Happy Passover!
Last night I went out with my friends Hannah, Luisa, and Darlene to
watch a movie called "Born into Brothels." It's about nine children
living in the Red Light District in Calcutta, India, and how one
western women comes into their lives and tries to help them break out
of the environment and enter into education and normalcy.
She teaches them photography and, for a few years, gives them something to look forward to other than jobs and chores. It was very very bright and loud and colorful, and how could it not be? It was about children. The film wasn't depressing at all, considering the theme (children of sex workers) and the reality of it all. There are some triumphant moments in the movie, like when Avijit gets to fly to Amsterdam for a special children's conference on photography (he is very talented, has a very unique eye). There's the time "Auntie Zana" (that's the photographer) is trying to enroll them all in school and all of their bloodwork comes out to be HIV negative. There's Gour giving his take on the history of man and the state of India and his fondness for Puja, one of the girls in his class. And, maybe what touched me most, the way their parents reacted when the children left them to go to boarding school. In spite of the swearing, beating, using, and verbal disparaging in their families, there's still this very human connection, a very human fear of being separated from their children. One woman didn't want to let her girl go because she knew that Puja had trouble eating by herself. This movie is a definite must see.
I was gonna have a live journal about how this movie touched on my insecurities about world missions, and colonialism. It got me thinking... does salvation require an outside, (and therefore different) force to penetrate the context and hold out a hand to save? The movie was about as karmic as you could get; every life was cyclical and there didn't seem to be a way for the girls to escape the fate of their mothers and aunts and grandmothers and great-grandmothers. A British-Indian woman, armed with her light skin and college education and Sotheby's connections had to put her life on hold, fly to India, and live with in the Red Light district with the women. And that's really the only way it could have been; these children couldn't have gotten out by themselves, through their own effort (and indeed, many didn't. Only 3 of the 9 ended up completing their school. Others were barred from leaving the brothels or withdrawn from school after a short while, in spite of having the tuition paid in full and all that). I mean, on a larger scale, if left to its own devices, would mankind evolve enough to save itself? The movie seemed to say no. And yet, cultural penetration for the sake of salvation has to be done in a very distinct, particular way if it's to do any good. What if Jesus had come to earth and he had been white, had a college education, refused to give up his god-powers, lived in a mansion, and taught and preached and healed on a once-a-week schedule, sandwiched in between tourism and vacations and enjoying all the things this exotic Earth had to offer? What if he just threw money at the lepers that grabbed at him? What if he had walked around the red light district instead of walking through it? What if he hadn't walked, what if he had demanded a sedan at all times? Thinking about it makes me want to cry. Or what if he had come in an enormous Spanish Galleon from the sky, wearing armor, and used a gun to talk instead of a tongue? What if he killed people that didn't like him? What if he didn't give a damn about how it was done, or even if it was done, and thought about salvation as a little section of his larger life, which includes but is not limited to: class, studying, family, shopping, volunteering, hanging out with friends, and cooking?
This is getting to be too long. This what I really wanted to say:
Last night, during the party, I was dancing in the living room instead of following my usual instincts to study or sleep. I was having a really good time, getting all sweaty and having fun with my friends and even knocking back a few. When I went upstairs, I saw that my locked door had been kicked open (the wood around the doorknob was so broken I couldn't close it) and my ipod, wallet, cellphone, and keys were gone. God have mercy, the pod is gone... THE POD!!! And also my alien registration card that costs $185 to replace. That sucks. I called my dad and he cancelled my phone, and I cancelled my check card. Wesley's MP3 player and calculator got stolen, but her wallet was in a purse buried underneath all her shit. For once, her disorganization and messiness was a boon to her.
On a funny note: Taysha and her friend Imari came up to the room to survey the damage. Imari looks around for a while and suddenly blurts out: "It wasn't no niggaz." It's quiet because we're all sad but then I realize what he said and I'm like, "What? Wtf are you talking about?" And it went like this:
Imari: It wasn't no niggaz.
Anna: What are you talking about?
Imari: It wasn't no niggaz. If it was niggaz, they woulda jacked yo' CDs and speakers and shit. Niggaz sell CDs, you know? Or just add them to their collection. [He laughs]
Wesley: My calculator is gone.
Imari: Calculator?! Niggaz wouldn't take that shit. This ain't no ordinary theif.
Anna: Yup, they must go to college. My ipod is gone... Haha, my wallet only had three dollars in it. Fuck them!
And I'm thinking, that's cool we're using this word in a non-ironic sense. Where I'm from, ironically is the only way you can say the n-word. So black thieves like to jack CDs, eh? Living with African-Americans seems to be adding to my set of stereotypes, not taking them away. Ha. I kid.
Taysha and Wesley left me last night because they could, and I slept alone in my room that won't close or lock. I was feeling so bad about not following my instincts and sleeping or studying. Then I would have been in the room and stuff wouldn't have gotten stolen. Or maybe it was a blessing I wasn't asleep in my room when they came in; this might have been a very different live journal.
She teaches them photography and, for a few years, gives them something to look forward to other than jobs and chores. It was very very bright and loud and colorful, and how could it not be? It was about children. The film wasn't depressing at all, considering the theme (children of sex workers) and the reality of it all. There are some triumphant moments in the movie, like when Avijit gets to fly to Amsterdam for a special children's conference on photography (he is very talented, has a very unique eye). There's the time "Auntie Zana" (that's the photographer) is trying to enroll them all in school and all of their bloodwork comes out to be HIV negative. There's Gour giving his take on the history of man and the state of India and his fondness for Puja, one of the girls in his class. And, maybe what touched me most, the way their parents reacted when the children left them to go to boarding school. In spite of the swearing, beating, using, and verbal disparaging in their families, there's still this very human connection, a very human fear of being separated from their children. One woman didn't want to let her girl go because she knew that Puja had trouble eating by herself. This movie is a definite must see.
I was gonna have a live journal about how this movie touched on my insecurities about world missions, and colonialism. It got me thinking... does salvation require an outside, (and therefore different) force to penetrate the context and hold out a hand to save? The movie was about as karmic as you could get; every life was cyclical and there didn't seem to be a way for the girls to escape the fate of their mothers and aunts and grandmothers and great-grandmothers. A British-Indian woman, armed with her light skin and college education and Sotheby's connections had to put her life on hold, fly to India, and live with in the Red Light district with the women. And that's really the only way it could have been; these children couldn't have gotten out by themselves, through their own effort (and indeed, many didn't. Only 3 of the 9 ended up completing their school. Others were barred from leaving the brothels or withdrawn from school after a short while, in spite of having the tuition paid in full and all that). I mean, on a larger scale, if left to its own devices, would mankind evolve enough to save itself? The movie seemed to say no. And yet, cultural penetration for the sake of salvation has to be done in a very distinct, particular way if it's to do any good. What if Jesus had come to earth and he had been white, had a college education, refused to give up his god-powers, lived in a mansion, and taught and preached and healed on a once-a-week schedule, sandwiched in between tourism and vacations and enjoying all the things this exotic Earth had to offer? What if he just threw money at the lepers that grabbed at him? What if he had walked around the red light district instead of walking through it? What if he hadn't walked, what if he had demanded a sedan at all times? Thinking about it makes me want to cry. Or what if he had come in an enormous Spanish Galleon from the sky, wearing armor, and used a gun to talk instead of a tongue? What if he killed people that didn't like him? What if he didn't give a damn about how it was done, or even if it was done, and thought about salvation as a little section of his larger life, which includes but is not limited to: class, studying, family, shopping, volunteering, hanging out with friends, and cooking?
This is getting to be too long. This what I really wanted to say:
Last night, during the party, I was dancing in the living room instead of following my usual instincts to study or sleep. I was having a really good time, getting all sweaty and having fun with my friends and even knocking back a few. When I went upstairs, I saw that my locked door had been kicked open (the wood around the doorknob was so broken I couldn't close it) and my ipod, wallet, cellphone, and keys were gone. God have mercy, the pod is gone... THE POD!!! And also my alien registration card that costs $185 to replace. That sucks. I called my dad and he cancelled my phone, and I cancelled my check card. Wesley's MP3 player and calculator got stolen, but her wallet was in a purse buried underneath all her shit. For once, her disorganization and messiness was a boon to her.
On a funny note: Taysha and her friend Imari came up to the room to survey the damage. Imari looks around for a while and suddenly blurts out: "It wasn't no niggaz." It's quiet because we're all sad but then I realize what he said and I'm like, "What? Wtf are you talking about?" And it went like this:
Imari: It wasn't no niggaz.
Anna: What are you talking about?
Imari: It wasn't no niggaz. If it was niggaz, they woulda jacked yo' CDs and speakers and shit. Niggaz sell CDs, you know? Or just add them to their collection. [He laughs]
Wesley: My calculator is gone.
Imari: Calculator?! Niggaz wouldn't take that shit. This ain't no ordinary theif.
Anna: Yup, they must go to college. My ipod is gone... Haha, my wallet only had three dollars in it. Fuck them!
And I'm thinking, that's cool we're using this word in a non-ironic sense. Where I'm from, ironically is the only way you can say the n-word. So black thieves like to jack CDs, eh? Living with African-Americans seems to be adding to my set of stereotypes, not taking them away. Ha. I kid.
Taysha and Wesley left me last night because they could, and I slept alone in my room that won't close or lock. I was feeling so bad about not following my instincts and sleeping or studying. Then I would have been in the room and stuff wouldn't have gotten stolen. Or maybe it was a blessing I wasn't asleep in my room when they came in; this might have been a very different live journal.