#and that axis is 'sad horse in a horse girl movie'

[wyrvel]

horse boy

[wlwgang]

Was tagged by @patrcolus ty emmmmmm ily

Favorite movie(s): buuuuuh of all time honestly Spirit bc I am a horse girl forever and also that movie had such a strong anti-imperialist message like!!! Recently tho I was sad and watched Pineapple Express for the first time which was good for the laughs I guess.

Favorite band: Lord Huron I’ve really liked recently, also Hippo campus, Conan Gray and so many sorry but also Cage the Elephant has so many bangers

Favorite decade: of my life 2010-2019 bc no pandemic just vibes 🤧

Nicknames: Anna or Nan

Zodiac: Gemini

Mbti: might’ve changed since but the first one I took said INTJ but the J/P axis was almost equal so either one I guess

Fav vehicle: I like my Sequoia but also screw cars ideal way to travel is a horse like bro if I could go sit on a horse rn I’d be on mental health level 1000

Pets: my puppies! Hank is my black lab he’s very old and very lumpy but I love him so much even when he sleeps in the absolute middle of my twin bed so I can’t fall asleep until 5 am :) and then there’s Hubert he’s our enormous mutt hound baby who I’m trying to train but he’s the embodiment of head empty no thoughts lol

Tagging @meganiumlesbian @schmidtho @nigerianing @earthfem @meloqrama and anyone else who wants to!

[101percentindia]

My Name Is Quazi And I Am Not A Beef Eater

The difficulties of finding a house in Mumbai as a single Muslim woman.

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Some things are just too difficult to do. Everyone knows and therefore, they are well-established facts. For example (and in no particular order):

1. Climbing Mt. Everest with asthma; 2. Walking to Karachi from Dhaka (I think that’s how Adnan Sami lost weight FYI); 3. Getting my dad to dance; 4. Finding a house in Mumbai!

I had heard enough about the vagaries of house-hunting in Mumbai so I knew that this was going to be a real toughie, but as they say the show ain’t over till the fat lady sings, and frankly I had no idea what I was going to be faced with.

Eligibility criteria for getting a house in Mumbai. Image source: vagabomb.com

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Within a week of moving to Mumbai in November, I was advised to start house hunting if I wanted to move by 2017. I braced myself for all kinds of brokers (ranging from extortionist to losers), all kinds of landlords (nosey to dysfunctional) and all kinds of houses. I even sketched a mental graph with the all the boys I had dated on the Y-axis and the months they lasted on the X-axis, and placed my ideal house somewhere close to the coordinates which in layman terms would translate to “god what was I doing with him!” In other words, my expectations were dangerously low! But alas! I wasn’t prepared for what came my way. The Mumbai landlord-broker Jodi was going to go so fully Sena on my ass that I perhaps had more preparation for the mock GRE exams I took online when I was bored!!!

Let’s face it. I wasn’t a stranger to the phenomena. I had hunted houses (as opposed to house hunting) in Delhi and I had met landlords who doubted me because of my last name. Some even shot sniffer dog looks at my hand bag to ensure no bomb wires were popping out, but I was never outright denied a house for it. So when it happened, I didn’t know whether to feel discriminated and angry or helpless and sad, or simply laugh because it was my true “My name is Quazi and I am not a beef eater” moment.

My first broker was a quintessential miya bhai (Muslim brother). He had a spiky goatie beard and the first time I called him it went unanswered - “madam maghrib ka waqt tha na” (the fourth Namaz of the day). The first house he took me to see looked like a pig sty on a Sunday if the pigs in it had a cocaine-orgy party the previous night! The second house was such a jump from the last one I wanted to write the sacred “ek lakh ka deposit minimum lage ga madam” check right away! But I was told to hold onto my horses (or cows?) because my agnipariksha was scheduled for another day i.e. meeting with the landlords.

Tiny room that I call my bedroom. Image source: athriftyroom.com

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On a crisp sunny afternoon I slipped out of work and went for my trial by fire. There I was greeted with another miya bhai who “assalomoalaikum-ed” me with such force, I felt if I could say it like him I could skip Haj. Then I was greeted by an aunty and uncle both of whom were so very old and dried up they looked like bleached raisins. They were really sweet! We spoke and hit it off pretty soon over aunty ji advising me where I could keep the washing machine and me complimenting her for the ingenious idea of incorporating the balcony into the living room. I was truly happy and I was thinking in my head “Hah! People always exaggerate!”

Just when I had drifted away to the part where I was deciding in my head what color curtains would go with such an obnoxious purple, aunty ji’s voice disrupted my interior decorating thoughts as I heard the words “Hum toh Puja karwake denge beta but tum Tuesday aur Thursday ko non-veg toh nahi khaati in nayi bachchiyon ke tarha” (We will do Puja before handing over the house but I hope you don’t eat non-veg on Tuesday and Thursday like these new kids).

AUNTI JI WHAAAAAAAAAAA!?

The glorified chawl that never let me in

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She looked at my semi-shocked semi- confused face and shook her head as if she remembered something and was wriggling the thought back into her head. Then informed me that the  earlier tenants too were a married couple from Kolkata just like me. I excused myself and narrow-eye gestured the broker to meet me the F*#$ outside!

What the hell was going on?!? I had made it amply clear to my broker that my boy friend would be living with me, but he had told the owners that I was married and had CONVERTED to Hinduism. Now I get saffronizing text books and stuff but I had no clue I was going to have to pretend to be a vada pav when I am (and proudly so) galouti kabab. Much less that this lie was going to be staged on my behalf, without my knowledge. And that too by a Mohammad Abdul!

#WTFmomentno1oflyf!

I stormed off. Told him I was not going to lie about my identity and that just because I met him for the first time in a pencil skirt and was not very `Muslim’, it did not mean I was a Hindu or any other religion or happily married either.

Dejected and embarrassed I called my dad to tell him he wasn’t being “old-fashioned and stuck up” and that he was right when he said it’s hard for Muslims to find a house. To which he replied, “Beta, even Shabana Azmi was finding it difficult and you’re just an arts graduate!”

Easy peasy rules to be followed before you get your house. Illustrated by Eshna Goenka

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And so followed a series of similar events where the landlords loved me because `Bengali girls are sweet like Rosogulla’. But then instantly became `Mirchi Ka Salan’ when they found out my last name was Quazi. Or people who did not even want to meet me when they heard my entire name - Suman Mahfuz Quazi which most definitely meant I was writer by day and cow butcher by night.

I had contacted a total of 18 brokers, some of whom hung up after hearing my name. I could literally hear their disdain over the phone. Many did not get back. Some just failed to find a house for a) a girl, b) a Muslim girl, c) a Muslim girl who had a Hindu boyfriend d) a Muslim girl who had a Hindu boyfriend who she wasn’t married to and wanted to live with and d) who also worked in the `media line’. One broker told me that my chances of finding a house were less possible than Rahul Gandhi becoming the Prime Minister. I feel bad for him now.

Finally I found a broker who shared my name, albeit with a different spelling - Kazi. He was God sent (I think my furious refusal to be projected as a Hindu had finally swayed Allah to my side). Within a week he found me a house with a landlord who #thanksbeuponhim cared about things like rent and timely payments instead of my muslimmatrimony.com bio data.

After a month long search I have finally have an unfurnished 1BHK with plumbing, sewage, paint and pest issues. It’s over-priced but priceless. If you know what I mean.

Postscript - The day I landed in Mumbai I saw a couple kissing in front of a Frankie kiosk bang in the middle of Carter Road. Coming from a place like Kolkata, where these 'things' only occur behind bushes in Victoria Memorial and / or antiquated movie halls, seeing people behaving like they were in Central Park was novel on a whole new level. In that moment I had thought to myself 'People are right. Mumbai is like New York'.

But then, I reckon it won’t be easy for me there either.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are independent views solely of the author(s) expressed in their private capacity and do not in any way represent or reflect the views of 101India.com.

By Suman Quazi Photographs by: Etush Bansal

[drubblernews-blog]

New Post has been published on http://drubbler.com/2017/02/24/parade-of-vanity-and-death-icon-of-american-politics/

Parade of vanity and death: icon of American politics

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Dmitry Tretyakov, February 24, 2017, 21:18- REGNUM

Conceited people cause contempt the wise, delight for fools are idols for parasites and slaves of their own passions.

Francis Bacon

February 23, on Russian screens released biographical drama “Jackie”, dedicated to challenging Dole 34-year-old Jacqueline Kennedy, at one point losing her husband’s position in society and the House, which did not become “their” for her. For the role of the first lady Natalie Portman has been nominated for an Academy Award and nominated for many other awards, but only the Venetian Festival drew attention to the wonderful scenario of the film. Screenwriter Noah Oppenhajm, apparently, in close collaboration with filmmaker Pablo Larraín’s paintings could nudge mountain “cult character” and discover after her mouse of a living person.

what could be a film about Kennedy, and even more so about the Kennedy-woman in the run-up to the presidential elections in the United States? (The film was released in the world rolled back in September.) One would expect to see on the screen agitku the Democratic Party — a woman terpjashhuju her husband’s infidelity for the sake of the country, transforming the classic political Beau Monde in modern fashionable reception, a female diplomat, companion of the great father of the nation, only due to the limited era do not raskryvshuju in itself leadership qualities. Perhaps this “order” and would have to develop the film. But it is precisely this attempt fails. More precisely, for all the glitter and grandiosity here and there are moments that make wary: “something is wrong here.

the structure of the movie quite typical of biographies is a film adaptation of the famous interview given to a widow just a week after the death of her husband. This technique provides the ability to mount a story from different time layers, simulate memory in which the time and logical link of events gives way to associations and emotions. Of course, the Central plot turns out to be the President’s assassination and the subsequent funeral — unprecedented courage of Jacqueline (she went over her husband’s coffin through the streets of Washington, not fearing the likely sniping) made her the heroine of the world press. In this temporary layer of woven, but they all relate only to the period of life in the White House, though for the biographer is not so important who was the man, not yet faced hundreds of cameras.

we see very different Jackie: inexperienced and somewhat naive before the camera its tours of the residence of Presidents, shokirovannuju and lost myself in the day of fatal shots, dedicated during the funeral and cold and calculated and driven in front of the journalist. In this way in the “present tense” film layer picture widow is strikingly different from all others. And it is here that a viewer can observe the amazing process of “deikonizacii” or rather a deconstruction of icons. Almost all other events the film is only a story — presentation of themselves, and because they are so smooth and prilizanno parade. But in this story there are reservations — hints at something else, something the second alternative text.

it is “wrong”, this additional text is not opening film. No need to think long to suspect public person in vanity. Especially if the main achievements of this man are various interviews and organization of public processions of thousands crowd with an led. But that’s served this idea more than elegant. Penetrating game Portman-Jackie, selects, that it is more important: the safety of children or publicity of the funeral, and later justified the choice in sudden self-fulfillment: “we were before hundreds of cameras!” (and immediately: “I didn’t say”). Her desire to hold the ceremony, repeating in detail the funeral of Lincoln (until personal horses, going beyond the coffin President that is understandable in the 19th century, but raises questions in century XX). In dozens of other, “accidentally” obronennyh phrases: for example, during a rehearsal before telejekskursiej someone advises first lady to replace the words in the phrase “I am pleased to welcome you at the White House, our home” to “people’s House”. Not long thinking, future “mother of the nation” gets rid of the title at home, but not from his conditioning to her personally with the President.

vanity and naturally accompanying hypocrisy (including before itself) are represented in all its glory. But, I think, the main thing in this picture is not it. Not study nature desires imaginary sponsored women. It seems to me that the film soon on how policy is constructed in our time it is at the first place, and that all the remaining tenths. Deconstruction of one of the icons in the iconostasis of dekonstrukciju turns or even the whole Church.

No work of art does not exist in a vacuum, it’s hard to imagine that picture man watch comes Larrain had never heard of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, not knowing that he is perhaps debatable, but “great” President. You might not know that his wife is an example of a first lady at all times, even in that post prevzoshedshaja Castile Roosevelt, but some cultural context is captured even in Russia, far from the exaltation of the wives of foreign Presidents. In many ways, the film relies on the knowledge behind the Viewer, but still in a frame sound notes of reproach the President triumphantly razreshivshemu Caribbean crisis, “which he himself had previously and arranged, and vtjanuvshemu America in the shameful war in its modern cultural history. The brother of the President clearly indicates his widow on the inappropriate copying of funeral events: Lincoln “at least won the civil war. All these reproaches are swept aside a terrific desire to widows be minded. Desire, as we understand it, osushhestvivshemsja.

in the United States the greatness of Kennedy almost as surely as Nixon otvratitel’nost’ is its direct competitor, where the war had actually ended. Greatness, which rely on film at least partly secured by the vanity of his wife. So what is more important: the real achievements, actions and economic indicators or show-off and tinsel are called dinners, noisy procession and “candid” interview? I think that today this question more than rhetorical.

in the twenty-first century enough for race as absolve themselves of responsibility for the outbreak of war and the transformation of entire States in a zone of endless conflict, Secretary of the strongest country in the world is enough to lift a television series in which slightly more young and cute version of this Secretary becomes a victim of the vicious intrigues. In an age in which the Nobel Peace Prize is given out in advance and, indeed, for colour, it should be clear that PR won. Win infinite Jackie, which importantly — thousands of cameras on the axis. What is happening outside the lenses? It just doesn’t matter, this does not exist . Hundreds of people could die from rockets fired by bespilotnikom with incorrect coordinates or as “derivative losses” at the “elimination” of one conditional terrorists identified by indirect evidence via satellite, but the world will mourn about the girl from the fictional “Instagramma”.

the new President of the United States already had more than once have to pay not only for the lack of glamorous attitudes and actions, but for the inaccuracies of the journalist, before time including microphone. The Russian power, as the opposition increasingly chooses the way Jackie — external and internal policies and their criticism are transformed into permanent dokuchnyj PR farce. Among the cheerful economic reports progress and international cooperation among the sad sighs on convicted nudistah in an unknown direction lurks one ally after another flourish of war and the unrecognized republics, and fellow workers every day more reminiscent of slavery.

we have to Live in this twenty-first century, and we don’t have any choice?

Read earlier in this story: Spy, superhero, President and Iranian — anecdotal portrait of America

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