriptions for lifestyle and dietary modification which he is not qualified to do??

Last month he was exposed for having 5 different girlfriends who all thought they were in an exclusive relationship with him.

Sarah, says she was in a relationship with Huberman for around three years, and had been undergoing IVF treatment to have a child with him when she found he had been having unprotected sex with at least five other women at the same time.

Her suspicions were aroused when she contracted a high-risk form of HPV, a sexually transmitted infection linked to cervical cancer, despite having been tested for ten years.

Along with Sarah, others known only as Eve, Mary, Alex, and an unknown fifth and potentially sixth, were all romantically associated with him - some having been led to believe they were exclusive for years. All believed that other exes in Huberman’s life had been “stalkers, alcoholics, and compulsive liars” according to the report. (Moon dominants manipulating the truth to suit them)

“I’m at the stage of life where I truly want to build a family,” he told Eve while he was reportedly involved with several others. “That’s a resounding theme for me.”

Yet, despite the reassuring words he appeared to be chronically unreliable disappearing for extended periods of time with no indication of his whereabouts.

For a man interested in promoting personal growth, he also appeared to be unapologetic about deceiving his therapists, of which he has had several over the years.

“We were at dinner once and he told me something personal, and I suggested he talk to his therapist,” shared Eve. “He laughed it off like that wasn’t ever going to happen, so I asked him if he lied to his therapist. He told me he did all the time.”

Despite his dismissal of therapy, the podcaster appears to have maximised the use of “therapy-speak” to familiarise himself with the internal experiences of many women.

“I hear you are saying you are angry and hurt,” he texted Sarah as she discovered journal entries about his infidelity. “I will hear you as much and as long as needed for us.”

“Your feelings matter,” he told Eve on a day when he had injected his girlfriend Sarah with hCG as part of their IVF treatment. “I’m actually very much a caretaker.”

Discussing sex addiction with another woman, Huberman denied he was a sex addict instead referring to himself as a “love addict”.

On one day in March, the women realised that Huberman had flown Mary thousands of miles from Texas to LA to stay with him in Topanga, California, some six-hour drive from where Sarah stayed in Berkeley. On that same day, he left Mary at home with his dog as he drove to a coffee shop to meet Eve to have a serious conversation about their relationship.

Anywayyys, thats enough about him. He's a cheating, conniving, manipulative asshole.

Oprah Winfrey- Shravana Sun

Oprah has used her platform to air dangerous pseudoscience for decades.

In 2007, The Oprah Winfrey Show, the no. 1 talk show for 23 consecutive seasons, welcomed former Playboy model and MTV host Jenny McCarthy. 

The program gave McCarthy carte blanche to share a theory: that her son’s autism resulted from vaccines laced with hazardous chemicals. Despite a lack of concrete scientific evidence, McCarthy was lauded for her “warrior spirit” to speak up for other concerned moms. The lasting damage this has done to the country is concerning bc now it seems there are more antivaxxers than ever before.

The longest-reigning queen of daytime television promoted New Age scams, pushed unsustainable fad diets, and anointed problematic faith healers like John of God (now imprisoned) or pseudoscientific doctors like Dr. Oz. She sold us on magical thinking. 

Indeed, before the “Goop-ification of wellness,” there was the “Oprah-fication of medicine.”

In the ‘80s, Oprah helped fuel the satanic ritual abuse / repressed memories panic by interviewing folks like the author of the later-debunked memoir Michelle Remembers. In the ‘90s, she had “women’s health expert” Christiane Northrup—a quack physician who spewed nonsense like thyroid dysfunction stems from women not speaking up enough (an “energy blockage”), that love can heal AIDS, and mammograms aren’t safe—on her show 12 times. In the early aughts, she promoted the feel-good gibberish that is The Secret, insinuating positive thoughts were all that separated you from success, riches, and yes, even medical recoveries.

And remember when Oprah notoriously hosted Suzanne Somers in 2009? The actress touted injecting hormones directly into one’s vagina to stave off aging and menopausal hot flashes, along with downing 40 supplements daily.

Like Gwyneth and Huberman, Oprah sold pseudoscience to millions of people who didnt know any better to make hugeeee profits. I am pretty sure Bella will follow suit and also set up a vitamin supplement business in the near future and it will probably also be her downfall.

Song JiA- Shravana Moon

She became extremely popular after her appearance on the show Single's Inferno and there are hundreds of videos trying to analyse why all the men on that show went ape for her lol

But she was exposed for wearing fake designer stuff lmao?? Koreans be wilding

Her career came to a standstill after that and she hasn't done much since.

Agatha Christie, Hasta Moon & Mercury, Jupiter in Shravana in 1h

aside from the fact that she wrote murder mystery books that were known for misleading the reader (a more fun manifestation of Moon's tendency to manipulate?) she also had some other tendencies:

On the evening of Friday 3 December 1926, Agatha Christie left her home in Sunningdale, Berkshire, got into her car and disappeared into the night. Her disappearance sparked a manhunt involving the police, members of the public and famous figures and was lapped up by the tabloid press.

In the aftermath of Agatha’s disappearance both Archie Christie (her husband) and his mistress Nancy Neale were under suspicion and a huge manhunt was undertaken by thousands of policemen and eager volunteers. A local lake known as the Silent Pool was also dredged in case life had imitated art and Agatha had met the same fate of one of her unfortunate characters. Famous faces also waded in to the mystery with the then Home Secretary William Joynson-Hicks putting pressure on police to find the writer, and fellow mystery writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle seeking the help of a clairvoyant to find Agatha using one of her gloves as a guide.

She was found living at a hotel under the name Theresa Neale (yeah she used the mistresses' last name). She apparently did not recognise her husband when he went to see her at the hotel and they divorced not long after?

The nature of the Moon is ever shifting, watery , always projecting and I think its interesting how Agatha, who found out about the affair pulled that stunt to cope perhaps. I have noticed this with many Moon dominants, if they learn of something depressing, they will immediately distract themselves with something else and pretend that issue is more concerning??? Or they will pull a stunt and redirect everybody's attention there. They are veryyy image conscious, so this could be bc of that. After all, being remembered for her strange disappearance is better than being perceived as the woman he cheated on and left, I guess.

St Vincent- Hasta Sun & Mercury, Shravana Moon

This is kinda innocuous but she lied about being a Kate Bush fan lol??

What I mean by this is that she said two different things on Kate Bush and on how she was introduced. In 2007 she was interviewed with Pitchfork and said "this may sound really silly-- but I just discovered Kate Bush, probably six months ago, and I think she's so great. I know I'm very late to the party here [ laughs ], I know this is old news, but I got a Kate Bush record, and I forget-- I think "The Dreaming" is on it, though I'm spacing on the name of the record. [The Dreaming --Ed.] It has Kate Bush in this totally miraculous ascot, too, on the back [ laughs ]. She just went for it. It's so great. She totally went for it." (http://pitchfork.com/features/guest-lists/6680-st-vincent/)

Now that doesn't sound so bad on it's own, but in 2014 during the Kate Bush documentary she said a completely different story on how she got introduced to Kate Bush around 46:47 and said "I still remember going to the CD World and buying The Sensual World when I was sixteen. And the cover, there’s a rose in front of her mouth that has bloomed, she’s got big wide eyes. And I remember, you know, putting it in the shitty car stereo on the way home, and you know, my life was forever changed.” (https://youtu.be/c4sLwt8mhZs?t=46m49s)

Its the detailll thats giving Moon dominant manipulation lmao

Alfred Nobel- Shravana Moon

 He is known for inventing dynamite as well as having bequeathed his fortune to establish the Nobel Prize. So now no one remembers him for being the horrible man he was lol.

He made millions selling explosives and then decided to manipulate his legacy as that of a philanthropist.

Mahatma Gandhi- Hasta Sun, Ashlesha Moon

In 1903, when Gandhi was in South Africa, he wrote that white people there should be "the predominating race." He also said black people "are troublesome, very dirty and live like animals."

Gandhi championed women in politics. But he was also obsessed with his own celibacy. In his late 70s, before he died at 78, he slept naked with his grandniece when she was in her late teens. He said he wanted to test his willpower to abstain from sex.

Gandhi denied life saving treatment to his wife. She was in bed, extremely sick from pneumonia and he refused to let the doctors administer her with penicillin.

Instead of giving her the medicine, Gandhi decided to fill the room with followers who sang devotional songs, as per the book. The next day, on 22nd February 1944, Kasturba Gandhi died. He said, “’How God has tested my faith! ‘If I had allowed you to give her penicillin, it could not have saved her. But it would have meant bankruptcy of faith on my part… And she passed away in my lap! Could it be better? I am happy beyond measure.”

Going by the rigidness of Gandhi against modern medicine, one may think he had observed the same for himself and other associates. But the case was different. Interestingly, records show that he had undergone repeated medical tests and surgery throughout his life though Kasturba was denied penicillin.

Manu was Gandhi’s grandniece and was used by him as one of the participants in his so-called ‘experiments with celibacy’ where he used to sleep naked with girls and had naked girls bathe him. She was often seen with Gandhi, who used her and Abha, another grandniece, as support while walking.

Manuben’s diaries revealed that Gandhi used to control almost every aspect of her life, including food, education, sleeping, rest schedule, and even the clothes she wore. She even used to sleep in the same bed with him.

Moon dominants twist the truth as and when it suits them. They can be controlling, manipulative liars who parade around as virtuous, kind hearted and generous people. Most people on this list have a good reputation. This is the danger of Moon influence; very few people see the darkness that truly lurks within them.

Obviously this only applies to unevolved Lunar people<3

[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow.  The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.  

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you.  Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.  

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover.  Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[akajustmerry]

I haven't seen chibnall but I have a hard time imagining being worse than moffat. I'm sure it's possible but that man... he was bad. also out of curiosity what's the problem with eccleston? or did you just use his name as a reference for which era was rtd. feel free to ignore this if you like, I hope you have a good day!

hellooo!

look, you won't hear me arguing moffat wasn't bad but believe me Chibnall was worse. He wrote an entire sequence where the Doctor tricks the Master (then played by British-Indian actor Sacha Dhawan) into being caught by the Nazis, knowing what the Nazis would do to him. Like, the Doctor, presenting as a white woman, handed over the Master, her best friend presenting as a Brown man to the most notorious white supremacist regimes in history. And that moment was framed as a successful ploy!! As a "win" for the Doctor.

I'm sorry but, to me, Moffats fucking decrepit cringe Gen X Misogyny did nowhere near as much damage as thoughtlessly portraying the Doctor as someone who will literally use Nazism against a poc and framing it as clever girlboss behaviour. Like, it's not fun that these are the people we have to choose from but one of these things is not like the other.

As for the Eccleston stuff, I was referring to Christopher Eccleston's conflict with the BBC and by extension implied conflict with RTD. The full details of the conflict have never been fully made public but Eccleston has always maintained he quit the show due to the culture created by the show runners and producers. He's said he'd never work with RTD again. Eccleston implied that one of the reasons the relationship between himself and RTD broke down was Eccleston's desire for the Doctor to be a role model whose intellect wasn't inherently tied to being upper class English and had to really fight to use his natural accent. It's worth noting that the we wouldn't have a Doctor without an RP (received pronunciation) accent again until Capaldi. David even mentioned Russell's "enthusiasm" for DT to speak in RP not his natural accent in his interview with Jodie in 2020.

I want to believe that RTD has grown since the mid 00s, and perhaps this time around things will be different. But I think a lot of people point to Moffat as the worst because his bigotry is the most visible and easiest to critique. It's more popular and acceptable to critique sexism against white women than it is to critique racism and classism. But in reality all of these showrunners are white British men who have pulled white British bullshit and I won't stand for Chibnall and Davies shortcomings being scapegoated via Moffat.

Also, this is not a defense necessarily but a lot of people who hate moffat era who did NOT watch Capaldi's seasons and did not watch season 10 with Bill Potts. So their critique often lacks the perspective of Moffat's best season that proves he's capable of writing something genuinely compelling that's not gross and sexiest. Like it genuinely infuriates me when people talk about "moffat who" but they're only really talking about Matt Smiths seasons. Again none of that is a defence but it's just to say that most people who say Moffat is the worst are people who a) are really talking about Sherlock, which, fair enough that was shit b) people who just think 10th Doctor best Doctor and don't actually care about anything after that era in any meaningful way. Or c) people who have a pretty incomplete view of the series was and where it currently is.

omg this is long sorry I hope I don't sound rude I'm not trying to be I just have so many thoughts about this. I hope this answers your question, please let me know if I need to clarify anything <3

[redbreastedbird]

hi Robin, I've always wondered whether George and Harold are mixed race or fully ethincally indian? As far as I can remember their mum is never described, and as a mixed race person (indian and white) I always assumed that he was like me and his father married a brittish woman, but I've realised it was never stated? George has always been my favourite character, so thank you for writing him anyway!

Super good question! I think his mum probably is white - the man I based his father on married a white woman, and I think that was fairly common at the time for someone like him in the UK. The person I (partly) based George on is also mixed race like you … but because I haven’t ever introduced his mother in the books I’m currently happy for everyone to imagine him in the way they prefer. If there ever was a TV show I would tell the casting directors to look at actors who are both British Indian and mixed race Indian/white.

[girljeremystrong]

cat!!!! hi!!!! i want to get my non-reader friend into reading. he probs won't read anything over 150-200 pages so i'm trying to find an entertaining short book. all the short books i love are essays or philosophy or things i think he could like in time but would probably find dry at the start (especially cause he hasn't read anything recreationally for years). so im at a loss and wanted to know if u have any recs for short books that are page-turners/easy to read <3 hope ur having a good day beloved xo

hello my love <3

first of all sorry for replying late but i was sleeping and then i had to go to the BANK but anyway i have compiled a little list of books i loved that are under 200 pages. there are lots of classics that are shorter and i've included them even though i think some of those would be stuff that you or him might have already read!

contemporary fiction

open water by caleb azumah nelson: THIS IS SUCH A GREAT ONE that i can't imagine anyone not enjoying. truly. it's a love story between two black young british people but it's far from a tiktok romance novel. it explores themes of race and masculinity and vulnerability and it's soft but also very real and it's wonderful. honestly if i had to only recommend one it would be this!

small things like these by claire keegan: very good and quietly hopeful story of a man in a little irish town at christmas. everybody was talking about this book last year and with good reason, it's great.

whereabouts by jhumpa lahiri: the story of a woman in the town she lives in and how it can change in a year. this is an introspective one but jhumpa lahiri is a genius so it reads very easily and it's so wonderfully written.

interpreter of maladies by jhumpa lahiri: short stories, mainly dealing with indian characters in the US. they feel absolutely universal while teaching something about culture and belonging. won the pulitzer in 1999.

how not to drown in a glass of water by angie cruz: a woman narrates the story of her life to her counselor who's trying to find her a job. it's funny and hopeful and memorable. the author is so great (she wrote another one called dominicana that is a masterpiece although is longer!)

kim jiyoung, born 1982 by cho nam-joo: the story of a new mum living in korea that explores the estrangement of being a woman and having to give up so much. it's definitely more serious but it's written very well and it doesn't feel heavy at all.

swimming in the dark by tomasz jedrowski: this one is incredible. it's the story of a polish university student who falls in love with another man in the 1980s in an obviously very repressive society. so he's in love but he wants protest and he can't ignore the struggles and the disparity around him. it's very political but also lyrical and tender.

someone who will love you in all your damaged glory by raphael bob-waksberg: okay this breaks 200 pages at 256 pages long. but it's so good. everybody would love this. it's by the creator of bojack horseman if that can be an incentive somehow. it's a collection of stories that are so unconventional and bizarre in the most incredible way. they are funny stories and sweet and absurd and sad. i really loved reading this book.

infinite country by patricia engel: the story of a colombian family dealing with deportation. it's from the pov of elena who is the eldest daughter. it's a beautiful book that deals with very real struggles and it does it beautifully.

classics

recitatif by toni morrison: very short story (about 20 pages) but so clever and so well written of course. it's the story of two women who have known each other since they were children. they lose touch and then they reconnect when they're older. one of them is white and one of them is black, but the author never tells you which is which. so it's a great story about race.

the cossacks by leo tolstoy: the story of a man who loses his fortune and retires to a cossack village. it's very russian... but it's very well written and definitely explores some of the themes that tolstoy will then explore in war and peace like the purpose of life and war and his love of nature.

white nights by fyodor dostoevsky: again very russian. but less than 100 pages long! it's the story of a young man living in st petersburg who one day meets a girl and they become fast friends. they both feel like outcasts, so together they feel like they can belong. it is actually great.

giovanni's room by james baldwin: lots of baldwin's books (both his fiction and non-fiction) are short ones actually. this one is the story of a man in paris who, while waiting for his girlfriend to get there, falls in love with a man. it's an incredible story dense with love and passion and shame and it is wonderful.

the old man and the sea by hemingway: old man tries to catch big fish after not being able to catch any fish for a long time. but also so much more than that and nobody made me read this in school so i only read it at 25 and it blew me away. everybody told me it would be so sad but i think it's actually hopeful and a little bit it is a story about community? and it tells you that there's people waiting for you to come back.

of mice and men by steinbeck: again i read it in my mid twenties and loved it. it's a gut punch. it's about two men clinging together as laborers in california. it deals with what it means to feel powerless in a tyrant world.

franny and zooey by salinger: one of the best books ever i think. franny and zooey are brother and sister and they are two young people experiencing existential doubts. it's a book about family and about growing into adults and about the alienation that comes with that. salinger knows how to write young people in a crisis so well and how to make it engaging and entertaining.

having compiled this list i now see that my tastes definitely are oriented in a certain way but i hope at least one of these can work for your friend. i tried to include all the shorter books that i have read and loved and i think that generally anyone could enjoy them, but you never know!

hope you're having a great day too!!! mwah!!

[itz-stus]

Greetings your one of the few Indian writers I have seen on Tumblr so can you please write like a proper kings au with like the Reader is from India who is like a princess here abd like falls in love with a prince who came to visit India for trade with the king.

Hello! Thank you so much for this request it was really fun to write this. So the setting here is of like India before British colonization. So we are going to take this hypothetically since there were no marriages of queens and a foreign king (If we're not taking Mughals as foreigners) But yeah there is a case like the one of princess suriratna, also known as heo hwang-ok, but the facts about them are still unclear about them. And P.s I tried to write like a Scenario and then headcanonns.

Masterlist

Bewitching Princess

How you two met:

Long ago far from this land, there was a great emperor of Japan. The Gojo Empire was widespread in Japan. The people were happy and prosperous under the youngest king's rule. It was a beautiful place from people to their hearts.

There was a saying that he was the most beautiful of them all. His eyes were said to be the gateway to heaven. He had everything you could ever dream for a great heart to every lavish thing in his palace. But unaware of the most priceless thing was thousands of miles away from him. Crossing the seas, situated the most valuable delicacy...The Princess of L/n Empire.

In the thick forest, a beautiful young woman was sitting on a branch getting her arrow out and aiming at the small dear in front of her. Her looks were so enchanting that even the sea waves would crash. She was such a beauty that people would even say that the moon was even ashamed of her. 

She had her hair tied in a half ponytail while her beautiful locks graced her face. Her eyes do sharp that they could cut through a rock. 

As soon as the arrow launched the dear ran away from the sheer wind. Making the women jump down as she chased it. 

She spotted the animal near the pond as she carefully launched her arrow hitting it right in the chest.

But soon she heard another voice making her stand on her guard as she looked around placing her arrow on her bow as she stretched the bowstring she shot the Dhanush from where the noise was heard.

Walking towards it she found something rather surprising there was a man well a beautiful young man with white hair and such enchanting eyes. He didn't look from here rather looked like an angle from above. 

The arrow wounded his shoulder digging deep into his flesh as blood tricked down on his western white henley shirt.

He was astonished as he walked forward with a katana in his hand. 

"It appears that your arrow struck its target," He said to her as she moved her hand forward to take it out only to be slapped in rejection by him making her yelp in surprise.

The woman forcefully grabbed his collar pulling the arrow as it twisted and loosened up the albino gave her a helping hand pulling out the arrow he grunted as he soon started to feel dizzy and passed out on her shoulder.

He was brought to the infirmary where the Royal doctors cured him. Then few sounds of people were heard as the women went out looking for it outside the cave.

"Pratap. Aap sab yaha par is samay bat kya hai??" She spoke in her native language Hindi.

"Rajkumari sa, aaj hi mahal mein mehman aye the Japan ke Maharaj Satoru Gojo. Ate hi shikar par nikal gaye phir wapas mahal nahi laute. Maharaj ne unko dhund ne ka adesh diya hai." He informed as the princess nodded her head and replied 

"Maharaj se kahna voh surakshit hai brahmado ke mahal mein vishram kar rahe hai." She said as the minister bowed his head in order and left taking all of his companions with him. 

On the other hand, the princess heard him wake up with a jolt as she walked towards him, stroking his forehead soothingly as she laid him back down as looked her in the eyes. 

He never imagined something so beautiful, so enchanting and welcoming. In Satoru's interpretation, she was an angel wearing no jewels but looking so radiant as he fell into darkness.

His eyes opened with the sound of chimes as he got up and looked around to see you in beautiful Indian wear.

This one:

The princess was muttering her prayers(Pooja) in front of the huge statue of lord Vishnu. ringing her bell as she finished and looked behind looking at the woken King.

She stood up and smiled warmly and made her way towards him picking up the prashad in between.

"Are you here to say sorry?" He said turning his head towards her as he sighed watching the princess bestow fresh flowers on the other small statues of gods around the palace.

"What a wonderful hunter you are you even wounded a hunter rather than a dear. First with an arrow and now with attitude." He said sarcastically getting up from the bed as the princess just smirked at him continuing her work.

"I get it was an accident but some accidents are so beautiful like your L/n empire. Wherever you go you get enchanted. Well, I'm talking for quite some time now but neither I know anything about you nor do you know anything about me." He said looking at her as she stopped in front of him and spoke 

"The youngest king of the Gojo empire, Satoru Gojo."

"How did you know?"

"You're our guest." She said as he sighed and smirked jokingly.

"Well, that was some very warm hospitality I got."

"Why did you visit here leaving your empire?" She asked as she walked ahead and placed the bowl of Prashad and coconut water next to him.

"To buy some jewels"

"You can not buy them only fate gives them to you." 

"Like you met me? Tell me something about you. Like who are you?"

"Every soul knows my name here ask them." She said as she picked up the cup of coconut water and placed her hand softly on his jaw tilting t a bit upwards. She then poured the water in as the king drank it. 

Her beauty mesmerized Satoru and her charisma she enchanted him. 

"Here have some. Bring your hands together." She said and placed the prashad in his hands.

Walking out she finally looked at him and muttered "Y/n L/n" she smiled and walked ahead leaving the great king with a feeling he has never felt before

Headcannons:

So After your first meeting, I highly think that Satoru and you for a while will go on hunting together where he will learn more about you.

And as a menace to society, he is I think he would constantly flirt with you.

If you got the target before him be ready to face the whining of this manchild.

He will teach you how to use a sword while you teach him how to use a Dhanush.

Like there will be moments between you and him where you two just talk about philosophy.

I am a firm believer that you two will dress up as normal people and roam freely in your empire as you show him around.

Honestly, be shocked by how wise you are and how good your battle IQ is.

When he gets the jewels and it will be time to say well then he will 100% ask you on the last day like:

"Will come with me to Japan as My Queen?" Like so nonchalantly leaving you shocked.

And hence you became the Queen of the Gojo Empire. But you never left your heritage and always wore your traditional clothing which your king always adored.

[keepofkandrakar]

W.I.T.C.H. Character Headcanons (bc I say so)

So for those of you who don't know, I'm creating a rewrite of W.I.T.C.H. on Wattpad. It will essentially be if it were given a live action adaptation with a standing total of 60 episodes (5 seasons; 12 episodes per season). These headcanons all apply to said rewrite -- I have my Wattpad linked on my blog so go check it out!

Irma is canonically a Latina lesbian, that's zero debate, however I specifically headcanon her as Guatemalan.

Taranee and Peter Cook are canonically blasian! The Cooks are out here representing the blended families! I will be taking no arguments or criticisms!

I read a post a while ago about how every other fantasy world is based on Medieval Europe, Metamoor/Meridian being one of them and I was like "you know what would be cool? if instead Metamoor was based on Ancient Indian culture." so that's what I did and now Elyon and Phobos are ethnically Indian (Elyon's new name is Elyon Bhandari and I can't think of it as anything else now) (plus Metamoor is actually ten times more interesting with the amount of lore I'm creating for it).

sidenote: I need it to be known that Elyon will also be serving as the vice president of the Sheffield Student Government/Student Council to foreshadow her queenliness and she's also a book girly and she has initiative and Phobos is actually clever enough in his manipulation tactics for Elyon to not question everything until the last couple days leading up to her coronation. I wanted the queen to serve.

Everyone imagine real quick (cartoon) Matt Olsen as a black man. I don't know how I started picturing him black but now I cannot stop because it just works! We need a black lead guitar/lead singer of a rock band everyone will be making thirst edits over who is also humble kind sweet loyal loving-- And can I just say he would look sexy hot with the Shagon dreads! You cannot change my mind on this!

Kio Cyr is literally Eric Lyndon! I found an image with him in a NASA t-shirt and I was like "that's him folks!" Though, I do specifically headcanon Eric as Filipino.

Alchemy is now Alchemy Torres and she's a chem/bio nerd with an affinity for puzzles. I'm still figuring her out but she will gain more importance in S2.

I made a crackship out of Nashter (one of the Runics from the 100% WITCH arc) and Taranee and now it's very very serious. Not only does he have a British accent (do not ask) but he and Taranee are basically a detective duo/partners-in-crime turned besties in S3, which corresponds with the Crisis on Both Worlds arc which means angsty Taranee which means incredible banter between a smartass and a flirt.

And when I tell you that Nashter is the only white Runic I mean it: Darmon is lighter skin black, Shalin is Asian of some sort (specific region TBD), Cromo is dark skin black, and Ran-Rah is indigenous af.

Caleb lowkey is giving indigenous energy? I've barely touched him but the farthest I've gotten is that I saw one fanart of Caleb if he were on Phobos' side originally and now he has a whole defection arc in S1 from head of Phobos' guard to rebel leader in addition with angsty C&C so there's that going for us.

[lyledebeast]

Two Bens

Over Thanksgiving break, I spent a lot of time thinking about Turn, as one does, and it's brought me back to a post I started a while ago and never finished. A lot of interesting contrasts between Turn and the American Revolution story I am obsessed with in all seasons can be uncovered just by looking at the two protagonists who happen to share the same Christian name. While The Patriot's Benjamin Martin is presented as flawed but ultimately heroic because he's a God-fearin', gun-totin; American (even if he's not much else) Turn's Benjamin Tallmadge represents an attempt to make 18th C Patriots appealing to an audience that may not always already support them because of their political views.

Young, idealistic, and the son of a disillusioned French and Indian War veteran, Ben Tallmadge has more in common with Ben Martin's son, Gabriel, than with the man himself. But Gabriel, despite his angelic name, succumbs to the brutal nature of war in a way that Tallmadge never does. Tallmadge's idealism is challenged not by British actions but by American ones. He provides both the perspective from which the audience sees infighting among the Continental officers and hears the Loyalist side of things. Initially, Tallmadge cannot see how any American could support the British over the army fighting for their independence, but then he speaks to Reverand Worthington (before he shoots him, a task about which he, as a preacher's son, feels deeply conflicted). And then he has an affair with a widow who turns out to be a Loyalist. When she points out that the George taking food out of her and her child's mouths is not the one on the British throne, Tallmadge initially tries to argue with her. Then he remembers Washington's orders. Armies terrorizing civilians has consequences, even if that army claims to be fighting for freedom. Who knew?

Season three is a time of great transformation for Tallmadge. He learns from these experiences with Worthington and Sarah that Loyalists are not always entirely in the wrong and that Patriots sometimes are. It is a lesson that takes hold, as we see in his bonding with John Andre prior to the latter's execution. Tallmadge can see, now, that the similarities they share outweigh their differences, even as he also never falters in his commitment to independence. There is a nuance in Tallmadge's views of the British and their supporters that is completely foreign to Martin and all of the Patriots in the movie named for them.

While Turn acknowledges that there are good British officers as well as wicked ones--and that the same is true of Americans--The Patriot presents similar actions committed by the two sides in wildly different ways. "Sir, we're not slaves. We work this land as free men," says a man taken from his job in the fields and enlisted as an orderly on his employer's whim. Martin benefits from being part of a culture where Black people cannot safely refuse orders from White people whether he owns slaves or not, as we also see when he deposits his family with the Maroons after the British burn them out of yet another house. We see no words exchanged between Martin and any of the Maroons, but it is hard to imagine that their agreement has more to do with him not owning his housekeeper Abigale, who is now among them, than with a heavily armed militia being difficult to say no to. But Colonel Tavington forcibly enlisting Black men into the British Army? Awful. Terrible. Call the ACLU.

Another great example of nuance, who is she? comes when General Cornwallis accuses Martin, whose militia have been using British officers as target practice, of not engaging in gentlemanly conduct. "If the conduct of your officers is that of a gentlemen, then I take that as a compliment," says Martin, whose past gentlemanly activities include cutting enemies to pieces while they were still alive and then sending those pieces to their loved ones and, more recently, standing idly by as his men executed surrendering British soldiers. Clearly, these kinds of gentlemen are completely different animals.

In Turn, Tallmadge serves as our guide to perspectives that are patriotic (with big "p"s and small), loyal to the crown, idealist and cynical. There is vastly more effort in Turn than in The Patriot to represent the diversity that existed in Colonial American with one notable exception. Over the series four seasons, we meet exactly two indigenous people: a Queen's Ranger under Robert Rogers and a scout who works with Caleb Brewster aiding the Continental Army. Both vanish after a couple of episodes and are never heard from again. Their inclusion tells us that indigenous people existed during the American Revolution and offered aid to both sides, but not much else. The Patriot, meanwhile, is full of allusions to colonial genocide against the Cherokees hiding in plain sight. It evokes the memory of a Cherokee past in South Carolina every time Martin's tomahawk makes an appearance, not to mention the scalp bounties Rollins inquires about or the "little while" Martin tells us passed between the atrocities at Fort Wilderness and the Cherokees breaking their treaty with the French. The Cherokees were there; then they were gone. it doesn't take a history degree to understand what happened.

Turn represents a diversity of perspectives, but ultimately, the Patriots are still the heroes. The hypocrisy of people who stole Native land and enslaved African people complaining about the British violation of their "inalienable rights" is downplayed to make the main characters more palatable. The Patriot, meanwhile, gives us characters who are unabashedly irate at being treated by the British with less brutality than they visited on their Cherokee neighbors a few years earlier (while donning their own red coats!) But for all its numerous inaccuracies, I think The Patriot captures something true about how Patriots, especially in South Carolina, must have seen themselves. What kind of sanctimonious thugs claimed to be fighting for freedom from tyranny and violence when what they actually wanted was the freedom to not share the profits of their own tyranny and violence with the British empire? Of course, there ware Patriots with loftier and more sincerely held beliefs about liberty, independence, and human rights, like Ben Tallmadge. But considering the way Black and Native people continued to be treated in the new nation, it is clear the sanctimonious thugs prevailed all too often.

[aqua2fana]

Homestuck race/ethnicity nationality headcanons

Since the beta/alpha kids are like pure white in the comics my brain immediately envisioned them as white and unfortunately it’s still the first place my mind goes but I do like to think most of them aren’t totally white

The trolls are based mostly on canon references, vibes, their lands in sburb, and their dancestors

John and Jane: white | polish/dutch | american (washington)

They’re white and nerdy sorry

Rose and Roxy: white/middle eastern | french/egyptian | american (new york)

I’m all for french lalondes but I also remembered Roxy’s planet had pyramids and decided they were Egyptian too

Dave and Dirk: white/east asian | spanish/japanese | american (texas)

The striders live in Texas so they’re most likely Spanish descent but they also reference Japanese culture so often that I just had to include it

Jade and Jake: white/pacific islander | english/tongan | american (phoenix islands)

The Britishness is from Jake and the polynesian part is from jade, they’re tan af

Aradia: latina/east asian | mexican/japanese | japanese

I know that canonically she’s supposed to be Japanese so she is part japanese but the dark curly hair, desert climate, obsession with death (day of the dead) made me assume she was Latina the first time I read the comic 🤷‍♀️

Tavros: latino/southeast asian | mexican/filipino | mexican

Man’s obviously latino and I made him Filipino because the actor rufioh is based off is filipino

Sollux: white/east asian | french/korean | canadian (quebec)

French because I immediately decided he was Canadian so french is statistically likely but he also has some Asian vibes so I chose the one country that’s split in two, obviously

Karkat: white | romanian/jewish | american (maine)

Karkat is super pale in such a way that his eye bags are extremely noticeable. He’s Romanian as a reference to vlad the impaler and all the castle ruins in Romania which remind me of his land. He’s Jewish for vibe reasons. Maine for lobsters and and crabs 🦀

Nepeta: white | english/german | american (tennessee)

Because I picture her with blonde hair (like a lions mane). She lives near the Smokey mountains where there are a small population of mountain lions and she’s a crazy wilderness explorer. Think of how cute she’d be with a Tennessee accent

Kanaya: south asian/middle eastern | indian/iranian | american (pennsylvania)

Vibes, imagine her in a sari or any other traditional Indian clothes, she’d be stunning

Terezi: white | greek/irish | greek

The scales, democracy, hello? Also she’s absolutely a red head

Vriska: white | greek/turkish | cypriot

Vriska is definitely white and she’s a pirate so instead of Caribbean (which is mostly black) she’s Mediterranean.

Equius: black | sudanese | american (kentucky)

He’s definitely black and he has locs like you wouldn’t believe. Kentucky because of mammoth cave as a reference to his land and also because of the horse derby

Gamzee: black/white | beninese/portuguese | brazilian

Hes definitely black coded in some ways but the icp are white sooo he’s both. I made him Brazilian for carnival

Eridan: white | scottish/english | american (california)

It’s giving imperialism and Silicon Valley simultaneously

Feferi: white/black | italian/trinidadian | italian

The only reason she’s half white is because I picture her with this light red strawberry blonde hair and it’s also a reference to the Roman Empire. She’s Trinidadian because I headcanon meenah as having a voice like nicki minaj

[thekrows-nest]

But there's other reasons the pair would despise each other personally. Vampire Eliyah would come from not just a clan of vampires known for their elegance and even considered 'aristocracy' among other vampires, but also be descended from some kind of old money in Britain. And vampire Krow is Indian-Bengali. He would still very much remember how the British treated his homeland. That's a part of his human past he still remembers. So... it gets messy.

Oh man... imagine if Vampire Krow flipped out and raged unstoppably on hearing the British accent or being spoken to/of in a certain way. Like he was reminded of that part of his life (or the events).

And research facility isn't exactly the right term. There would be groups of vampires seeking to transcend their condition. Not cure it, but basically find a way to get rid of all the negatives and keep the pros. There are also individual vampires who delight in research and gathering knowledge. Neither are exactly... moral or ethical in how they obtain this knowledge.

👀;

I would argue putting down vampire Krow is the kindest thing for him. He himself is not exactly in a place to really ask for it.

Fic outline written. :'(

Oh? You think you know what Naila is? Naila is curious to know what you think they are.

Maybe Naila is an author insert character? Naila is the omniescent power of god in this verse? Even the creator?

...Yeah he probably would. Vampire Krow would have been born sometime in the 1800s, so he'd very much recall Britain's colonization of India. And... he has a lot of thoughts and feelings on the British. Those thoughts and feelings today basically are 'rip and tear apart any he comes across.' GRANTED, for the British accent, I will need to better research, but I remember reading how the British accent we know of today is more recent. How "recent" is recent I forget, but I remember reading/hearing that the accent you hear over in New England is actually much closer to what the English accent was back in the 1600s or so. So I'm unsure if a "British accent" for how vampire Krow recognizes it would be closer to the modern version we know, or older. 🤔 Anyway. Krow has a lot of trauma around Britain's colonization so... yeah.

Yeah uhh... Vampire kind are... pretty damn awful for how I view them. And their existence as a whole is awful. Being a vampire in my verse is Not Nice or Pleasant. (:

I eagerly await for the fic Krowspiracy~

"...I'm gonna need you to stop there Krowspiracy."

[enkisstories]

December 1760. The French have just surrendered the frontier settlement Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit to the British. 

The give or take 500 residents can already tell that their lives won't change for the better, as new taxes get introduced and the new government doesn't display any interest in maintaining a good relationship with the local indigenous people. But they abide... for now. And that is just as well in the eyes of the military governor, seeing that no British settlers are interested in moving into town (yet), but prefer to travel westwards.

Some traders, however, smell opportunities in the changing winds.

John: "There were are! Detroit! This is where our luck will turn for the better!"

Caroline: “John… this is a godforsaken patch of mud stomped vaguely into circular shape. Fort Detroit is that faraway silhouette on the other shore of the river!”

Emma: "How are we getting across?"

John: “We don’t. Not the whole distance anyway. See that belle isle sitting smack dab in the middle of the river? I have plans for it! Imagine, girls: For the same sum other settlers have to pay for a small homestead, I can get the whole island!”

Emma: "So this isn't going to end like the time when you went a-whaling or the other time when you gave driving lessons to the indians?"

John: "Nope, not like that. I've learned my lesson. Workers are what you hire, not become yourself. From here on I’ll stick to buying and selling, no matter how tempting secondary endeavours may sound."

Caroline: "Well, if things go wrong again, at least this time I have a river nearby to drown you in... Only joking! I love you, John. I love each of your crazy ideas, because they make your eyes light up and show me a world that is incredibly richer than the mundane one. Both in the sense of making money and in being deeper, haha! Without you, life would be dull."

John proceeds to unload the contents of his wagon. Truth is, his previous schemes, although each and every of them had failed to make the man rich, have left him with some wealth. The question is now: Will it be enough or will the family have to settle for a homestead in the vicinity of the fort, after all? 

About two thousand settlers make a living from the forest and plains land surrounding the actual settlement. John and Caroline don’t want to end as the 2001st and 2002nd nameless face.

Tawit: “Monsieur Phillips… My name is Tawit Durand, citizen of New France, and this is Gyantwachia of the Seneca nation. We are authorized to negotiate the purchase of Hog Island with you.”

Gyantwachia: “Let me have a look at these pigments! If its good quality vermillion paint, we may already have a deal.”

John: “Only the best! I have six pounds I could part with.”

Gyantwachia: “Six? Mhm, in this case we might need to make this “and all the contents of your wagon””

John: “Your tribe really wants that paint, huh?”

Tawit: “It’s the most asked for trade good at the moment, but six pounds are hardly enough to pay for a whole island.”

Gyantwachia: Not even a strategic liability like Hog Island.

John: “I see. I also have… eight barrels of finest rum… three perfect quality tobacco rolls… some lesser tobacco… and as far as real money goes a wampum belt.”

Gyantwachia: “Show me that belt, will you? - Ah, now we’re talking! You know what? I like how you were honest about the tobacco quality. Very different from the reputation you British have ‘round here. And that’s why I want to propose an additional deal just between you and me: Throw in a scissor, a good tea pot and six glass jars and we’ll teach you about the local currency.”

John: “That sounds fair. I accept.”

Like all the thirteen colonies Fort Detroit, too, is suffering from a lack of actual coins and the colonial governments are forbidden from issuing paper money. Therefore a number of replacement currencies has arisen. Pelts and furs, naturally, and the infamous vermillion paint. Wampum belts made from beads of seashells or snail houses are accepted even in the Old World. But every region has its own specialty and as a newcomer John had no idea of the local goods’ current going rates.

And so a deal is made and an island changes owners.

The land doesn’t much care which nation calls itself its owners, but it sure reacts to individual humans. None of the Seneca has managed to catch its interest in the past, and neither have the Phillips. But soon, very soon, someone will arrive who is different. At the moment that someone would give not just an island, but a whole moon for those eight barrels of rum, but, alas, all he is having is polite tea with the tiniest drop of spirits together with the Captain of a sailship on the way to the New World…

[chika-the-terrible]

Isu AU stuff feat. Jack the Ripper:

Because Jacob and Evie aren’t assassins in this AU, Henry is loathe to leave London behind, especially since there’s a strong chance Starrick might make a return. It’s not until the British Brotherhood finally returns from the countryside on the news that Starrick has disappeared that things change. Roth, who has become friendly with Henry, agrees to help out the Assassins and allows them to have control of the Blighters as backup. It takes a while for the Assassins to trust Roth but they do trust Henry’s judgment, and so they slowly start freeing the city from Templar control with Roth’s help

This then leads into canon a bit, where Evie and Henry go to India and Jacob (+ Roth) go for a visit five years later with some new Assassin initiates. It’s a wonderful time, especially for Jacob and Evie, who not only get to see each other again but also share new fighting styles. They may not be human but they’re very inquisitive and love to learn, and learning about new fighting styles (such as the fear implements used by the Indian Brotherhood) is no different

Jack is taken in my some of the Blighters after they liberate Lambeth Asylum, as part of the children they try to help, but he’s quite scared because of all he’s been through. Jacob immediately steps in, as he does with a lot of the other children, and draws Jack close. Jacob quickly becomes a comforting presence to Jack, who immediately looks for Jacob if he’s having a hard time or has a nightmare

As he grows up as part of the Blighters, Jack really looks up to Jacob more than anyone else and wants to be just like the Isu man. Jacob, who doesn’t have the heart to tell Jack that the boy is just human and won’t be able to meet his self-imposed expectations, mostly just ruffles Jack’s hair and says, “One day, kiddo.”

Years later, Jack figures out that it was some of the Blighters that killed his mother, though the ones that did were under Starrick’s control and not Roth’s. That doesn’t mean anything to Jack, though, and he wants revenge. And so he starts killing the Blighters, even the ones that had nothing to do with it, and Roth quickly tries to intervene

Jacob arrives as Roth confronts Jack about what he’s been doing. Jack, however, is too angry to really listen to Roth’s words, especially since they all know that Roth was the one hired by Starrick to train the Blighters in the first place, so to Jack, Roth’s entirely the one at fault. Then he tries to attack, and Jacob immediately steps in

Jack, who prepared himself for such a confrontation, tries to stab Roth with one of the fear spikes but ends up embedding it in Jacob’s chest instead as the Isu man pins Jack against a wall. Jack immediately accuses Jacob of turning against him and siding with a murderer and Jacob tries to speak sense to him but it’s no use. Roth points that out and, as much as he doesn’t want to kill Jack, he’s not sure sending him to prison would be a good idea. Certainly not back to the asylum, that’s for sure. Jacob, however, is loathe to do anything to the boy and still thinks Jack can be reasoned with. Jack takes advantage of this distraction to grab more of his spikes, stabbing Jacob’s hand to force him to let go and stabbing Jacob’s side so as to get away. However, Jack doesn’t get far. While it doesn’t seem like it, the Alhambra has plenty of plainclothes Blighters lingering around, including Lewis, and they make sure Jack doesn’t get away, though they’re forced to kill him to do so

Jacob has no reason to wear his armor in places where he feels safe, including the Alhambra, so he’s definitely injured by Jack’s attack. He tries to ignore the worry the others have for him because he wants to know what happened to Jack but he has trouble breathing from a punctured lung. While punctured lungs can be serious issues for humans, I imagine that Isu anatomy is a little different (especially with the triple-helix they’ve got) so maybe their lungs aren’t as large as they should be in proportion to such large bodies. So if a lung gets punctured, it’s a lot worse for an Isu than for a human, as they quickly find it not only hard to breath, they can barely take in enough air to not feel like they’re suffocating

So Jacob’s wheezing and coughing and just trying to breathe and it’s alarming the humans and all Jacob can gasp out is to get his cloak. Since he’s part of the military and goes into fights all the time, it makes sense that the Isu would equip their soldiers with healing items (i.e. the Shroud) on the go so that they can keep going. Jacob’s cloak is one such item and so, while they have no idea why he needs it, the humans quickly scramble to grab it. Jacob snatches it from them and presses it against the wounds in his chest and immediately it starts glowing and healing him, easing his pain and allowing him to breathe again. Jacob definitely explains its powers later, but for now, he just needs to keep it close, heal his other wounds, and rest

After it’s all over, Jacob doesn’t know how to feel about Jack’s demise. He’s not used to the idea that there are some people who can’t be reasoned with, not even if they’re people you’re close to. It leaves a hole in his heart because of how close he got to Jack, and it doesn’t heal for a long time. Certainly not in Roth’s lifetime, that’s for sure, and Roth feels guilty for what happened, even though he knew there was nothing to be done and it wasn’t his fault. He does, however, try to come up with an idea that might make Jacob feel better: to raise a child of his own. It’s not to replace Jack, Roth makes that clear, but it’s not hard to see how torn up Jacob got after Jack’s death and how happy he is in the presence of children. Jacob doesn’t shoot it down, so it’s a start

Masterlist

[msclaritea]

1: The UK isn't obsessed with aliens. Certainly not as bad as the US. Also you know fuck-all about the UK so stfu. 2: What about him? There's no evidence that he's doing ANY of what you're accusing him of. 3: Man who writes a TV series, writes another TV series. How groundbreaking 🙄 4: Man who acts in one film, acts in another. That's what actors do, dumbass. 5: Sure, have a silly tantrum now that your paranoia doesn't hold up to scrutiny. Thanks for the laughs, though.

“Pseudo-histories feed the self-importance and aggrievement of neo-Nazis and alt-right folk,” says Benjamin Radford, a fellow with the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry who has written widely on pseudo-history and claims of paranormal activity. “They feel their rightful place in the world has been denied them — by ‘Big Archeology', by Jews, by an oppressive government.”

There is another source of the far right’s far-out ideas about ancient history, one that requires no psychologizing.

THE NAZI CONNECTION

The basic tenets of alt-archeology and alt-history were foundational to the ideology and program of National Socialism, but the Nazis did not invent them. The Nazi belief in a pure Aryan race with a glorious ancient past and distinct genetic history was central to a transatlantic nineteenth-century occult scene (that featured a heavy German influence.) After Hitler assumed power, this belief was institutionalized in the form of the Ancestral Heritage and Teaching Society, or the Ahnenerbe, an alt-archeology research outfit founded by Heinrich Himmler and the Atlantis theorist Herman Wirth.

Under the banner of the Ahnerbe, Nazi explorers fanned out across Europe and the globe in search of relics holding (possibly supernatural) hints of ancient Aryan glory. In 1938, a team was dispatched to Iceland in search of the lost Aryan civilization of Thule, which Nazi leaders discovered in an Icelandic epic poem. Among the Nazis’ interests in Thule was the legend of a race of ancient Aryan giants. (Versions of this myth remain common among biblically focused alt-historians like Steve Quayle and L.A. Marzulli.)

Belief in these legends was possible because of the Nazis’ sharp rejection of the Enlightenment. Dismissing the science of racial diversification and the archeological record, they reveled in symbology, myths and legends of “pure” ancient kingdoms that conquered the world under its symbol, the swastika. (This, the Nazis believed, explained the symbol’s presence in both Native American and Indian art.)

"...But Clarke and Roberts, whose research is to be published this week in a book called Out of the Shadows , did uncover evidence that the American Secret Service, with the possible connivance of the British, looked at ways of using the public panic over UFOs as a psychological weapon against the Russians.

In CIA memos marked 'secret' and seen by The Observer, top officials consider exploiting the UFO craze. 'I suggest that we discuss the possible offensive or defensive utilisation of these phenomena for psychological warfare purposes,' wrote CIA director Walter Smith in 1952.

'Shortly after that meeting the CIA sent a delegation to Britain to discuss UFOs. It is hard to imagine that they did not discuss the psychological warfare aspects of it with their British counterparts,' Clarke said.

Clarke, who started out as a believer in UFOs but is now a sceptic, said that the belief in alien visitation had once reached up to the highest positions in government. Prime Minister Winston Churchill once ordered an investigation into it and Lord Mountbatten was a firm believer in flying saucers. In the 1950s Britain set up a flying saucer working party of top Ministers and army staff. 'That is why this field is important for academic research. It did have an impact on government policy at a crucial stage in history,' he said..."

"The Office of Special Affairs (OSA), formerly the Guardian's Office, is a department of the Church of Scientology International. According to the Church, the OSA is responsible for directing legal affairs, public relations, pursuing investigations, publicizing the Church's "social betterment works," and "oversee[ing its] social reform programs". Some observers outside the Church have characterized the department as an intelligence agency, comparing it variously to the CIA or the KGB. The department has targeted critics of the Church with dead agent operations and character assassination. OSA is the successor to the now-defunct Guardian's Office, which was responsible for Operation Snow White and Operation Freakout; both are in Department 20 in the Scientology organizational chart. The most recent head of OSA International was Mike Rinder, who has since departed from the organization and criticizes it severely, appearing as a co-host on Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath.

Structure and personnel

History

The Guardian's Office was established in 1966, and its initial mission was to protect the interests of the Church of Scientology, and gather information on agencies and individuals deemed enemies of the organization. The Guardian's Office was also charged with internal monitoring of current Scientologists, in particular heretics and notable defectors. L. Ron Hubbard put his wife Mary Sue Hubbard in charge of the Guardian's Office, and it was initially headquartered at Saint Hill Manor, in England. The Guardian's Office functioned effectively as an Intelligence Bureau of the Church of Scientology, and planted members in key positions within federal government agencies, in order to obtain confidential material. Most branches of the Church of Scientology soon had at least one member from the Guardian's Office on its staff, and the Guardian's Office itself had its own secret Intelligence Bureau at the top of its organizational structure. The Guardian's Office was disbanded in 1983, and the bulk of its previous functions were then assigned to the Office of Special Affairs..."

Like a man once said, don't think you can climb in the ring with the Incas and think you can box. Besides your country being historically, aggressively superstitious, besides the fact that many of your upper class were Nazi sympathizers, besides your history, also, of bastardizing the history of other cultures to elevate yourself, you people apparently have had a very cozy relationship for decades with the alien-loving Scientologists, who've infiltrated your government. Thanks for the ask. I didn't know that part. Now take your brain out the back of your pants and sit the fuck down, Jr. Your stupidity offends me, yo.

[ingek73]

In Buckingham Palace and outside it, we know what it means when people ask ‘where are you from’

Kohinoor Sahota

When Susan Hussey asked that of a black British charity boss, she echoed the words of many who alienate people of colour

Wed 30 Nov 2022 18.22 GMT

Follow Kohinoor Sahota

Charity leader Ngozi Fulani, centre left, at Buckingham Palace

“Where are you from?” is a question that every person in my family has been asked, from my parents in the 1960s to my little nephew, crying on his way back from school. I’ve faced the question from schoolteachers who want to know if I speak English, dates trying to exoticise me – and a manager who laughed afterwards, knowing he should not have asked.

“Where are you really from?” is the follow-up, if you don’t give someone what they want. While the question can come from a place of curiosity, it is hard to ignore the sinister undertones, especially when it’s repeated.

So, when I read that Ngozi Fulani, the head of a domestic abuse charity, was questioned where she was from while in Buckingham Palace, I wasn’t surprised. What did surprise me, however, is how it has become headline news and a sackable offence, as the honorary member of the royal household who asked the question has since apologised and resigned. Dear, oh dear.

Fulani’s story is every person of colour’s story. I wish I could say it’s unique. I wish I could say that nobody else has been asked such a thing. But that isn’t the case; if it seems unique it is simply because not all of the people of colour get the chance to tell their story. I have had my own day out at Buckingham Palace, and found it similarly unwelcoming.

The grandest invitation I ever received as a journalist was to attend an exhibition at the palace. It arrived in a small cream envelope, with my name – spelt correctly – in calligraphy.

Regardless of whether you’re a kid from a council estate like me, or a prime minister going to a weekly audience with the monarch, I imagine that everyone feels some sense of wonderment when they drive up the Mall. Fulani probably felt the same. In the palace, your eyes widen as you are blinded by the bling – there’s lots to take in, after all – with the sky-high ceiling, crystal chandeliers and that balcony.

‘In the palace, your eyes widen as you are blinded by the bling.’ Camilla, the Queen Consort gives a speech at Buckingham Palace. Photograph: Kirsty O’Connor/AFP/Getty Images

The crowd was all establishment figures in Savile Row-worthy suits and designer dresses: Tory politicians, mid-level royals, a David Attenborough here (talking in that wisdom-filled staccato tone), and a David Starkey there. There’s feeling out of place, but then, sure, there is this. Almost any person would feel some discomfort, but when you also realise that every single person in the room is oh-so white, darling, it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world.

There were jokes about the “exotic” art in reference to the Asian pieces. Someone recognised one of their aristocratic ancestors in a portrait on display as if that were ordinary – it consolidated how somebody like me could never belong in the establishment.

The only person I saw all night that looked like me – aside from a glimpse of Patricia Scotland – was a single Asian man. We locked eyes and smiled at each other. I’m sure if we’d have spoken I’d have had more in common with him than anyone else at the party. But he was a waiter, and I was a guest. In that moment, you are reminded that it’s merely by an accident of birth – or, more accurately, the aftereffects of colonialism – that you’re on one side and they’re on the other.

It all reminded me of the pervasive feeling of not belonging. That is why “where are you from” is such a politically loaded question. The answer should be simple, but it is a way for people – white people – to rank you on the social ladder. I know what I am actually being asked: why is the colour of your skin different? Why are you brown? Why aren’t you white? Why are you here? Should you be here?

Since I am brown-skinned and Indian, time and time again I have to prove my Britishness. When people ask me where I’m from, saying “Oxford” never meets their expectations. I’ve had enough. If I don’t call out the question, I allow the problem to persist; if I do call out the question, I make white people uncomfortable.

The thing is, I’ve assimilated into their version of Britain, so it’s time for them to assimilate into mine and the “minority” version – a multicultural, truly British society. The face of Britain is changing. Whether you like it or not, there are more and more people who look like me. The British story is a multicultural story. Whether it’s Labour MP Robin Cook hailing curry as the national dish, the most diverse team making up the England football squad, and now the first British prime minister of colour being of Indian descent – we are part of the fabric of Britain.

But who gets the privilege of being labelled British has always been a controversial subject. Ever since Britain began its overseas expansion, people of colour have been made to feel like guests in our own home as well as our new home – welcomed with one hand and scolded with the other.

Working-class people of colour are unlikely to stumble upon people that share their melanin, let alone long-lost relatives on the walls of galleries, museums or Buckingham bloody Palace. So, let’s make everyone feel welcome.

It’s time to start asking new questions.

Kohinoor Sahota is an arts and culture journalist. She is working on a book titled Where Are You Really From?

[britishchick09]

fun fact: the ending of the mini series was shot in september 1989!

discover that and more facts below! ;)

Once again, The Phantom of the Opera has been sighted, according to reports from the capital. Last fall, the masked figure in full evening regalia made a sudden appearance on the roof of the Paris Opera House. Fortunately, he was cornered by the police and unmasked.

This scene, shot last September, is the climax of a four-hour mini-series, adapted by the playwright Arthur Kopit from Gaston Leroux's 1910 novel and starring Burt Lancaster and Charles Dance; Teri Polo, a relative newcomer, plays Christine, the young singer who becomes the object of the Phantom's ardor. The initial two-hour installment will be presented next Sunday evening at 9 on NBC, with the conclusion the following night.

Last summer and fall, the veteran British stage and film director Tony Richardson, a man not fond of heights, filmed from every angle of the Opera House, right up to the gables that rise some 160 feet above the street, and at a stone quarry outside Paris, where the Phantom's watery domain was re-created.

The atmosphere of a mysterious habitat, from backstage to underground lagoon, made Leroux's Phantom a legend and the Paris Opera the most famous haunted house of the century. Even though the Phantom spooked the Opera House's staff, threatening to kill off those who got in his way, the novel was not a mere horror tale but a love story about a disfigured creature with a passion for music, who is infatuated with a gifted young singer.

Mr. Kopit, whose stage works include ''Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feeling So Sad,'' ''Indians'' and ''Wings,'' has brought out the romantic theme, playing on hidden motivations that he feels are close to the spirit of the original. It certainly makes for a more modern, nuanced ''Phantom,'' full of Freudian surprises and even fun.

''The key to my adaptation,'' said Mr. Kopit, ''was that Erik, the Phantom, falls in love with Christine, the girl with the beautiful voice.'' It took him, however, a year to plot his approach. ''Of course, I had seen the old Lon Chaney movie and the Claude Rains movie,'' he explained. ''I saw them again and realized I remembered them as being better than they were. What had haunted me was a dim recollection of a girl singing above and a dangerous figure lurking below - a sense of forbidden sensuality.''

Mr. Kopit's real inspiration was a vision of, as he put it, ''an enchanted place of the imagination'' that came to him from Jean Cocteau's ''Beauty and the Beast.'' Accordingly, he created a family for the Phantom, a sad, secret history that makes Erik's father, Carriere - played by Mr. Lancaster - a pivotal character.

''Carriere is a composite of two characters from the novel, the Opera manager and the Persian, a man who always knew the Phantom's whereabouts. Burt's role makes it more human; he's the link between the different strands of the story. In all other versions Erik comes to the Opera - I wanted him born there. Why is the manager so kind to him? Why does Erik fall in love with Christine's voice? I knew there must be more to the story. So, I made the manager his secret father, the lover of Erik's mother, a famous singer who had gone mad. This explains the boy's love of music - Christine is his answered prayer, the dimly remembered presence of his mother.''

In the novel, the manager and staff had treated the Phantom almost as a mascot, reserving his box at the Opera, giving him bonbons. When a new manager attempts to have him evicted, the trouble starts. In Mr. Kopit's version, too, chandeliers crash, Christine is abducted and the corpses pile up. ''You have to have these things,'' he said, ''but I was out to get at the deeper relationships. It was an astonishing journey for a writer, because I didn't impose my ideas but discovered these characters as if they really existed, and I had to put the story together.''

Mr. Kopit, who wrote the book for the 1982 Broadway musical ''Nine,'' had written a libretto for a musical based on ''The Phantom of the Opera,'' but in 1985, the rights went into the public domain and he was beaten to the punch by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

''When Lloyd Webber's show opened in London, that was the end of mine,'' said Mr. Kopit. ''I was devastated because I deeply loved my version. I feel that the story never achieved its potential as a Gothic romance - women swoon, men die of love - and I like to think that Gaston Leroux would approve of the changes I made.''

On the set of the mini-series, Mr. Richardson, the opposite of the typically high-strung, pressured TV director, seems to move in slow motion. Wearing bleached jeans low on his hipless form, he takes time with each of the actors, cajoling them in his singsong voice and improvising changes in the shooting schedule when it suits him. Today, he has devised a prank on Mr. Lancaster: The actor has referred to the director, who tends to wring and flap his hands a lot, as ''the surgeon''; so, Mr. Richardson has sent out for some surgical gloves to wear.

While technicians set up the scene for the afternoon's filming, Mr. Richardson dons the rubber gloves. Unfortunately, Mr. Lancaster is so engrossed in learning his lines - hunks of very fin-de-siecle-sounding dialogue - the joke is lost on him.

''Burt has pages and pages to learn, so he's preoccupied,'' Mr. Richardson says. Indeed, there seems to be a contest going on: Mr. Kopit keeps adding dialogue; as soon as his back is turned, Mr. Richardson trims it down. Mr. Kopit haunts the set - today he is in the costume of a police officer - to watch over details.

''This is supposed to be 19th-century dialogue, so I don't want anybody making it up,'' he said. During a lunch break, Mr. Richardson explains that, for him, ''working for television is like making a movie on a low budget, shooting a certain amount of film in a limited time. I had done the Beryl Markham mini-series on location in Africa, in natural surroundings. For 'Phantom,' everything has to be staged and lighted. The camera moves all the time, the atmosphere is being created all the time. We are creating a fantasy, a big romantic love story.''

Mr. Richardson did his casting in London, New York and Paris: Jean-Pierre Cassel is in hot pursuit as Inspector Ledoux; Andrea Ferreol plays Carlotta, the diva fury who sings off-key, and Ian Richardson is her comically self-important husband.

As a boy growing up in New York City, Mr. Lancaster had been so terrified by Lon Chaney's performance in the 1925 ''Phantom'' that he ran all the way home from the movie theater, convinced that the Phantom was on his heels.

''Now I don't see movies any more,'' he shakes his head, ''not even my own. But I used to go all day, and my brothers had to come dig me out every night.''

Over the years, huge rocks from the quarry of Mello, a rural village 38 miles north of Paris, have been used to repair Notre Dame Cathedral. Mello's 8,000-square-foot cave is proving a fine site to stand in as the Phantom's subterranean kingdom. John-Kristian Alsaker, the production's designer, is especially pleased with the lagoon, created by piping in 50 tons of water. Painters and carpenters are putting last touches to a barge that looks as if it might have been Cleopatra's.

The designer has also transformed a stonecutter's lodge into the hideaway where Erik sequesters Christine. Chiffon curtains float like cobwebs over a canopy bed. Mr. Lancaster sits, bundled in a greatcoat against the quarry's cold dampness, poring over his lines. Like a true trouper, the 76-year-old actor prefers to commit his lines to memory and shuns a Teleprompter standing nearby.

Mr. Richardson paces, overseeing a flashback sequence in which Mr. Lancaster recounts how he loved and lost Erik's mother. The director expresses impatience with the kind of spelling out and repetition needed for television: ''You have to allow for a different rhythm when you do television; you're not able to do the same things. The format of a feature film has much more momentum. But I love this script - it's a great story.'' he says.

Today's shoot takes place in the Opera's second-level basement, where Erik chases Christine. Mr. Dance has made Erik an urbane, self-deprecating figure, a man of wit. His 6-foot-3 frame wrapped in a black cloak, the actor perspires under one of the Phantom's six masks. ''Erik changes faces according to his mood,'' he explains.

Off the set, Mr. Dance likes to caper and camp it up, trying out fiendish laughs on Ms. Polo, but actually the actor, who started out at the Royal Shakespeare Company, takes his part very seriously:

''Wearing a mask means you have to depend much more upon body language than eye language. Erik is a man steeped in theatricality - his whole wardrobe has come out of the Opera House costume department. I see him as a child, an innocent - I never think of him as being a murderous maniac. He's alone in a world he's created for himself, and into this world of music comes this girl with an exquisite voice.''

After the chase scene comes a long conspiracy sequence between Mr. Dance and Mr. Lancaster. Erik complains that the off-key Carlotta and her officious husband are ruining the Opera; he will have to ''kill them off.'' Carriere begs him to calm down.

Because of unwanted noises in the resonant basement, the actors resume several times. ''Very good, extraordinary,'' Mr. Richardson says. ''Well, I'd like to do another one, without noises,'' says Mr. Dance.

''You want more life? More vitality?'' asks Mr. Lancaster after the next take.

Mr. Richardson twiddles his thumbs and wags his hands. ''That was very good,'' he says. ''Extraordinary.''

And they do another take.

THE FASCINATION OF 'PHANTOM'

What is there about Gaston Leroux's potboiler - more suave than sinister - that has made it such a target for takeover? From Universal's 1925 silent version, starring Lon Chaney, film makers have squeezed the story of ''The Phantom of the Opera'' for all its bogeyman worth.

''The Lon Chaney film,'' says Arthur Kopit, ''was the best of the lot - the first in the horror genre, yet it had mystery.''

A 1943 version with Claude Rains was snubbed by cinephiles but successfully scared a new generation; Herbert Lom tried his hand in 1962, and Maximilian Schell in 1983. The 1960's opened the way to a certain vulgarization; the French came up with a new twist: Juliette Greco as the Phantom haunting the Louvre, and the kitsch British stage production ''Phantom of the Paradise'' became a Brian DePalma cult film in 1974.

The success of Mr. Lloyd Webber's musical - it is now into its third year on Broadway - has inspired others. Menahem Golan has produced a gentrified Grand Guignol version with Robert Englund, the vengeful Freddy of ''Nightmare on Elm Street'' fame, freshly manicured. And now Universal has decided to tint, not colorize, its original and reissue the film for the home-video market; the music track will boast operatic voices and an orchestra under the supervision of the rock musician Rick Wakeman.

[therewasabrowncrow]

লক্ষ্মী মেয়ে (Good Girl)

Character inspired by Reclaim the Night Protests and it's origin in books like Grihalakshmi and Brata Kathas:

Griha Laskhmi:

In 1884 a twenty-two year old Indian man wrote the first of what would become two editions of a book on women's conduct. He published Griha Lakshmi ("'The virtuous Housewife" or literally "'The Lakshmi of the House")

Griha Lakshmi was one of almost twenty "advice for women" books written in Bengali during the 1880s and 1890s. 'The authors of most of these texts were men; their purpose in writing was the redefinition of women's roles and the adaptation of these roles to the changed circumstances of life in British-ruled nineteenth century Bengal.

In late 19th century Bengal, urbanisation and capitaist colonialism shaped the Bhadramahila who is "envisioned to embody the virtues of both the ideal Hindu woman and the Victorian image of the perfect lady who could contribute to their husbands' career and educate their children in enlightened ways. She was still restricted to the andarmahal or antahpur- the private sphere- where she had to negotiate with other stakeholders- female members of the family and domestic workers. The Victorian ideal of the "companionate" marriage, in which the wife served as friend and advisor to her husband, was one often spoken of by reform-minded Bengali men.

Home study:

There was general consensus that a proper education would provide the foundation for the future happiness of a married couple and the family- Husbands, writes Dhirendranath Pal, should begin to educate their wives from the first day of marriage. While others criticized the impracticality of home study; girls worked hard the whole day and were too exhausted to absorb anything at night.

Yet one twentieth century study of Bengali women shows how attractive the intimacy and intensity of these imagined late-night conversations might be to unmarried or young just-married Bengali girls. As one women relates:

I fell in love with [my husband] so intensely from the very night of our wedding that my whole day was spent dreaming about meeting him at night. If he ever came home early or ran into me alone on the veranda, I felt as though I were going through an electric shock •••• If he even said a word to me alone, I was so elated. I always expected him to talk to me when I came to bed at night. I hoped he would take a personal interest in me, that he would ask how my days went, whether I needed anything. I also missed my father who discussed his office problems with me. I wondered why my husband had nothing to talk about. I often asked him questions about his work, his colleagues, his friends. I tried to imagine his life outside home

Ultimately, women's literacy should fulfill the following:

They should be able to reproduce their own letters to husbands when he is away at college or work.

They should be able to keep household accounts and release the tired husband from these tasks

They should be educate for the joy of education

Pass knowledge to their children

"Soroj, don't you see how much fault there is in not learning writing am reading? I will write letters to you, but you can't read. Certain others will read the letters and for this reason I will not be able to write all the thoughts in my mind". (Writing/Reading, Girijaprasann Raychaudhuri, 1887)

Bratakathas:

A major traditional source from which girls could learn how to behave as young wives was the didactic stories of the Bratakathas. The bratas were rituals or verses performed in worship of a goddess and often accompanied by the telling of a story- this is usually done by women with other female members in the andarmahal.

One of the goddesses is Lakshmi associated with wealth and prosperity in Bengal that even today, a good girl is called a "lokkhi meye"-literally, "a girl like Lakshmi."

Daily, get up very early and sweep up whatever is scattered about. Never sleep during the day. In the evening time, put incense and sprinkle Ganges water in the rooms and light the lamps. Never speak roughly or loudly with a metallic sounding voice and never cause a clatter while moving about. If you move, move as if there is no sound of your feet. Always silently invoke Lokkhi and Narayan in your mind, then the mercy of Ma Lokkhi will come.

It has often been said that the conservatism of Hindu families comes from the women, and nineteenth century reformers often identified older women in families as their opponents in the effort to alter women's conditions. But one of the curiosities of the Griha Lakshmi text is the way in which, in all but the chapter on literacy, husband and wife switch roles-she arguing for romantic love between husband and wife and he, as we have seen, for more orthodox relations.

The women outside these caste Hindu households also live in a male dominated society, but their economic self-reliance, their independent life style and non-conformity to the morals of bhadralok society allowed them some freedom. The night is therefore relegated to service workers- women of the market place, and wives of the andarmahal to be taught by their husbands. Hindu society needs to reckon with the working girl and this conflict is often violent.

resource:

Face to Face: Roles for Bengali Women in Love and Family (A study based on Griha Lakshmi-a 19th Century Bengali "advice for women" text) by Judith Walsh, 1990 Gendered Spaces: A Study of the Narratives in the Lakshini Puja- Anindita Chatterjee, 2006