Unapologetically Desi, A Provocative Approach to Art by South Asian Women
To all the brown girls out there who grew up longing for representation—it’s finally here.
BY: MALIKA DAYA
*The artists featured for this piece were independently and intentionally chosen by the writer because of their diversity as South Asian Women & the value of their work.
As a young girl growing up, I was always comparing myself to the white girls in my class. Why wasn’t my skin as fair? Why was I not as pretty as them? Why wasn’t I born with blonde hair and blue eyes? All the pretty girls on TV looked like that.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I spent most of my childhood binging Bollywood movies. I never really grew up understanding the mainstream pop media references because the only references I got were those that referred to Shah Rukh Khan and Madhuri Dixit in Dil Toh Pagal Hai. The music my parents played on blast on every road trip happened to be the Bollywood classics like Lata Mangeshkar and Kishore Kumar. I used to beg them to switch it to Virgin Radio, but who listens to the youngest in the family anyway?
But in some weird way, it became like comfort food. Whenever I felt alone, a song about love in Hindi or seeing a South Asian actress on the screen at the Movie Dome (a long-gone, independent, Bollywood movie theatre in Calgary) made me feel less like an alien, living my “Western” life in my Indian skin. My connection to Bollywood was an indescribable bond, where I saw reflections of myself and where I began to dream. And it was the characters in those movies and the actresses on the screen that became my role models when I was a little girl.
But I felt caught in between two worlds. There were gaps that even Bollywood couldn’t fill.
I think brown girls in Canada are used to shrinking themselves down, are used to fitting into the mould others carve out for them, of being flexible like Sima Aunty from Indian Matching Making famously quoted. We are brought up trying to reconcile being brown and being Canadian—how the fuck do you even do that?
At home we’re eating all the desi food, speaking in our family’s mother tongue and at school we are going off, in perfect English (for many of us our first language), about Channing Tatum or Megan Fox—knowing very well that the sexiest man and woman alive are Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone in Ram Leela. But here is the thing, us desi girls, are fluid in both spaces. Like a chameleon changes colours, we alter our identities in different spaces. We aren’t even being fake, we are just super fucking complex.
And we no longer care for the one-dimensional characters we see in Priyanka Chopra in Baywatch or Kajol as she runs around in a saree. (Yes, that’s a hot take, deal with it). But we are looking for provocative art. Art that is a complex, three-dimensional version of ourselves reflected back at us off a screen.
Art that makes you feel less alone.
And it wasn’t until recently that a beautifully unexpected shift occurred in the “media,” I began to see myself. I began to see myself in graphic illustrations, as an emerging collective of South Asian Diasporic women were creating art that is a reflection of who we, South Asian women, are —in all of our complexity and diversity.
So I reached out to three powerhouse graphic illustrators to get their take on what it means to be a rani (a queen).
ZHK Designs - Zoe Harveen Kaur Sihota (She/Her)