I heard murmurings that some of you have doubted my ability to continue publishing this thing. That it was yet another case of my being excited about something new and losing that interest almost immediately. And yet, here I am with another missive to silence those of you who felt this way. When you’re reading episode 300, or when said episode is marinating in your spam folder with the preceding 299, remember this moment.
Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about race. Here are some illustrative examples of my run-ins with race, specifically with the -ism variety. These would go well as subjects of a college application essay; you know the ones where you say “it all started when I opened my lunchbox in the school cafeteria and the kids around me started making faces when they smelled my aloo paratha” (italics mandatory), that kind of thing:
Kids in school making jokes about Indians
Kids in school saying I was one of the “good Indians”
“You’re a good looking Indian”
In the playground at school waiting for the swing and this girl is on the swing with her friend and she says “let the brown boy have a turn”
On the street in Chicago during university and some random guy calls me a terrorist
At work in Boston, a manager on one of my projects repeatedly called me by the name of the only other Indian guy on the team
At work in London, a manager on one of my projects repeatedly called me by the name of the only other Indian guy on the team
One time when I opened my lunchbox in the school cafeteria guess what the kids around me did
Bottom line: fairly tame, considering I’ve lived most of my life in places where people who look, sound, and eat aloo parathas like me are a minority.
Oh he is going to do one of those My Reckonings with Race: How Microaggressions I Faced In My Fancy International School and Fancy International University Put Me Through The Wringer, and How I Emerged Bravely From Them
I actually already did that six years ago.
I only brought up race because my grad studies in Chicago have started. My grad studies in computer science. And here’s the thing about my course. I walk into any of my classes and guess who’s in the front row? It’s Raghav. Second row, Manav. These are both guys in my algorithms class, I am not doing a bit. We’ve got Tanvis for days. My small group partner in one of my program classes is Shivalika, whose name is very similar to my mom’s. On dating apps, whenever I’d encounter someone with the same name as my mom it was “you’re cute but this would never work because you have the same name as my mom” on sight. It never did work, but for other reasons. Should I ruin this working academic relationship by bringing this up with her? Let me know.
And the other 70% who aren’t Indian? Chinese students, with whom I’m not going to do the name thing. Every year since 2020, I’ve lived with at least one roommate who identifies in some way as Chinese. I like to think that in our commingling, we carry the weight, population-wise, of one-third of the world. “That’s so over the top” “so dramatic” “that’s too much Soham”. Too much what? Too much Indians and Chinese people? What are you going to do about it?
So guess what motherfuckers I am the majority now. I walk through the computer science building and I think damn am I in Singapore right now? Lee Kuan Yew about to pop out of the woodwork? I see a Bennett in class (take a guess, tbh a very nice guy who doesn’t deserve to be my stereotypical example) and I look at him and think I know how you feel Bennett, hang in there, join South Asian Students Association and we’ll have a good time.
Soham gets to the point
The point is that I’m living with new roommates, and we’re deep in the adjustment period. Figuring out each other’s bathroom habits, kitchen habits - I taught my roommate how to cook chicken breast, which made me feel really old. I’ve been a bit anal about certain things, he’s called me out on a few things. If you look at our text history it’s a lot of “Can we put dirty dishes directly into the dishwasher instead of the sink” and “when you shave could you clean up around the faucet thanks” but when we talk face-to-face, it’s friendly chat and the kitchen is never mentioned. Is this conflict avoidance? Yes, but so far it’s worked.
So today, when I walked into the kitchen to find my roommate lying flat on the floor, face-up, with his currently visiting girlfriend applying a pack of frozen peas to his leg, the dishwasher was the last thing on my mind. It turns out he’d accidentally knocked our new, extra sharp kitchen knife off the counter. In a Rube Goldbergian, or Wile E Coyote-esque series of events that followed, the knife bounced off something, my man kicked it, and it ended up slicing into his calf. I asked him if he needed to go to the hospital, to which he answered vehemently in the negative.
When I’d walked in, his girlfriend had been looking up what she should do. I didn’t ask what she looked up, but if I was in her position it would probably be something like “boyfriend leg sliced by knife and he’s freaking out and queasy what do i do”. Followed by “boyfriend now being self-critical and saying he always ruins everything what do i do”. I asked to see the wound and as soon as she removed the bag of peas, it was clear that this was no DIY job (I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say the chicken breasts have been very easy to cut). I told them as much and that we needed to go to the hospital and get him stitched up. So we got him the stitches and he is fine and there was no serious damage to anything.
Here was a paragon of cross-cultural cooperation. I may not have brokered peace between two countries (though I did broker the peace between the two sides of his skin that were split open) but maybe this self-stabbing was an olive branch. Maybe it will make up for our mutual passive-aggressiveness. One can only dream. At any rate, I know what to do the next time I live with someone new to spark some roommate chemistry.
Cool stuff
A brilliant story I read about a Muslim family in America, told from the perspective of the FBI agent assigned to spy on them. If you want to read this and the NYer is paywalled, let me know - I’m still in possession of the only good thing i go out of my five year relationship, namely my ex’s new yorker login
I hate techno but I heard this song in a movie I watched recently and I can’t seem to listen to anything else
I watched We Live In Time, very sad romance starring Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh. They are hot, the movie is decent
you racist bigot 😠