The Story

by Priya Chhaya

I love listening to the story.

We all have one, a narrative about how we came to America, how someone in our family made a choice to leave a home in one country and create a new one in another. While each of these stories is fleshed out with common elements, it is the details that make it unique to our personal experience.

Famin and her father at Disney World, 1970s.

A few months ago I had the opportunity to talk to the retired Dr. Momtaz Ahmed, and during the course of our conversation I heard hisstory.

In 1959, Dr. Ahmed took advantage of advertised openings through the United States Information Service exchange program and left his home in Bangladesh. He heard about the program from some of his friends and applied to different hospitals under the exchange visitors program. Much of his initial decision to train in the United States was because the country needed doctors. Dr. Ahmed was able to train here and used that income to obtain more training in the United Kingdom.

What fascinated me about Dr. Ahmed’s story was that he came to the United States (albeit temporarily, initially for about three years) well before the quotas opened up in the mid-1960s, and so I wondered, knowing that the late ’50s and ’60s were important in the civil rights movement, how a new immigrant would react to specific events.

It became fairly clear early on that while these events were occurring, they had very little impact on an exchange student at St. Mary of Nazareth Hospital in Chicago, but in the process I learned a little bit more about the different ways that South Asian Americans immigrated to the United States As Dr. Ahmed states:

“In the ‘50s and ‘60s, the United States was heaven for foreigners. The United States economy was good, jobs were plentiful, and the salaries were more than adequate for foreigners coming from foreign countries. It was easy to save money and establish yourself.”

Dr. Ahmed received his green card, and completed his residency in the United States by 1970 and spent much of his career working in Veterans Affairs hospitals across the country.  By 1971, Dr. Ahmed was married and had a daughter, Famin, who experienced much of the same elements of a proto-typical life as most Americans. When I asked her about her father, and if he told her anything about his earlier time in the U.S. she said:

“My dad didn’t tell us many stories about living here back then. He’s not much of a storytelling person. I think I asked him once who his favorite singer was and he told me it was Petula Clark, which I found very funny.”

For ten years Famin attended school here before the family moved back to Bangladesh, only to return to the United States in 1990 following her graduation.  She says that she remembers moving a lot, and looking back on her childhood in the U.S. she recalls:

“I worked hard in school and was a good student. My mom used to teach before she married my dad so she would assign me extra work when I didn’t have homework-she was definitely a Tiger Mom. Plus, she taught me how to read and write Bengali as well as surahs from the Qura’an, and all that was in addition to anything they could do to keep me ahead of the rest of the class.”

But things changed once they moved to Bangladesh where:

“Classes were much harder once we moved to Dhaka when I was in fourth grade. I’m not saying this means I got a better education in Bangladesh than I did in the United States, but it was very different and for me, in many ways, much harder. I was lucky in that I had good study habits and was a voracious reader because I read the textbooks on my own and just taught myself that way.”

And this is where I found the story to be extraordinary. To some extent, the Ahmed’s “How We Came to America” story is a tale of three separate migrations—migrations that included travel between the United States, United Kingdom, Bangladesh and India (Famin went to boarding school in India for a short time).  A family story that spans four countries and forty years.

We all have one, a narrative about how we came to America, how someone in our family made a choice to leave a home in one country and create a new one in another. Each one is unique, each one has its own connection to a personal history. Each one of us has a story to tell, to share, to reveal.

So….what is your story?

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.

 

Amitav Ghosh Discusses River of Smoke

by Aditya Desai

Bengali-born South Asian writer Amitav Ghosh was in D.C. recently for a reading at Politics & Prose, a local bookstore. He discussed his new novel, River of Smoke, the continuation of his 2008 tome Sea of Poppies, which was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize.

River of Smoke is the second in a sweeping epic of his proposed Ibis trilogy (named after the trader/slave ship that the character’s lives are linked to) takes place during the 19th Century, plotting the rise of the East India Company over opium trade across South Asia.

Similar to the portrait in his book jacket, of a whispy, silver-haired, scarf-wearing cosmopolitan, Ghosh adopted an introspective nature as he read a small portion of his new novel. As the local Washington readership, of all ethnicity and age, listened to his temperate but emphatic narration, it was clear he had a genuine love of these characters and the world. The sequel was an inevitable need to live a while longer in this world far removed from him and his audience.

Amitav Ghosh reading at Politics & Prose, Washington, D.C.

After the reading, the floor was open to Q&A. Over the course of discussion, Ghosh described his initial hook into the novel as being the opposite of the more common migrant narratives that seem to dominate Indian American or Indian English literatures. He said, that instead of the “moment of arrival” to the new land, he instead wanted to look at the “moment of departure” from home.

It was during this era in which the company’s trade routes doubled as the journey trails of the first Indian migrants West – resulting in the diverse Indian communities across Africa, the Americas, and the Caribbean today. The wide cast in the novels include not only Indian and British characters, but also American, Chinese, and French, making it a global conscious piece of fiction.

Though the two novels don’t depict this actual rise of migration, they provide a fresh flipside to thinking about how Indians have spanned their presence across the globe. As the works posit, India’s fertile soil and supply of indentured servants allowed the East India Company to efficiently harvest poppy and produce of opium, which became one of the great economic and political commodities of the time.

Even though Ghosh’s books attempt to draw parallels to today’s global situation (i.e. Western financial stakes in China and India,) Poppies and now Smoke are ultimately works of fiction, and engrossing reads at that. Though, I personally have not gotten around to River of Smoke, the first novel was a wonderful panorama of the men and women whose lives became caught up in these sweeps of power. Ghosh goes to great lengths as a writer to render each character vividly, as well as the time period, employing pidgin Hindoo-English dialogue and lush portrayals of Calcutta and the Ganges basin.

Functioning on many levels—from historical fiction, to adventure epic, to anthropological ensemble—the novels are rich in discourses that can apply to wide net of readers. For the Indian American community, Ghosh’s work certainly seems an apt extension of the grander history of South Asians crossing borders beyond the subcontinent. Don’t worry about reading the Sea of Poppies and River of Smoke in order—Ghosh states they are both distinct, separate works—a “Calcutta book” and a “Bombay book” respectively.

Here’s to the third, Mr Ghosh; perhaps bringing us the rest of the country in the same vibrant prose?

Aditya Desai is pursuing a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at the University of Maryland, College Park.

 

Happy Diwali!

Above: Diwali celebrations at the Mandir (Hindu temple) in Missouri City, Texas. Photo by Amyn Kassam (Flickr).

Diwali, the festival of lights, was celebrated by more than 2 million American Hindus, Jains, and Sikhs on October 26, 2011.  It’s observed on the last day of the lunar calendar to celebrate the beginning of a new year. A traditional candle or “diya” is lit to symbolize victory of good over evil, light over darkness, and knowledge over ignorance.

From the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program (APAP), we wish you and your family a Happy Diwali and a prosperous New Year!

HomeSpun is a national initiative of the APAP chronicling the stories of immigrants from India and later generations in the US.  Share your favorite Diwali memories on HomeSpun’s Facebook page.

Note: Photo above is from Flickr, a photo sharing website, within the photographer’s specified creative commons license conditions of use. 

 

Culture Sampling: South Asian Hip-Hop Concert Celebrates Desi Artists

Painting by Art Under Pressure, commissioned by Subcontinental Drift and acquired by the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program for "Drift Elemental," D.C.'s first South Asian hip-hop show, 9-23-11.

by Aditya Desai

The District’s cultural nerve center in the U Street corridor was host to a South Asian hip-hop concert last month, showcasing performances by Indian American MCs, rappers, beat-boxers, and dancers.

The concert, dubbed Drift Elemental and hosted by local South Asian arts organization Subcontinental Drift, drew a heavy crowd on Friday, both Desi and non-Desi, all present to support art and bust a few dance moves.

As they took the stage, the MCs paid tribute to the old school hip-hop that they grew up listening to, each song set an emphatic homage to the culture of back-door hip-hop clubs. That night, New York’s DJ Insomnia and his crew of turntable maestros backed up the vocalists. In between acts, they took center stage and mixed a live dance set, allowing the crowd to not just witness, but in a sense “re-live” the same experience the artists were paying homage to. Filled out by a performance from breakdancers, the night overall stayed very much in the world of one-mic MCs, scratching vinyls, heavy bass beats, and subliminal lyrics.

Vocal acts from Raja Wilco, Ko the Timeless, and Navi & The Whole Damme Delegation set the tone for the night, with lurid rhymes that didn’t wax too poetic about the usual immigrant strife, but still carried the weight of cultural tensions.

And really, why make a big deal of it? It was a South-Asian event, the crowd was mostly populated by brown faces. The show was full-on embrace not of the Indian ancestry, but rather the heritage that these Desi MCs have created in the States.

Just as these MCs grew up with Run DMC, Notorious BIG, and Doug E. Fresh, other Desi kids across the country are striving to be rock legends, pop divas, or symphony stars. Though offhand it would seem that there was too much emphasis on the “Western” aspect, artists would engage with the audience between songs to give background and perspective on encountering these musical styles. For example, an R&B-influenced ballad was always framed in response to Bollywood romance numbers.

The hope is always, of course, that the Indian background is able to bring a fresh spin to the art – not only to keep the Eastern traditions alive, but also to bring a new vibrancy to the Western. Such collaborations aren’t uncommon – Ravi Shankar and George Harrison, Jay-Z and Punjabi MC, Snoop Dogg and Pritam – but perhaps to think of the new horizon: the two musical styles embedded into the single artists.

Perhaps symbolic of the notion was the live-painted mural done by graffiti artists in the concert venue. Though the subcontinent looms in the background, the hijab-donning woman is looks out at us, spray-can in hand, ready to make her mark on the rest of the world.

Aditya Desai is pursuing a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at the University of Maryland, College Park.

 

There is Just One Rule: Be Funny, But Be Real

Comedian Vijai Nathan

by Priya Chhaya

There is a point in Vijai Nathan‘s comedy show where she imitates her South Indian grandmother describing her favorite television show….in Tamil. All around me the audience is in stitches–my friend who understands the language is grinning, while I’m responding to the familiarity of the tone and body movement.  Then as if Lucille Ball was really Lucille Ranganathan, Vijai says the only English word in sixty seconds: “Ricccckkkkkky!”

It’s this type of layered comedy that permeated Vijai Nathan’s show “Good Girls Don’t, But Indian Girls Do” at the Capital Fringe Festival earlier this year. Filled with humor that is at times racy, Nathan tells her personal story of being an Indian American with a confidence of someone unafraid to own the two countries of her heritage.

The youngest daughter of three, Nathan grew up in Potomac, Maryland, a suburb of Washington D.C. She majored in English literature at McGill University (which, she adds was “OK with my dad, because he considered it “Pre-Law”) and ended up working as a journalist first for Newsday in New York, followed by The Baltimore Sun. After three years of being in “the wrong job, the wrong place, with the wrong fiancé” she found herself needing to find an outlet for just herself and took a course the art of stand-up comedy in D.C.

During our interview, I asked Vijai how her coworkers reacted when she put on her two weeks’ notice (almost 14 years ago) to do stand up full time. Her reply: “speechless,” but she recognized that while she was taking a  ”slightly foolish” risk, it was a choice that allowed her to confront her identity issues as an “ABCD [American Born Confused Desi].”

When she first started, Vijai said her jokes were much of the standard fare—made up boyfriends, airplane food, anecdotes that any other comedian could do—because she simply wanted to prove she was an “American.” But, she realized she wasn’t being honest with herself—she wasn’t just “American” she was an “Indian American” and so Good Girls was born. With jokes that I would blush at if my mother was sitting next to me, Nathan gives an open portrayal of growing up Indian in the USA. For example, one of the segments in her show is about the time her father confronted the three sisters about losing their virginity. As she walks us through the conversation (complete with impressions of her father and older sisters), it becomes apparent that her dad is really asking her because of some “supposedly” discovered contraband in Vijai’s bedroom. It’s funny because of how realistic and honest it is, poignant because she has to decide if she is going to “tell the truth” and potentially lose her place in the family.

Making the switch to less conservative material was hard, since she knew that she might lose audience members before she gained new ones. But Vijai also knew that with any job—especially when it is something you are passionate about—takes hard work, especially since comedy is often about trying to convince others to engage with material that may be foreign to them.

This is evident when we talk about giving shows to audiences that may not be ready for her humor and honesty about herself, such as the more socially conservative South Asians. As we talked about a recent performance for an older South Asian audience, she made a discovery: even her choice of clothing can have an impact on how the audience will react.

 
“I usually wear salwars and kurtas when I perform at large Indian events, but this time I decided to wear an American cocktail dress and their reaction to some of my racier material was much more open. I think there was something about me in a salwar talking about dating or sex that made the audience think ‘I can’t laugh at this. She looks like my daughter, or my wife, or my mom…’” It was almost as if psychologically the way she dressed created a distance between her Indianess and some of the innuendo in her sketch.

Her advice for someone thinking about going into comedy:

• Say yes to everything (just be careful that you are not being taken advantage of.)
• When you start out you want everything to be perfect. You think you need the right clothes, the perfect venue, but you really don’t. Growth happens during imperfect situations.
• The first few shows are like magic. They build up your confidence, and give you the energy to do the hard work that comes next.

Want to see Vijai Nathan live? More information can be found on Facebook, but when not traveling the country, Vijai hosts a regular monthly show in DC bringing together comics from a variety of places for a themed night of hilarity. The one rule? Be Funny, But Be Real.

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.

 

SALGA Artifacts Acquired

SALGA Postcard

Through the joint efforts of the Asian Pacific American Program’s HomeSpun Project and the National Museum of American History (NMAH), The South Asian Lesbian and Gay Association (SALGA) recently donated a variety of materials to the Archives Center, NMAH, Smithsonian Institution.

Founded in 1991, SALGA is a New York City based organization promoting the civil rights of all South Asian Americans through awareness, empowerment, and the provision of safe spaces. SALGA participates in a range of activities ranging from HIV/AIDS awareness, to immigration advocacy, to support groups, to book clubs, to social gatherings.

SALGA Newsletter

The materials will join the Archives Center Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Collection (click to download PDF). This collection contains publications, advertising ephemera, posters, and other materials related to the LGBT community throughout the United States. SALGA newsletters, flyers for events, and outreach materials inform its members and non-members of critical issues facing primarily LGBT South Asian Americans. These materials helped connect people in an age before the Internet, facilitating their adjustment to life in New York City.

SALGA has gained prominence within New York City’s Indian American community. It has worked collaboratively to be able to march in the annual Indian Day Parade in New York City. They are widely known and acknowledged by mainstream gay and lesbian communities as serving a demographic otherwise unattended.

2000 Parade

The organization’s generous contribution of artifacts and documents, only some of which are shown here, helps HomeSpun include the multiple voices of the Indian American community and helps the Archives Center house a more comprehensive LGBT collection. The SALGA materials housed at the Archives Center will provide researchers with an opportunity to learn about the experiences of the South Asian LGBT community during the late 1990s and early 2000s. This is part of the Smithsonian’s larger effort to represent LGBT communities in terms of civil rights, HIV/AIDS awareness, and visual arts. People who have lived through an era are able to have their history documented for future use by researchers through their organizational records. The SALGA materials are a precious primary resource documenting the history of an important facet of the LGBT experience.

Gay City Newspaper Feature

 

Reflections on 9/11

Sikh Americans in Chicago after 9/11. Photo from sikhcouncilusa.org

by Pawan Dhingra

It is impossible to tell “The Story” of 9/11 for the nation or even for a single community. Yet, given HomeSpun’s role as helping tell the stories of Indian Americans, it is important to give voice to some part of this experience, so here I share part of my own. I was living in Pennsylvania then, a few hours from New York City, Washington DC, and Shanksville, PA. Some of my closest connections – my brother, sister-in-law, and future wife – were in Manhattan at that time. They all lived and worked away from the World Trade Center and I was able to make contact with them quickly. A friend from New York City was on a bus to visit me, and his whereabouts were clear. I was lucky – no threats to my personal world. My major task was to walk into my college classrooms and figure out how to teach students the course material while incorporating the unfolding events. The students made that easy on me with their earnest and inquisitive outlook on the tragedies surrounding us.

Others, obviously, were not so lucky. New York City was immersed in the need to make sure no one was forgotten. On my visit to Manhattan a few days after 9/11, I witnessed the spontaneous outdoor vigils in Washington Heights, in Washington Square Park, and elsewhere throughout the city. The sharing of hugs, of poetry, and of food and drink affirmed a beauty that may only be possible after tragedy.

But other types of tragedies continued after 9/11. We learned of an increase in violent hate crimes against Muslim Americans and those mistaken for Muslims. Deportations rose. Mosques were attacked. Others reported more minor incidents of harassment, undue attention, and a general sense of fear. Entire communities felt under surveillance. In the years since 9/11 not all of those concerns have disappeared. At the same time, many individuals have stepped up to assert their faith in the nation and its efforts to safeguard the population and build stronger international ties.

More broadly the past 10 years have been a story of how we as public citizens understand the multiple layers of difference that divide not only people in diverse parts of the world but also neighbors from each other. The political, economic, cultural, religious, and other dimensions that seem to only separate us also connect us, although not always in harmonious ways. There is much that joins groups living across borders, that joins immigrants to the nation, and that joins those who have lived side by side for generations. Yet, trying to create unity when our histories and futures do not align is our greatest challenge. I hope that HomeSpun can play its role in this endeavor, of recognizing a community and its various places in this country. As the curator I hope to facilitate the telling of multiple stories, all with the goal of furthering the respect and appreciation we have of one another. The 10th anniversary of 9/11 is as good a day as any to recommit myself to that cause.

Pawan Dhingra is a staff member at the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program and Curator for HomeSpun. He is also an associate professor of sociology and comparative American studies at Oberlin College.

 

You Can Take It With You

by Priya Chhaya

Moving.

A room once full of books, electronics, posters, and photographs now bare. Each item packed away into cardboard boxes that all look the same. Boxes, filled with nearly everything you own in two cars.

Moving Out.

Two words that mean so much more than just the act of packing up your belongings and transporting them into a new living situation. Here in the United States the traditional path is that kids leave home after college (or even earlier, after high school) either because a parent wants the kids to learn responsibility, and other times because the kid wants some independence. To feel more like an adult.

For Indian American children moving out, while more commonplace than years past, is connected to jobs and opportunities that are in areas not close to where they grew up. And having said that, for many female Indian American’s moving out is an even tougher decision—and much of that has to do with the belief that the daughter stays in her father’s house until marriage.

It’s hard to tell how many girls today are bound by that belief, in my case the rationalization for staying at home had a lot to do with saving up rather than any restrictions by my parents, but as I took that leap from home to apartment a few weeks ago I found myself wondering: How much of my “Indianness” is based on where I lived? I know for some Indian American kids that tug of war can be strong and combative, while for others remains a gentle pull. And as a friend recently reminded me, where you stand depends on how much of the ritual, the traditions, you actually understand.

In my case, after five years post-graduate school, I wanted to try to live a version of the American dream. I wanted to take care of myself, to be independent, to make a space my own. So as I put my books, clothes and posters in boxes, as I bought furniture, and cooking supplies, and took an inventory of clothes to take, and what to give to the Salvation Army, I also began to pack up my life lessons from my parents: doing aarthi before going on a long trip, actually making roti and daal on my own, calling India to talk to my grandmother—instead of waiting for my turn when my parents called. Habits and ways of life that I wanted to take with me without the prompting and encouragement of my mom.

As for things I’ll leave behind? I think dependency is one of them.  Living at home was never terrible—but I think it unconsciously limited me from taking risks and being spontaneous—staying in the city to meet up with friends for example. Sometimes being comfortable means that there isn’t room to grow, room to stretch, room to become what you want to be.

While it has only been two weeks, I’m not entirely sure what I’ve taken and what I’ve left behind, but I know that it has been a definite learning experience. Not to mention moments when you miss the two people who have given you all the encouragement and support in the world.

For those intrepid Indian Americans thinking of moving out here are a few things to add to the “To Do” list: Check to make sure you are within an auspicious month. Then if you are Hindu like me, be armed with statues of Ganesh (I now have at least three in my bedroom) to bless the house. My roommate who is from Chennai boiled some milk (a ceremony known as pal kachal, which is symbolic of the first domestic act in the house/literally a house warming), while my mother (we are from Gujarat) did a short prayer and left a booklet of prayers in the house so it would be there before I actually spent the night. Finally, when setting up your furniture bring a compass to make sure your bed is facing in the right direction—North/South is best.

Remember, while moving out is for all a way of “cutting the chord” that tethers you to where you grew up, not everything has to stay behind. That culture, that history, those lessons are parts of your identity that you can take with you into the future.

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.

 

Dalip Singh Saund Artifacts Acquired

by Ted Young (Summer 2011 intern)

The Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program is proud to announce its successful effort to secure the donation of Dalip Singh Saund campaign items by his grandson, Eric Saund, to the National Museum of American History. Saund was the first Asian American, and first practitioner of a non-Abrahamic faith, to be elected to Congress.¹ He is, to this day, the only Sikh to be elected to the national legislature.

Dalip Singh Saund campaign artifacts. 1956 and 1960 bumper stickers, thimbles, ribbon, and a mechanical pencil.

Beyond the symbolism of his appointment, Saund’s life story and accomplishments in office is a story worth preserving. Born in 1899 in Punjab, India, Saund graduated from the University of Punjab in 1919 with a degree in mathematics and came to the U.S. in 1920 to pursue his studies at the University of California Berkley. He received both his Masters and PhD in mathematics but decided to pursue agriculture, like many of his California Punjabi peers, and start a lettuce farm in Westmoreland, California.

Saund’s political activities started while he was studying at UC Berkley. There, he stayed at a clubhouse owned by a local Sikh organization and became national president of the Hindustan Association of America. Later, he would campaign for the right for Asian Indians to naturalize and, with the help of the Hindustan Association of Imperial Valley, form the India Association of America to pursue this goal. The India Association of America was one of the biggest advocates of citizenship for Indians and supported lobbying efforts in Washington with the money they raised from Indian farmers. In 1946, Saund and his organization were successful and the Luce-Cellar Act was passed which granted Indian immigrants the right to naturalize. This Act allowed Indians to run for office and own land, which was significant for many farmers who had to rely on friends who were citizens to hold the land they farmed in trust.

On December 16, 1949, Saund became one of the first Indian immigrants to take advantage of the land ownership opportunity. He proceeded to run for, and win, the seat for Justice of The Peace of Westmoreland in 1950. However, he was not allowed to take the position when the court ruled that he could not serve since he had been a citizen for less than the required year. Saund went on to win the seat again in 1952. He served on this position until 1957 when he was elected to Congress. While in Congress, Saund was a staunch supporter of civil rights and was appointed to the Foreign Affairs Committee during his first term. In his second term, he was appointed to the Interior and Insular Committee. He succeeded in amending the Foreign Assistance Act of 1961 which lead to the creation of the U.S. Agency for International Development and the entire reorganization of how the U.S. distributed Foreign Aid.² Saund’s amendment gave the U.S. more control on how its foreign aid money was spent by reducing the lifespan of foreign aid agreements. This was meant to keep American foreign aid money out of the hands of governments that were unpopular or hostile to the U.S.³

Congressman Saund passed away on April 22nd, 1973. HomeSpun’s acquisitions reflect the contributions that Dalip Singh Saund has made to California political history, Asian American history, and American history. The materials include the 1956 and 1960 bumper stickers, thimbles, ribbon, and a mechanical pencil. They represent a victory in the Indian American struggle for citizenship and belonging, as well as the ideals of the U.S. to be led by all of its inhabitants. These artifacts will be held at the Smithsonian. They are relevant not only to the HomeSpun exhibit, but to telling our part of the story as Americans in future exhibitions.

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¹ http://bioguide.congress.gov/scripts/biodisplay.pl?index=S000075

² http://www.usaid.gov/about_usaid/usaidhist.html

³ http://www.saund.org/dalipsaund/website-docs/foreign_aid_ammendment_120.pdf

Ted Young is an African American Studies Major and Sociology Minor at Oberlin College.

 

“Sim Sim Salabim!” Insight into Indian Mysticism

by Ted Young (Summer 2011 intern)

If I relied on nothing else other than popular culture to inform me about Indians and Indian Americans I would think that they all have mystical powers somehow related to their religious beliefs… Oh yeah, also they love to dance. Until this summer, when I started doing research for HomeSpun, I never really questioned where these images came from. I am a little ashamed to admit it, but as critical as I am as a Chinese American of the representation of my own ethnic group in the media, I really did not question the ones I saw of Indian Americans. I just accepted that all Indians and Indian Americans had some form of superpower.

Interning here at the Smithsonian APA Program and doing research for the HomeSpun project has opened my eyes to just how ingrained these mystic Indian ideas were in my mind. While researching a range of topics for HomeSpun, from the history of the American circus to the Microsoft Cricket Club, I have been completely fascinated by how India has captured the American imagination.

Indians have long been associated with a certain level of mysticism and magic. Apparently, Indians were considered naturally mystical because 19^th century American magicians could not figure out the “Indian Rope Trick” where you can watch here. Though accounts of this trick vary, the basic trick is when the magician makes a rope go up vertically and has a boy climb it. The more outrageous versions of the story have the magician climbing the rope after the boy, cutting him up, and then putting him back together. Despite the numerous published accounts of this trick, audiences have traveled to India to observe it themselves, and huge monetary offers made to learn the secret, American magicians could not figure out how the trick was done. Some tried to explain it as hypnotism while others went as far to claim the trick did not even exist! While the part about the boy disappearing or being cut up and put together is clearly a stretch, to put it mildly, the basic trick of making the rope stand up straight is not. While American magicians could not figure out how this trick was done, they still brushed the trick off as amateur. However, this never stopped them from pursuing ways of imitating it in the United States. The elusiveness of the trick’s secret just increased the trick’s mysticism and the sense of magic and mystery of India.

The mystery and magic associated with India is as embedded in America as deeply as apple pie. From Johnny Quest to Johnny Carson, American cultural icons have been able to tap into the realm of magic by associating with Indians. Jonny Quest had his Hadji, Carson had his Carnac, and even today Homer Simpson has his Apu. The relation between Indians and mysticism transcends generations. Apparently, secrets remain in India that they just won’t share with the rest of us. It allows them to make rope grow into the air, grants them psychic powers, and as any devote Simpsons fan will tell you, allows them to succeed in the realms of small business.

Hadji from Jonny Quest, Johnny Carson as "Carnic", and Apu from The Simpsons.

The frustration of not being able to figure out one magic trick is just a small glimpse of the legacy of Indian mysticism in American culture. Personally, I do not even think that the trick is all that impressive, but that could be because I have grown up in an age of computer generated special effects. Seeing a rope stand up by itself does not hold a candle to giant transforming robots fighting each other or Robert Downey Jr. flying around and blowing stuff up or even my smart phone for that matter. Still, the impact of this one trick on American popular culture is astounding. Besides, I still cannot figure out how it’s done.

“Sim Sim Salabim” is what Hadji would say to do magic on the Jonny Quest television show. It has no real meaning or ties to any language.

Ted Young is an African American Studies Major and Sociology Minor at Oberlin College.