You can also follow us individually

Abhi: twitter.com/themadblogger

Amitava: twitter.com/amitavakumar

Anna: twitter.com/suitablegirl + https://www.facebook.com/suitablegirl

Chaitan: twitter.com/teawithtanya

Ennis: twitter.com/ennismutinywale

Kunjan http://Kunjan.net + twitter.com/kunjanshah

Lakshmi: twitter.com/LakshmiGandhi

Melvin:  www.MelvinDurai.com + www.Nshima.com

Pavani: twitter.com/_pavani + twitter.com/MustSeeDesis

Phillygrrl: twitter.com/phillygrrl

Taz: twitter.com/tazzystar

Vasugi: twitter.com/vasugi

Vivek: twitter.com/vivekster

He is he, because I am a she, and I refuse to believe that this sadist is female. I wear too much pink for that.

Me: 5am. 5am of the last day of this life.

He: Bit dramatic, innit?

Me: Not at all.

He: ’tis.

Me: No!

He: Your last day has long passed. You forsook that life exactly four years ago, when you chose an actual life over a virtual one.

Me: But I was coming back.

He: You always say that.

Me: But I was. Not in the way people expect, but I was. I have schemes. Schemes!

He: Annabel. How long have you been writing that one post?

Me: I am unaware of to what you might be referring.

He: Not ending a sentence with a preposition is a bit of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put.

Me: Sigh. You are karrrect, saar. I have been writing that post for three years.

He: Why? Better yet, why bother?

Me: Because. It seemed important. I owed people an explanation. Hence the whole, “Where I’ve Been”-title.

He: I mean this in the kindest way, because I really am fond of you, which is why I always force you to tarry…but I don’t think anyone cares. Or noticed.

Me: To quote a great philosopher-meth enthusiast, “HOW RUDE!”

He: Fine, they probably noticed when you didn’t post for a while, because you were vaguely prolific–

Me: 816! I wrote 816 posts. That TOTALLY counts as prolific, you hate-

He: So granted. Moving on, back to my point. They noticed your absence, then they probably shrugged, assumed you were busy and then moved on to futzing with Facebook, masturbating, getting root canals–

Me: I had a point as well, before you interrupted–

He: You? You are going to criticize someone for interrupting you? That’s RICH.

Me: HARRUMPH. I HAD A POINT YOU JERK.

He: …

Me: …

He: …

Me: Well?

He: an exaggerated gesture that indicates a zipped lip

Me: Seriously?

He: nods

Me: You’re going to feel terrible about all your sarcastic miming when you hear what I have to say.

He: …

Me: I…had hoped to come up with a better title, but the post itself was about mental illness. My, mental illness. Illnesses. As in multiple.

He: …

Me: I have severe anxiety. I have OCD. Some ADD. Panic Disorder, too. And I’m predisposed to getting severely depressed instead of just normal-depressed. Like, everyone gets blue if they get laid off, but I sink to a dank, dark place that even James Cameron refuses to submerge to…

He: You were going to reveal all of that?

Me: Yes. I wanted people to know why I had to walk away, because while the narrative you know is true, the greater truth had to do with self-preservation and survival, not falling in love.

He: What did you hope to accomplish with such a confession?

Me: A few things. For eight years, whenever I had finished a post, right before I hit “publish”, my heart would race, my skin would flush, I’d start shaking, my pupils would dilate and I’d be consumed with dread. There was a range to this response. Most of the time, I could handle it and remind myself that despite feeling like certain doom was around the corner, everything would be fine. Sometimes, however, it was awful. Like, chest pain awful. Drowning in terror-awful. Obviously, publishing a post like this one almost destroyed me physically and emotionally.

He: You wanted people to learn this and feel pity for you?

Me: Not exactly. There were just so many jerks who acted like this was all effortless for us, or for me specifically, that it didn’t entail anything more than a few minutes of rat-a-tat-typing and a wiki peek. The truth is, even my fluffiest, briefest posts took 30 minutes to write, edit, re-edit, re-re-edit, fact check and volumize with amusing links. My last post, the Onion-one, took over three hours!

He: You wanted people to learn this and feel pity for you?

Me: No, I just wanted them to know that it wasn’t easy. That it took effort and…an emotional toll, I guess.

He: They don’t care. I promise you.

Me: You’re…probably right.

He: I am right. And you knew it inherently and that’s why you never published it.

Me: No…

He: Yes.

Me: Well, that wasn’t even my main motivation.

He: What was?

Me: We never talk about mental illness as a community. I could’ve hosted that very necessary conversation. You should see some of the missives I got over the years– “My Mother is bipolar and we are shunned; our Dad divorced her and remarried. Please talk about how we stigmatize people who suffer, because we are utterly alone.” I could’ve helped. My favorite purpose for SM, my favorite accomplishment of ours or the reason I was devoted to spending more hours per week working on it than I did at my full-time job was BECAUSE we “went there”–

He: Like Degrassi?

Me: Stop.

He: Because IT goes the-

Me: The best post I ever wrote or the best thing I ever did here was out myself and publicly disclose that I had been raped. I wrote about my friend’s abortion, too. SM’s community rallied. We shared our stories, offered each other resources, poured out support to anyone who needed it. I STILL get emails from young women who write that it happened to them and someone sent them my post, and…

He: Do you write back? What do you say?

Me: I do write back to them, but I am horrible about responding to email in general. I get several hundred messages a day, though it’s obviously gotten easier in the last few years, with my decreased participation or visibility…

He: What do you say?

Me: I tell them that it wasn’t their fault. And that a day will come when they’ll wake up and think of something else, first thing in the morning. That eventually, they will be okay. To talk to a therapist and get whatever help they need.

He: And you thought you could do this for the crazies, too?

Me: That’s rude.

He: And it’s exactly why you should’ve published it. Much like I no longer use the sad acronyms “FOB” or “ABCD” because I was reeducated by SM, I’d probably have more compassionate jokes about straightjacket-afficionados. Cancer is an abstract concept until someone you love is diagnosed with it. Then it’s brutally real and demands to be understood.

Me: That’s another thing I’m really proud of. I HATE “FOB” and “ABCD”. My parents didn’t sail here and I am not confused about a damned thing. The fact that our readers regularly employed fairer, more accurate acronyms like “DBD” and “ABD” elated me. We were choosing to be smarter. And kinder.

He: I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think your current readers are aware of such a fine, conscious improvement to throwaway insults. I don’t think it took.

Me: It’s fine. We accomplished plenty in eight years.

He: This is the part where you look at me hopefully with those very round eyes and wait for me to ask a helpful, leading question. Well, I’m not playing.

Me: Do you really think I NEED that sort of conversational assist? Have we met? I’m going to tell you whatever I feel like telling you whether you prompt me or not.

He: And?

Me: Shit. Now I con’t remember. Um…I’m proud of the fact that we were formed in reaction to our exclusion from the conventions and then we were at both of them, four years later. OH! I remember!

He: gestures expansively

Me: That still counts as a prompt, even if it was non-verbal, for your information. The other thing I was so proud of was how we made people feel. We didn’t intend to, but we created a fantastic, dynamic, global community. Whenever we had meetups, no matter what city I was in, I’d hear the same exact thing: “I never fit in with the other Desis in my life…[I wasn't in SASA/I didn't go to Bhangra Blowout/I'm South Indian, not Punjabi or Guju/I avoided Indus' shows like the plague/I grew up in a rural place where I was the only Indian kid for 50 miles]…but for the first time ever, I felt…welcome. Like I was where I belonged.” That was gratifying.

He: How many times, truthfully now, did you hear some version of that palaver?

Me: Every meetup I ever hosted or attended. Sometimes two or three times at the same event, independently, from different people I’d rush to shout out so they could immediately meet likeminded new friends. I’d hear it at non-SM events, too! DJ Rekha at the Black Cat? I heard it there, too. I’d say, “Yes, we understand completely, that’s why we grabbed you and your similarly lonely counterpart from every college in the country. We all thought we were suffering alone, that we were the only ones. Nope. Just the only ones at our school. Then came Katamari Mutiny, sweeping every oddball up and making them a Mutineer…that’s how we rolled.”

He: That was terrible. Also, it was a tee-shirt.

Me: Anyway. Once upon a time, we created something magical, something addictive, something special. I should’ve known it wouldn’t last forever. It was too fantastic.

He: Why didn’t it last?

Me: I used to blame people or certain incidents but now I just realize that it wasn’t sustainable. In 2007, at what I consider to be our peak, I spent up to fifteen hours a day on SM. I’d wake up in the morning, immediately check comments (remember, we were read globally, so there was nearly always something to moderate, even at 7am), get ready for work, leave. I’d arrive at my office, immediately check comments, THEN open my Outlook. I used to check our comments every 15 minutes– every ten if something huge had broken. Ennis used to worry about me. “You’re going to get in trouble. Stay off the internet while at work.” The internet meant “Sepia Mutiny”. But I couldn’t. Because the way we were (dis)organized meant that we were each responsible for moderating our own posts. And if I’m not mistaken, eight of the top ten most-commented-on posts were mine.

He: So you created a lot of work for yourself.

Me: It was more than that. The reason people loved to stop in (all day, e’ery day) is because we were “curating a conversation” before anyone abused that gerund in such a nasty way. People felt safe at SM. We were not going to tolerate racism, religious fundamentalism, sexism…those comments were getting nuked, fairly quickly. The more elevated the discourse, the more mutineers we attracted. I know the actual identities of some of our more celebrated or infamous commenters– a few of them are famous. Legit-famous. Authors, actors, politicians. They wasted their time with us because we were severely allergic to bullshit– and I was the helicopter Mom with an Epi pen in my purse at all times.

He: That doesn’t make sense– theoretically, compelling people to register to comment should’ve lightened your load, automated the process–

Me: Erm…too little, too late, I think. We needed to do that when we were addictive and indispensable, not after our moment had passed. Right now, Justin Bieber can get millions of fans to do whatever he wishes. Five years from now, he may not have that power. When people were hitting refresh like trained monkeys desperate for a new comment-war-post-fix, THEN we should’ve asked them to sign up. Who knows. Maybe that would’ve killed us sooner. Still, I remember going to Poynter or certain J-schools and the first question out of their mouths would be some variant of, “You’re far too nice to anonymous commenters. When are you going to move to moderation?” I’d always cheerily raise my hand and chirp, “You’re looking at it!” They’d be aghast.

He: So commenting-related decisions killed the Mutiny?

Me: No. That doesn’t sound right. Abhi listed a few reasons why on his Ides post. Life killed the Mutiny. I wanted a life. I wanted to fall in love. I met someone and I wanted to enjoy the butterflies, the third date, the sense of possibility. Other people got married, some had babies. We all got promoted at our day jobs, which meant more responsibility and less time for blogging.

He: So bitches and babies killed the Mutiny?

Me: Wha-? Bitches?

He: Four guys, one girl. You were all straight, as far as we know. That means four wives or girlfriends.

Me: Oh. Well…no…it was more that THAT. When the NYT and the WSJ have professional versions of SM staffed by well-paid, seasoned journalists…how can we compete? Wait, how come it wasn’t “A guy AND bitches and bab–”

He: Because you’re a spinster!

Me: I am not single!

He: You are not married!

Me: You sound like my Mother.

He: She is probably very wise, under-appreciated, devastatingly handsome…

Me: Scratch that. You sound like one of my worst exes.

He: Define “worst”.

Me: Well…in 2006, during a fight over how much time I was spending on SM, he said…

“How does it feel, knowing you wasted your prime childbearing years on a ‘blog’? I’m sure that’ll work out really well for you when you’re 80 and your Depends need changing. Because a blog will be there to diaper you, right?”

He: Uh…

Me: Yeah.

He: Shit.

Me: Uh-huh.

He: He was jealous? Of a blog?

Me: He wasn’t the only one. There was at least one other.

He: WTF.

Me: And then! Then there was the opposite!

He: Sorry?

Me: TWICE, guys befriended me, flirted with me, asked me out…and a few dates in, inquired about guest blogging.

He: Bullshit.

Me: Nope. Truth. I remember how one of the times, Abhi just marveled at the chicanery, then promised me that the a-hole would never write for us, ever.

He: He had your back.

Me: He usually did. More than I realized.

He: Did you think otherwise?

Me: No? I don’t know? It was weird. I may have come up with the name of our baby, and I wrote the first post, but I didn’t always feel at ease in the bunker. Then, when we changed our design, I really stopped feeling at home. When we left MT for WordPress? Oy. I knew I’d never really be back. I literally didn’t recognize the space, neither the front nor back ends of it. But how shitty and ungrateful does that sound, when our technical team is all-volunteer, too? And made up of some of my favorites? And it’s not like I wasn’t asked for input, fifty or sixty times– I was. It’s just…I thought everything would be fine. Only when it was too late would I realize it wasn’t.

He: How helpful of you.

Me: I know, right?

He: You really didn’t feel comfortable? You were a cofounder, for Chrissakes.

Me: 1) Watch your mouth. 2) No, not always. I mean, I don’t think there’s a pic of me or a bio on our “About” page, you know? That always felt apposite. I was a part of the Mutiny, but…apart.

He: So too many comments, not enough comments, marriage, childbirth (though neither of those for you, heh), careers, redesigns, and now pro-journos killed the brown uprising?

Me: It was never meant to live forever. We were Super Friends, responding to emergencies, summoned together by the massive TroubAlert computer in the Hall of Justice. Is that show still on the air?

He: How…old…are you??

Me: Old enough to have wanted Wonder Woman underoos to flash during first-grade recess…I ended up with the R2D2 set, because those were on sale and my parents weren’t rich. But we were all obsessed with Star Wars too, so it worked out well.

He: Do you regret anything?

Me: I’m sure I regret a lot, like not doing the mental illness post, or not writing more, period…not coming back sooner? I don’t know. It’s not like I didn’t want to…for example, I fully committed to writing about Dharun Ravi and I did all the research for a doozy of a post…but I haven’t had a free hour, let alone three to get it done.

He: Aren’t you unemployed?

Me: Yes.

He: And didn’t you just spend three hours on a humor post on Friday?

Me: Yeah, that’s the thing, that three hours? That was actually for THIS post. But I couldn’t bring myself to write it just yet. And I also couldn’t bring myself to write about Dharun, because I thought, “Oh, it’s too late, it’s been too many days” and worse, “What’s the point, we’re ending, won’t that just artificially keep us on comment life support?” I don’t think we’re accepting comments after Wednesday.

He: You are weird.

Me: I know.

He: Like really weird.

Me: I am mentally ill! Also, like attracts like. Did I ever tell you about the time I was on a date with my current partner and SM almost borked it for me?

He: PARTNER?

Me: You know, sometimes, as a 37-year old, “boyfriend” seems lame.

He: What. Ever. No, go ahead. How did SM intrude on your date? Comment emergency?

Me: Worse. An…odd duck. It was early in my relationship…like, fourth or fifth date-territory. I was head over heels for this guy. I lost 15 pounds in the first month we dated because he made me so nervous, I couldn’t eat AND I was burning off extra calories from all the excited twitching.

He: EXCITED TWITCHING?!

Me: STOP INTERRUPTING. Have you any idea how long this is going to take me to type??

He: You type 75 wpm!

Me: STILL! Anyway, we were out at some excruciatingly hip new music venue and we were both intoxicated and super in luuurve…

He: Sorry, that was me throwing up in my mouth a little.

Me: ANYWAY. We’ve been enjoying the show for an hour, I mean, straight up slow dancing like it was the triumphant ending to a teen prom flick and right after I throw my arms around his neck–

He: If you were slow-dancing, weren’t they already there?

Me: No.

He: What?

Me: They were around his waist. He has a really cute little butt.

He: ENOUGH.

Me: I throw my arms around his neck and he freezes. At first I don’t notice anything’s wrong, then he subtly indicates that I should look to our right. There, at 3 o’clock. A guy. Staring. Without blinking. For several minutes. I shrug, too happy to care. I ignore it. But he can’t. He actually steps away from me with this disturbed look and says, “He’s been watching us the whole time. It’s mad creepy. Maybe we should go.”

He: Define: “whole time”.

Me: Um…close to an hour?

He: Seriously?!

Me: Yeah. And right then, the guy slowly approaches us and tells us he’s been watching us (no shit!) and am I ‘Anna from Sepia’. I say that I am and he mentions how much he likes reading our blog and my personal blogs, too and how he’s always wanted to meet me. Again, I’m not that bothered because it’s an honor to be recognized, right? Except the conversation just sort of ends, abruptly. And he’s still standing really close to us. Staring. Smiling. Not blinking. I finally say that it was nice to meet him and that we’re heading back to the stage and I can tell my bf is rattled. Later, he points out that the guy has moved to the other side of the room and retreated in the shadows, but is still staring intently.

He: That’s…one crazy person. I mean, the not-blinking should’ve given that away.

Me: Right, except it happened on our next date, too, but this time it was a girl.

He: Did she blink?

Me: I guess?

He: How often did you get recognized?

Me: More than people expected, realized, believed.

He: Well aren’t you special.

Me: I’m not, actually. And it wasn’t always nice. I was in SF on my Dad’s five-year death anniversary, and my friends took me out to console and comfort me. I was dancing and drinking and crying my eyes out. And people kept coming up to me and asking about blog-related shit. And then they’d ask why I was crying and some of them took pictures of me. I wasn’t feeling…public or social right then, but I didn’t feel like I had a choice.

He: It’s not like they knew…

Me: No, I told them.

He: And then?

Me: I was like, “Sorry, I wish I could chat more but I’m really blue right now. Someone died.” And they just whipped out their camera and took a picture of my puffy face and muttered that they couldn’t wait to show their friends.

He: That’s bizarre.

Me: It was. It was surreal. Then there was the time I was walking back to work on E street NW. I was leaving the National Press Club in a super-good mood because I’d had this yummy samosa/pepper lemonade combo and I passed this Desi guy on his phone. A few seconds later, we were both stopped at a traffic light, waiting for the “Walk” signal. He was like, “Oh, hey, guess who’s in front of me…yeah, that Anna-bitch from Sipia whatever. Yeah. The blog. Uh-huh. Um? Hm. Well, she’s shorter in real life. And darker. Not as pretty. No, she’s still pretty, she’s just…not AS pretty. Oh, hilarious, she just turned around and now she’s looking at me. Yes? May I help you? This is a private conversation, thanks for eavesdropping…yeah, can you believe that shit? What is her deal?”

He: Wow.

Me: Then there was the time that I was walking home to my apartment in Kalorama. I passed a random Desi and they had a similar convo, except this time, they added, “Wasn’t your friend wondering where she lived? Because I can see her building right now. No, she’s not visiting, she has a key fob.”

He: WOW.

Me: Yeah. That was epically terrifying because we were dealing with a crazy person who had launched a hate site about us. Ostensibly it was to attack all of us, but the site’s name was “Unsuitable Girl” or something directly aimed at me. That was the worst thing that happened with regards to Sepia. Here we were, an all volunteer-crew working on a true labor of love…and these anonymous assholes decided to try and harm us any way they knew how. My sister contacted me and asked who “so and so” was because they had sent an odd and threatening email. They said they’d go after my Mom…

He: For what?

Me: I don’t know…giving birth to me?

He: SERIOUSLY. WHAT THE FUCK. IT’S A BLOG.

Me: Yeah, I know. It’s hard to believe now, five years later, that people used to get so bat shit crazy and combative, but they did. And there were plenty of threats. This one crazy M.F. used to invite me to India so I could be raped and murdered and never discovered again. I got a few death threats, we all probably did. But internet trollery is often a gendered clusterfuck, so I would get emails like, “You dumb bitch. I used to feel sorry for you but now I’m glad you got raped. You deserved it.” Shit like that.

He: I’m…I’m…

Me: Speechless? Word, that’s a normal reaction. None of what we went through was normal, though. These hate site fiends were going after us in the grimiest ways. Threatening our jobs, our families, our…everything.

He: Wow, seriously, I’m–

Me: Let me change directions, then, and tell you something different. Several years ago, we had this epic meetup in Washington, D.C. at Heritage India, which was always good to the Mutiny– R.I.P. Amma Vegetarian…you were the only place that was better. Anyway, we’re all eating and having a blast, anywhere from 10-20 of us, and I mention to a friend that I had just caught an interview with Desi porn star Sunny Leone…of course dropping the p-bomb immediately gets EVERYONE’s attention so now the table is silent except for requests for me to repeat myself, slowly and loudly. I end up standing up and doing an impromptu reenactment that involved gestures that were…um…well, as loyal reader Salil put it, “Anna had more-or-less kick-started puberty in a few kids that day, and that there would be some interesting Q&A sessions with the parents in the Accord / Camry on the way home that night. ‘Mommy, I feel funny…in my pants.’”

He: You playacted porn in a crowded restaurant?

Me: No! It had cleared out by then…it was really just us and them. Our meetups sometimes lasted for hours…like six or even 12.

He: Weren’t there supposed to be final NY and DC meetups?

Me: Yes. I feel really bad about this.

He: You got busy?

Me: No. I got…I don’t know how to say this without alarming you and triggering a really panicked reaction in me…

He: What happened?

Me: My boyfriend is a boxing writer who took me to NYC to see my first fight at the Garden. Sergio Martinez is my favorite boxer and he was taking on this Irish guy, Macklin on St. Patrick’s Day. We drove up for it and got a hotel room, etc. It was a treat for me but I was also “working”, in a way. One of the new projects I work on is Stiff Jab, a boxing blog he runs. I had a press pass, I was a photographer that evening.

He: Did something happen at the fight? They can get pretty rowdy-

Me: No! I loved the fight! It was exhilarating and my future ex-husband Sergio cemented his place in my heart. He’s fantastic to watch and the atmosphere at MSG? That was the best St. Patty’s day EVER. I LOVE being AT boxing matches. There’s nothing else like it.

He: I’m…confused.

Me: We went back to our hotel so he could file his story and upload my pics. I took the dog for a walk so he’d have peace and quiet. While I was out, I noticed two late-night places and noted them, because he said we’d be grabbing food later since all we’d had at the fight was popcorn and soda.

He: And?

Me: When I got back, he was passed out. Exhausted. He has an amazing new job that requires him to start working at 6am. I was bummed though. And wide awake, like I am right now, thanks to your c-blocking my way into Nod. And I was hungry. So, I decided to go back out and grab food at this 24-hour joint…

He: AND?

Me: I really don’t want to go in to details. It started as normal street harassment but it escalated. I was followed. Then the guy grabbed me. It was ugly. I was legitimately scared for my life, especially because no one moved to help me, they all just whipped out their cell phones and started taping

He: You got attacked in the street and people were filming it?

Me: “Attacked” sounds so crazy and serious. But…yeah. Kind of. He grabbed me. He hurt me. I’m still in pain a few weeks later. I managed to run away so it didn’t go further but…I was so rattled. It didn’t help me with my productivity these past two weeks, and I certainly didn’t want to even think about going back to NY. It would trigger…I mean, I’d remember what happened and then I’d have a panic attack. There I said it.

He: I can’t believe people were filming it.

Me: I couldn’t believe it either, when I witnessed an unrelated, earlier altercation while I was leaving my hotel for food. Huge fight tumbling out of a cab, on to the sidewalk on Sixth avenue. Guy getting his head bashed in. And people just…filming it.

He: Wow.

Me: Yeah. But now I feel bad, because the right coast deserves meetups too. So if people are still willing to help me grab a venue, I’m happy to go up…

He: The blog ends today.

Me: Yeah, you know what? I’m sick of that. I have always, ALWAYS let “perfect” be the enemy of “good”. Several hundred unwritten or unpublished posts languish, because they weren’t “perfect”. F that noise. Who cares what the date of a get-together is?

He: Fair enough. Also…I feel really bad about what happened in New York. Why don’t you get some rest.

Me: Finally.

::

There are days in my life when I know, with a quiet, insistent urgency that I need to go to church.

Having typed that, I am amused. I was raised by two ultra-Orthodox Malayalees and had perfect attendance at Sunday School, so technically, I guess I should require the assurance and comfort faith provides constantly, not occasionally. But life intervenes, or I’m traveling, or my two decade-old battle with insomnia means that I wake up when the liturgy is ending vs.at 9am.

Today, I woke up without an alarm, despite having just fallen asleep.

“I need to go.”

I didn’t have access to a functioning shower (it’s a long story and this post is already 5,000 words), I had nothing to wear and my dog was whimpering for my attention. I briefly considered not going– obstacles were piling up and besides, I owed Abhi, nay, I owed all of you this post. Time was running out.

“I need to go.”

And so I did, for the first time in several weeks.

And the moment I walked through those imposing doors, I knew I had done the right thing.

How do you process loss? Endings? The stirrings of new entities that will not be ignored?

Because I wasn’t doing well with any of that, in fact, I was doing so unwell that I sought refuge at a Cathedral where I meditated and prayed.

Where I gave thanks for this opportunity, even as I begged for new ones. I’ve been avoiding writing this post for weeks, if not years and yet I knew I had to get through it, somehow.

“Please, G-d. Fill me with inspiration until the right words flow through my fingers on to that page. Help me bear witness. Help me do it justice. Amen.”

When I walked down the cathedral’s stairs, I felt peaceful.

And I was ready to write.

::

For eight years, no matter what was going on in my life, I had this anchor, this haven of sorts– and as a Delta Gamma, I don’t employ the word “anchor” without considerable love and devotion.

For three of the last eight years, I have not worked. Yet I never lacked for an answer at cocktail parties, when people interrogated me regarding what I “do”.

One of those three years, the first one, I did not work by choice– I have the world’s most amazing Indian mother and I say that after meeting a Tamil Amma who sings along to the Smiths covers her daughters and granddaughters sing in their all-girl, all brown band.

In 2004, my mother told me that if I wanted to, I could write. If I needed to, I could write. She would support me in that endeavor.

“I won’t pay for any fancy gym memberships, but you will have a roof over your head and food to eat. Just…write.”

During that year of magical thinking and typing, I was offered a book deal and my personal sites rocketed to the attention of a few thousand people, including an astronaut named Abhi. He read my original blog, HERstory and noticed that I was writing about grimy shit that was going down with regards to Desis and that year’s presidential campaigns. He wrote to me and told me about how he knew too many people who were still undecided regarding for whom to vote.

“But when I send them to your blog, or Manish’s, they’re incensed. Suddenly they know what they’re going to do. And that’s powerful. What if all those posts were in one place, instead of on five individual blogs? What would that do for our community? What if we worked together on something new?”

What if.

So the third amazing thing that happened during my parental writing fellowship was the birth of this big brown blog. I used to joke that Manish and Abhi were its dads and I was its Mom. Vinod was the cheerful but busy Uncle and Ennis was still an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, wearing a turban with a cape to match as he swooped into my life and became my guardian angel, a role I was unaware needed filling until he stepped up and made everything better.

I can tell you more stories about how I first met Vinod (scandalous!) or how he ended up on top of me at a crazy SF party at his loft (SCANDALOUS!) or how Manish and I were in each other’s lives years before we’d ever write our own blogs, but bartender Abhi has flashed me that sympathetic smile, the one that says it’s almost closing time. The register has been counted, the tips divvied up. Even the glasses are gleaming and clean.

Still, he’s buying me time, pretending to tidy up as I type…and as I type, I realize that this is now 5400 words and I’m not done.

I’m not done.

I’m. not. done.

Maybe I’ll never be done, G-d willing.

So here is what I am going to do. What I must do. I am going to make a list of several important things, including where you can find me and what’s in store if you’re looking for more. If I write lists, I don’t have to notice that my heart is cracking, that my knees are growing weak, that my anxiety, which has crippled me far too many times is slithering around me, squeezing my chest tightly, making it hard to breathe.

So lists, then. And a hurried conclusion. Because that is all we have time for and you need to go, also I need to go– my puppy is tethered to a bench outside of Baked and Wired, which is where I ran to finish this mega-post after my laptop died on M street, at a cafe with no outlets. She can’t see me and that makes her anxious. I know how that feels; I’d never inflict that on anyone, least of all her.

So lists, then.

Next, from me– three sites where you can find me:

1) So many of you have asked what site could follow this– my answer: nothing. It’s time to go somewhere different, somewhere more…suitable. Welcome to Pink & Navy. I have noticed the shift away from blogs that Abhi already explained, but I would add Tumblr to his list of sites that have stolen our thunder. Tumblr is popular, especially with the youths, and it is dead simple. Posts are ridiculously shareable and here’s the important thing for sustainability– they’re usually short. Look, if there’s ANYONE who appreciates a good long-form piece it’s ME (5720 words and counting) but that’s not doable daily. Tumblr is. And the lack of comments generated is also appropriate for a world where Sepia Mutiny posts go unremarked upon. I welcome collaborations and contributors and as soon as Network Solutions calls me, PinkAndNavy.com will be live, but until then, go here. And get excited. As for longer discussions and posts, those should still exist, too. I’m open to creating a closed Facebook group where you can let loose; that may sound like an odd idea, but I’m part of three different “secret” FB groups and let me tell you, they are awesome. Follow Pink And Navy on Twitter, too. More to come, more to come! Whee!

2) So when my boyfriend isn’t an Editor at CQ he’s a boxing writer with a great site– Stiff Jab. Stiff Jab is what made me a believer in Tumblr. 5000+ ardent fight fans follow the site, which features write-ups of every major bout, plus photographs. I thought Tumblr was just for hitting “reblog” for pretty pictures, but Stiff Jab functions like a news outlet–it even gets credentialed. I occasionally write for it and I’m one of its photographers, too. As I learn to box (it’s only been a few months!), I’ll write even more. If you like the sweet science (or know someone who does) surf on by. I think you’ll like it.

3) Last…but most definitely not least…I have some REALLY BIG NEWS.

Ready?

No, really, are you ready for this?

I’m joining forces with the phenomenal men and women of Racialicious, the intersection of race and pop culture, another labor of love with criminally under-appreciated writers whose hearts are so big, they have to type truth. I’ll be bringing the funny while hopefully also being the catalyst behind a few special projects, including a new podcast. I’m already learning how to bark for my new character, “Anti-racist DMX”. See? It’s going to be off-the-chain levels of good and fun.

So those are the three “new” sites where you can find me. Here are two more things I owe you– meetups.

1) NYC- Help me plan it, I will come. And I will not go out by myself at 3am, even though I LIVED in Manhattan ten years ago and ran around 24 hours a day with nary an issue, let alone cell phone evidence of it.

2) DC- I think I have a spot– now to hash out dates. Let’s pour some out for the best community of Desis in D.C.

Three, two, one. One more sentence, filled with the usual list of assorted social media sites and links.

My original, “personal” blog, HERstory is still alive, though like Ennis, if I’m guaranteed to be anywhere these days it’s on Twitter, where I am a suitablegirl. You can also find me on Facebook, but if you add me, please do me the kindness of dropping me a quick line regarding who you are, i.e. what your SM handle was. I am 37 and senile, after all.

::

Thank you, Abhi.

Thank you ManishVinodEnnis.

Thank you guests and contributors who became my family and friends.

Thank you, mutineers.

Thank you for opening your arms to me, when I admitted that I had survived being raped.

Thank you for your gentle, constructive criticism, for teaching me to be a better writer.

Thank you for thousands of emails, most of which I never got to answer and feel so guilty about…I read them all.

Thank you for giving me a chance, for giving me a purpose.

Even if I do nothing else with my life, I know I have accomplished something massive because I once named a blog, found a home in its community and was graced by the presence of each one of you.

You have changed my life in ways that I will never be able to repay. I found jobs because of the Mutiny, found my voice because of the Mutiny…I even found my love through the Mutiny. Is it any wonder why I can’t bear to let you go?

Pinne kannam, Mutineers. I refuse to say Good-bye. I refuse to end this. I will see you again, I will meet each of you some day and when I do, I will gratefully look you in the eye and thank you in person for the ways you changed my life.

Oh, Sepia Mutiny. You’ll always be my baby and now, even after you are gone, I’ll still brag about you and glow at the realization that I helped create you.

Mama loves you, baby blog. I always will. <3

Long time Sepia Mutiny readers know that SM has deceived its readers with devastating April Fool’s day pranks over the years. Go visit our site on previous April ones to see the results (exhibits A and B).

Alas, the truth is the greatest prank of all.  The wolf eventually does come…

But the good news is that our Twitter account will keep going for a while. Through it we can tell you where our writers can be found beyond this day:

https://twitter.com/#!/sepiamutiny

Our archives will also be up and accessible for the foreseeable future.

I’d like to thank our readers and donors.  Readers/Commenters you have to understand that without some of comments you left on our posts (and often it was your comments and not even our posts that were quoted in mainstream media) there would have been no blog.  Donors, we had a site that was both ad and influence free for 8 years thanks to you!  Please don’t (any of you) think your money was wasted.  100% of it went for server costs.

I’d also like to thank all my co-bloggers.  Those there at the beginning (Manish, Anna, Ennis, Vinod) the fresh blood (Amardeep, Siddhartha), the younger generation (Taz, Phillygrrl, Pavani) and the dozens of others who are all far more talented than I and tried to keep this site engaging.  And let’s not forget Chaitan, Kunjan, or the other admins that pitched in over the years to keep things running smoothly.

As for me, I look back with much fondness at my time here.  One thousand three hundred and twenty plus posts over eight years.  I have no idea how many actual hours that consumed but when you add that to the comment engagement and moderation I feel like I could have maybe made something of myself if I wasn’t busy blogging.  And it is too bad that we are ending today because I really want to write about this article tomorrow.  So many memories…but these following posts were my favorite ones (that I can still remember):

My First Ramadan

The Danish cartoon controversy: A contrast in protests

Everything is Illuminated

Don’t Drop the Soap

More Proof from Obama’s Pocket

Strangers in a Strange Land

Finally, for those of you wondering, I just created a Twitter account for “YoDad44” if you want to follow him.  As my mother pointed out, this farewell is a lot harder on him than on me.  Once I teach him how to tweet properly you can still follow his news postings…and he’ll then call me every morning to tell me how many times he got re-tweeted (“Abhi my story has the most views in last 24 hours, 7 days, and month on the news tab!”)

@themadblogger out.

Thanks, y’all, for having me over one last time. I’ve already said my goodbyes. This curious form of public performance brought me some of the people I cherish most. It’s been a second education in the erudition of the comments. The Mutiny was alt.culture.us.asian-indian before and @allyousmartf-ers now, and this delicious salon will continue in another face.

I want to toss in one last thought. Early desi American artists began with the idea of marginalization. Their references were specific and elaborate in-jokes. But look at who’s blown up: those who gave no ground in their conception of themselves. They dabbled in the desi palette because it’s rich, not because it’s definitive. Those who started with I am a Queens rapper, or I am an art director, or I am an animator, experienced brownness not as conscription, but freedom.

And in fact it is. It is a thin layer atop a deep commonality. As a species we are, when you zoom out, genetically almost clones. The differences we draw among us are like the fictional Indiana town of Pawnee squabbling with the fictional town of Eagleton: from the outside, all look same.

A couple of years ago I was watching Aziz Ansari make silly jokes at a small NYC club about hitting on MIA in bad Tamil. Today he’s touring in a 007 tux. Still bemoaning his sex life, but on a much bigger stage. Sepia is one of our colors, one near and dear. But it is only one. Let’s launch our flicks, ebooks, startups, campaigns. Let’s let our freak flags fly.

Can’t wait to see it all, and unlike Bill, I will inhale.

—Manish

Hi, everyone. For the last few years I’ve been pretty much fulltime over at our twitter franchise, one of a few people trying to make sure you get all your savory brownness in an 140 character packet. As a result, I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty at this longer-form blogging.

But the truth is, as my exes can attest, I’ve never been any good at final goodbyes. I even skipped the funeral of a close friend because I couldn’t stand the finality involved in watching him get cremated, even though I knew he was already gone. But I’m afraid there’s no way to skip your own wake, and once you’re there, you might as well try to deliver a eulogy, awkward as it is.

Part of the problem is that Sepia was never just one thing, it was many. There were the blog posts, but that was just the tip of the iceberg, the part you could see. There was also everything that happened out of view, so many stories that I don’t think any one of us knows them all.

Fun fact: VH-1 once considered a “Behind the Blogging” special on Sepia Mutiny, but decided the truth (replete with biting off the heads of live bats) was too bizarre to be believed. That, and MTV-Iggy said “I’ll cut you, VH-1, Sepia is my bitch! Don’t you go near it!”

The other part of the invisible sepia, the spirit rather than the body, of course, was you all. This is what we never could have forseen when we started the blog, just four guys and one girl, all plugged into a group chat session on (gasp) AOL chat, that such a giant community would spring up around the blog, that people would continue the connections they formed in the comments and continue them, both online and offline, elsewhere. This was both our greatest triumph and our undoing.

Like any club, once we became popular, we lost some of the attributes that made us a hip watering hole in the first place. The comment section changed. We spent too much time and energy policing comments, and even so, it was impossible to maintain the vibe that first brought people here. Plus, as Facebook grew stronger, people simply took their conversations elsewhere, into private spaces.

That’s fine though. Eight years is a good run, longer than most sitcoms, the entire possible lifetime of a Presidential administration, and far longer than I thought we had any possibility of surviving.

We certainly had no idea what we were creating at the time, how many people we would touch, how it would affect each of us, and how, in the end, it would gently unravel. It’s hard to believe all the things that we achieved, as well as all the things that happened that I still cannot tell you about.

I could show you a slow montage of our greatest moments, all slung together in the standard narrative of the rise and fall of a rock-and-roll band, but that would be bullshit. Sepia was never about the commercial, the slick, the neatly manufactured. At our best we were messy, fractious, incoherent, and full of life.

My most famous post, Straight eye for the guerilla guy, could have used a good deal more polishing and refinement. Yet that didn’t stop it from being widely pirated and going viral, in the sincerest form of flattery.

So this, post #539, is my messy, poorly written, farewell and love letter to Sepia, both official and invisible, singular and plural, inside and out.

(Most likely, we’ll keep tweeting from @sepiamutiny for a little while longer, sort of the way the body of a chicken keeps running around, long after the head has been cut off. After that, you can catch me at my new twitter handle @ennismutinywale, and the rest of the crew at their twitter handles and personal blogs in turn.)

I remember when I first noticed this blog called Sepia Mutiny back in August 2004. Manish had linked to a blog post I had written on Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake on August 9; it was one of the site’s earliest posts.

The link was notable to me for two reasons. First, I was amused that Manish would write, “I normally wouldn’t point at a piece referencing Gayatri Spivak and other jargon-filled lit academics…” Ouch, is he talking about me? (Happily, eight years later we have Himanshu Suri and Das Racist, rapping about Arundhati Roy [rhymed with, of all things, "batty boy"!], “Gaya Spivak,” and the Slovenian philosopher Zizek. Jargon is in again, if these dudes have anything to say about it.)

Second, I was a little shocked at exactly how many people seemed to be clicking through. From the beginning, Sepia Mutiny was strikingly popular, so much so that for at least a few years it was routinely rated the most popular blog in India itself. Its success was certainly due to the mix of writers, which was a very talented and energetic pool (Manish alone was routinely putting up 5 or more posts a day).  But I think the site was also clearly filling a need online for discussion of Desi themed subjects, whether political (see Abhi’s early post about Dalip Singh Saund and the Democratic party), or more entertainment oriented (Kal Penn and Harold and Kumar were mentioned in the first week as well).

Even when it wasn’t always smooth-sailing within the circle of bloggers, and even when things were difficult for me in my real life outside of the blog, what always drew me to this site was its ‘sandbox’ quality — the idea that this mix of topics and themes ought to be linked. So when Abhi writes that it may be the blog has fulfilled its purpose in part I don’t agree: many of the difficult issues regarding identity, community, and culture South Asians were dealing with in 2004 remain unresolved. But I do agree that in a way the sandbox qualilty of this kind of group blog has for me at least come to seem a little less essential and exciting than it was at the beginning.

Yes, the South Asian American community is much more established than it once was. There’s Nikki Haley and Bobby Jindal, there’s Aziz Ansari and Mindy Kaling, and there’s quite a number of first-rate writers (go Sugi!), filmmakers, and people in business, academia, and journalism. South Asian America is a big enough, and mainstream enough, world that it does seem a little forced to presume it all goes together anymore. (Though again, I don’t think that’s the same thing as saying we’re done thinking about or working on issues of identity. We’re not; I see that every day with my five year old son, as he tries to sort out his place in his school, and in American society more broadly. It looks to me like he’s going to have to go through a lot of the same stuff I went through growing up, all over again.)

At its height, from 2004 to about 2009 or so, Sepia Mutiny was the most active South Asian diaspora-oriented forum on the web. Posts on topics like M.I.A., Aishwariya Rai (aka TMBWITW), Bobby Jindal, and interracial dating would routinely draw 200, 300, sometimes even 1000 comments. And while we sometimes struggled to keep the comment threads troll-free and productive, we as bloggers could always count on interesting new voices to show up and make it feel worthwhile. Blogging on Sepia Mutiny was addictive for me (and I think not just me) during those years in large part because it was impossible not to be excited to encounter so many different perspectives and ideas.

South Asian vs. Indian. Sepia Mutiny was always somewhat divided over its function and focus. On the one hand, the directive from Abhi and the other founders was quite clear: the point was to create a space for a South Asian American perspective. The “South Asian” part was important and essential (and we had many fights, mainly with skeptical readers, about whether it wasn’t after all just an “Indian American” blog). Also important was the “American” part of the equation; Sepia Mutiny was never intended to be an “Indian subcontinent” forum.

Diaspora vs. Subcontinent. This policy of not focusing on South Asia itself was, however, always a challenge for me, since I have a deep personal and professional interest in what is happening in the subcontinent itself in terms of politics, culture, the media, and of course literature. And this past decade has been a really interesting one on all those fronts, from the debates over communalism and secularism (and we had many good arguments about those issues in the comments), to the rapid changes in the style of commercial Hindi cinema, to the debates about economic trends like outsourcing (i.e., Vinod on Obama in 2008) and globalization. Despite the blog’s stated policy of focusing exclusively on the diaspora, many of my colleagues at Sepia Mutiny joined me in posting frequently on these types of issues, leading to some very rich discussions. As I see it, the U.S. focus was a policy honored more in the breach than in the observance, and that’s a good thing.

First vs. Second/Third Generations. Another source of tension, not within the circle of Sepia Mutiny bloggers, but rather between bloggers and readers, was around generational issues. All of the original founders of the blog, I believe, were second generation Indian Americans (later Bangladeshi American, Pakistani American, and Sri Lankan American contributors would also join). However, many, if not most of the readership during the years I was involved seemed to consist of first generation immigrants (and many 1.5 generation folks — people who immigrated between age 5 and 15). This reflects the demographics of the South Asian American population — there are more first generation South Asian immigrants than second or third generation South Asian Americans in the United States. However, the fact that these readers were all interested in hearing about and talking about the same stuff underlines the commonalities between different generations of immigrants; our accents might not all be the same, but perhaps it’s not a great stretch to say that we do have some things in common.

Recent immigrants from South Asia might be interested in reading my post from 2005 about Katrina Kaif, but they might also be interested in hearing about Kal Penn, Aziz Ansari, or Padma Lakshmi. I think both bloggers and readers evolved quite a bit on this kind of issue over the years. In the beginning, first and second generation commenters used to make fun of each other as (“FOBs” or “ABCDs”, respectively), but somewhere along the line a more respectful and intelligent kind of conversation started to occur. The first generation scorn for ABCDs speaking Hindi badly started to lose its edge, while the second-generation’s dislike of the “awkward immigrant” stigma also evolved. In short, I think we all grew up, and started to appreciate and understand one another better.

My dream would have been a half diasporic, half “home” oriented blog; it was very nearly there for a little while. Luckily, there are fantastic new, highly professionalized blogs hosted by the New York Times (India Ink) and the Wall Street Journal, and they provide much of what used to be my Sepia Mutiny fix. I read them every day. And I get just a little smidgeon of what was once the excitement of the Sepia Mutiny comments on venues like Twitter (not so much, these days, from Facebook).

Finally, I should say that while the new social networking venues are helping to carry on the kinds of conversations that went on at Sepia Mutiny, they are a little lacking on some respects. For one thing, both Facebook and Twitter require super-compressed conversations. While it’s true we may have been a bit too long-winded in some blog posts over the years, I think there really is value in spelling out an idea or a perspective at some length, and then giving readers as much space as they want or need to discuss it with you. I don’t think I have ever changed my mind based on a discussion I had with someone on Twitter. But I did, often, in response to discussions on Sepia Mutiny.

I am not sure what the solution is. There’s no question that social networking is here to stay, but maybe as that ecosystem continues to evolve we can again find a space for long-form (but still immediate, and unfiltered) discussions of the issues that are on our minds.

And… I’m out.

Ravi is an immature, upper middle class kid and a “casual homophobe” (more on  that term later) but he is not a perpetrator of a hate crime.  To consider him more than marginally complicit in the death of Tyler Clementi hurts two groups: victims of true hate crimes and the mental health community.

First off, I reject the mostly Right Wing assertion that we should banish the term “hate crime” from our legal system.  ”Aren’t all crimes hate crimes” they argue?  Such arguments are specious an predicated on the belief that political correctedness is the only reason such a label exists.  Bullshit.  When a man has a chain put around his ankles and is dragged behind a car because he is black, that’s a hate crime.  When a Sikh man is shot for being a “Muslim terrorist“, that’s a hate crime.  When a gay man is tied to a fence and tortured, that’s a hate crime.  Being stupid while you are coming of age and meeting people with different backgrounds than you?  Not a hate crime.  Most crimes are committed because of anger, greed, jealousy, or mental illness.  A hate crime is different.  It is often very violent and there is rarely a personal gain.  The crime is committed as an act of domination or intimidation, often based on unjustified fear.  Nothing about Dharun Ravi’s behavior, as evinced by texts, emails, tweets, and witnesses shows even an inkling of such a motive.  One could argue he was more uncomfortable with Clementi’s socio-economic status than his sexuality!  He was also uncomfortable about an older man, a stranger, coming into his room and having sex.  Many of us may have reacted poorly in such an instance.  What opponents of the term “hate crime” get right however, is that the laws are sometimes so ambiguous that a clever prosecution can convince a jury that a wide variety of crimes meet the legal definition of a “hate crime” and that they have to convict based on the definition alone, regardless of common sense.  We have seen “terrorism” laws abused in this same way.  I would not be at all surprised if Ravi’s case someday reaches the Supreme Court for this very reason.

I consider Ravi a “casual homophobe.”  He, like many of us, especially when we were younger, may loosely throw around the word “fag” or an occasional “you’re so ghey” without thinking twice.  As he gets older he will think about it more, just like many of us may have.  First generation South Asian American households are not the greatest environments to be raised socially conscious in.  With age he may have checked himself and seen that words can hurt like weapons.  Becoming popular with friends by poking fun at others would stop being as cool as it once was. We’ll never know now cause he just got Shawshanked.  He may even be deported.

Now, about the second major issue this jury may not have appreciated enough in terms of considering the applicability of some of the bias intimidation charges:  Nobody ever commits suicide because of a single reason.  Any mental health professional or suicide prevention counselor will tell you that you can’t go from perfectly happy to suicide in the matter of days.  Being watched shirtless on a webcam with another man for two seconds did not alone intimidate Clementi into killing himself.  I fear this ruling sends a message that suicide is clean and simple to understand.  ”A” leads to “B.”  Just punish “A” and there will be no “B.”  Simple.  Why do we need to invest in mental health or provide resources for gay teens coming of age?  Let’s just make it a crime to be an asshole.  Most importantly, Ravi’s defense team was barred from accessing Clementi’s computer files or a note left in his backpack.  There they may have found the evidence they needed to demonstrate that Clementi’s state of mind was complicated and impacted by a lot more than boorish behavior by a freshman year roommate.

Speculating for a second it seems like the jury, like much of modern society, was more interested in being fair (and in sticking to the prosecution’s interpretation of the law) than in being just.  It is sad that Clementi was troubled.  It is even more tragic that he took his life.  I get the impression that the jury sought to punish Ravi because they felt bad about Clementi and his family’s situation rather than being motivated by the need for meting out dispassionate justice.  As a society, when we punish “bad thought” (especially in the young) and blur the line between it and “bad action,” we not only risk censorship but we push real ignorance or bigotry under the rug without dealing with it.  Now, more than ever, we have become a society that favors punishment over rehabilitation.  It is telling that the prosecution offered Ravi a plea bargain consisting of only community service…but a jury of his “peers” goaded by that same prosecution then threw the book at him after he refused to admit guilt.

“This was very difficult, but it was a really good experience. You feel like justice has been served,” he said.

He said decisions on the charges of witness tampering, evidence tampering and invasion of privacy were “easy” and “cut and dry,” but the deliberations on the bias charges were more difficult. He estimated the panel deliberated for much more than one hour on the bias charges, but would not say how long.

“You can’t know what someone’s thinking. You have to get inside their head,” he said. “Afterwards, you think about it not being done once, but being done twice another day. That’s why we came to that conclusion.” He also said he hopes the verdict will bring some peace to the families.

“I hope they can put everything behind them and move forward,” he said. “Hopefully, they finally have closure.” [Link]

Ravi’s team will appeal but his life is destroyed now.  In America you can be 14 and put away for life.  You can be 18 and be jailed for being immature and insensitive.  Everyone lost in this episode.  Especially justice.

It is fitting that Tyler Clementi’s dad basically paraphrased Gandhi at the end of the day, maybe without even knowing it:

To our college, high school and even middle-school youngsters, I would say this: You’re going to meet a lot of people in your lifetime. Some of these people you may not like. But just because you don’t like them, does not mean you have to work against them. When you see somebody doing something wrong, tell them, “That’s not right. Stop it.”

You can make the world a better place. The change you want to see in the world begins with you. [Link]

NEW TIME: 2:30pm – 6:30pm

NEW LOCATION: The Liberties Bar, 998 Guerrero Street  San Francisco, CA 94110

++++

What’s that you say? It’s the end of a mutinous era and you never even made it to a Sepia Mutiny Meetup? Rajni the Monkey went wild in the bunker once he heard this news and is now throwing poop at your computer screen. But ask and The Mutiny delivers – at least for the next 15 days till the April 1st door slam. ANNA revived the 55 Friday because of this tweet and hell, thanks to this forlorn tweet from @YungCoconut and @AmericanTurban, I will do the same.

Join Manish, Vinod, Pavani and myself for the Cali swagest meetup of your mutinous lifetime in San Francisco on Saturday March 31st. We know that you Alterna-Desi types have already bought your tickets to the 8th annual Yoni Ki Baat performance. “Yoni Ki heh…?” you ask? Desi, please.

South Asian Sisters are back again to present another brand new script with funny, touching, sensational, and thought-provoking raw performances submitted by South Asian women across the country! [southasiansisters]

For more info and to purchase tickets to the March 31st & April 1st San Francisco Yoni Ki Baat shows, please check out their site here.

As for the LAST CHANCE AT GOING TO A SEPIA MUTINY MEETUP…

• New Time: 2:30pm – 6:30pm
• Date: Saturday, March 31st, 2012
• New Location: The Liberties Bar, 998 Guerrero Street  San Francisco, CA 94110
• Facebook Event Page Right Here

Please comment below if you will be able to make it! Since this is the last meetup – EVER – I highly suggest out-of-towners fly into SF for a Cesar Chavez long weekend of Mutinous fun. If you have a bar/lounge suggestion (that is open at 4:30pm) do let me know and we can change the local, as long as we keep it in The Mission. And if you can’t come to the meetup but want to keep in touch - you can always find us on twitter, too.

It’s not goodbye – it’s just a farewell, for now. I’ll see y’all on the internet flip side and by that I mean IRL.

After much deliberation we are going to send Sepia Mutiny on to retirement and cease all new posts after April 1st, 2012, almost 8 years since we first started (August of 2004).

This decision will likely not come as a shock to some of you and may even be somewhat expected by others.  For our more recent readers I apologize that you discovered us only as this party was winding down.  Although we all still love our work on SM, the blogosphere has evolved quite a bit since we first started and for a variety of reasons SM has not been able to keep up in recent years so as to remain a cutting edge product both from a content and technological standpoint.  Most of the conversation that once took place daily on blogs now takes place on your Facebook and Twitter accounts.  To try and fight that trend is a losing proposition.  Almost all prominent blogs are now corporatized with actual budgets, so continuing to play in that shrinking sandbox doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.  I don’t think any of us who have poured so much sweat and so many sleepless nights writing about issues we are passionate about or just fascinated by are happy with simply coasting by on past glory.

All of us have also gotten older since we started.  Some got married, some had kids, and all of us have super demanding day jobs (watch 60 Minutes this Sunday if you want to know why I haven’t been blogging much for the last two years).  I have loved reading emails from people who think all of us do this full time.  We wish!

I also truly feel that the mission of Sepia Mutiny is complete, especially for what I envisioned SM would be all about (other bloggers can share their view).  Back in 2004 there was very little brown representation in the media and very little “voice” representing us.  There was not a single loud speaker for the South Asian American community. Now there is quite a bit more and brown is everywhere.  There seems much less need for a “Mutiny” given our strides.  We were even invited to blog at the 2008 Democratic National Convention which was hard to imagine in 2004.  That is not to say we are anywhere near where we’d like to be, but a Mutiny should naturally give way to a more organized movement of some kind.  I believe SM did its job in sowing the seeds for that next chapter, whatever forms it now takes.

Over the next two weeks our writers will be continuing to post new content but will also be sharing some fond memories, some farewells, and letting you know where you can continue to follow their work after SM.  We’d also like you to share your memories of SM if you feel so inclined. Some of you even found your husband/wife or significant other through the comments section of our past posts!  Others found great friends that translated to the offline world.  We’d like to hear from anyone that wants to share.

Thanks, and see you in the real world…or in what comes next.   A mutiny gives way for others to continue the movement.

It should be no surprise by now where the largest populations of South Asians are.  According to the report, metropolitan areas with the largest South Asian populations are New York City, Chicago, Washington DC, Los Angeles, and San Francisco-Oakland and in over the past ten years, the Washington DC metropolitan area overtook the Los Angeles metropolitan area as the area with the third largest South Asian population.

But to me what was surprising to see is where exactly the growing South Asian populations live (as seen in the map above). The South Asian population grew the most in Charlotte, NC, increasing 187% over the past ten years. This was followed by Phoenix; Richmond VA; Raleigh, NC, San Antonio, Seattle, and Stockton, CA; Jacksonville, FL; Harrisburg, PA; and Las Vegas. Among the ten fastest growing South Asian metropolitan areas, only the Seattle and Phoenix metropolitan areas had more than 30,000 South Asians in 2010, while the smallest of the top 10 fastest growing metropolitan areas was the Harrisburg, PA metropolitan area with close to 6,500 South Asians. These are all regions without a significant history of South Asian American migration and I wonder what has happened in these regions that led to such a rapid growth in these cities.

And of course, as the electoral geek of Sepia Mutiny (sorry Abhi), I was most impressed by the new data reflecting the updated voting power of the South Asian community.

• South Asians are becoming an increasingly powerful segment of the American electorate – with U.S. citizens of voting age increasing between 100% and 414% since 2000.
• The population of non-U.S. citizens of voting age has also increased since 2000. While not currently eligible to vote, this population includes green card holders who may become U.S. citizens in the future and will add to the growing electorate.

In addition to the data listed above, there are the additional counties that now have South Asian bilingual needs as reported on the APALC report I blogged about here.

• Los Angeles County, California – Asian-Indian
• Cook County, Illinois (Chicago) – Asian-Indian
• Queens County, New York – Asian-Indian
• Hamtramck City, Michigan – Bangladeshi

To me, this civic engagement data is particularly important because despite this incredible growth in voting population in the South Asian community, there still does not exist one civic engagement/electoral organization building on the power of these voters. We have South Asian candidates running for office, people donating a ton of money to them via PACs, Indian-American lobbying organizations and policy advocacy organizations. But since South Asian American Voting Youth dissolved in 2008, there hasn’t been another national organization to capitalize on this non-partisan political niche. With the 2012 elections right around the corner and such an incredible growth in South Asian voting and non-voting populations, it’s time that the community gets galvanized to build upon these numbers. And it’s time for the South Asian community to fund and support these community efforts.

Please check out the report from SAALT & AAF by clicking on this link and spread the report out to key stakeholders that will be interested in these demographic numbers. Though a great effort, I’m interested to see how else the South Asian community data disaggregated by regions will look like and what else that data will tell us, particularly around multilingual, class, and income levels. If you are working on crunching the Census data for the Desi community, please do send it my way!