The vice principal grabbed the mic. “Rude and disruptive behavior will not be tolerated because our school community is based on respect and kindness toward each other.”
“PPPRRRRRRRR!!” David Cohen made an annoyingly loud fart sound with his mouth. To follow up, he put on a talentless Indian accent, yelling, “I am excited for dee Tin Man!”
I heard him from backstage and wished I could go out there and slice his throat open. One of the drama-nerd stagehands saw the look on my face, knew exactly what rage I was feeling, and said, “Don’t waste your energy on them. We can’t let that bring us down. Let’s just get through this. Remember, the whole reason for this journey is for you to get courage!”
“That’s the Lion. I’m getting a heart.”
He shrugged.
The curtain went up on the first scene. Everyone was—surprisingly—respectful. Second scene: also fine. Third scene: my turn. After the Wiz gives the Scarecrow some brains, here’s what was supposed to go down:
TIN MAN: （Realizes he finally has a heart, crosses downstage, poses with ax blade on deck, handle in his right hand.） All you fine ladies out there… ha ha ha… （He kicks the ax blade with his right foot, sending it up to land on his right shoulder.） Watch out!
Since this was an eighth-grade production, we couldn’t use a real ax. Mine was made out of plastic and cardboard, spray-painted to look as metallic as it could on a middle school budget. But flimsy, fake axes cannot be kicked and landed on shoulders. So, during rehearsal I decided I would instead point to the audience and say the line.
TIN MAN: All you fine ladies out there… ha ha ha… （He points to the audience.） Watch out!
Except that’s not what happened either. Have you ever heard an actor say something like, “I don’t even remember doing that, the character just made that choice? I was in the zone!”？ When the Wiz gave the Tin Man his heart, I was deep in the zone.
As directed, I posed with the ax and then turned to the audience, saying, “All you fine ladies out there… ha ha ha…” but instead of just pointing to the audience, I grabbed the ax with both hands, held it horizontally like handlebars, and enthusiastically delivered a single, vigorous pelvic thrust toward the crowd while saying my last line: “Watch out!”
Everyone went nuts. I had no idea where this came from. They were cheering for the Tin Man! He got his heart. He showed them he deserved it. A force to be reckoned with!
When we got on the late bus after tech rehearsal that day, all the athletes burst into applause. It wasn’t sarcastic either! After the torment of the daily rides home, these genuine claps and cheers were a most unexpected turn. As the dummies eventually quieted down, one of them turned to me and said, “Man, why didn’t you guys tell us that’s what you were doing? That was awesome!”
His question sat on my chest like a hundred bricks. Why didn’t we tell them that’s what we were doing? Meaning it was our responsibility to make ourselves worthy of not being taunted or beaten up? Was Navroze Mody’s big mistake that he didn’t tell people what he was doing?
I stared out the bus window. I was relieved to know that another spitball would not land in my hair that day, and yet, my brain was busy sorting out what had happened. Kids were complimenting our performances, reenacting their favorite lines. （My in-the-zone pelvic thrust was the clear highlight—something even assholes loved.18）
I felt like I had discovered a superpower! While watching our scenes, these guys forgot their preconceived notions, and did something they didn’t think they would: They laughed with us. The very same kids who spit on us and kicked our asses while quoting Apu and Indiana Jones… we just changed their minds using the same techniques those TV shows and movies used—humor and art. Comedy can bring people together and change how they feel! This magical realization continued when friends and parents—mine included—watched and applauded when the show opened that night. It was the first catalyst in my passion for acting.
So, Randy Finn, Ben Garber, and David Cohen: Thanks for teaching me that there is a way to reach dumb-dumbs like you. Because hey, twenty-five years later, that seventh-grade dothead you bullied was one of People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive. I told you to pelvic thrust “Watch out!”
1?My first time witnessing white guilt.
2?I have absolutely no idea if anything I describe here is in any way historically accurate.
3?This is why they moved to America, so their kid could learn the word hooker in fifth grade.
4?Yes, I’ve had a chip on my shoulder since adolescence. My therapist says it’s part of what makes me a good artist. I don’t necessarily agree?
5?Yiddish for grandmother.
6?“That’s why it’s called faith!” says the T-shirt at a gift shop that wouldn’t have my name on anything.
7?Scandalous tidbit here. “Kosher-style” means the food isn’t technically kosher. As a friend of mine recently put it, “We lied to Grandma about it. And that fake ice cream was so gross.”
8?Still one of my favorite activities.
9?The color matched the invitation card perfectly.
10?From a scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, in which the Indian characters eat monkey brains （and bugs）。
11?The Simpsons.
12?The name of the exchange student in Sixteen Candles.
13?Good time to point out something that I’m told is not always obvious if you aren’t Asian American. Shows like The Simpsons certainly “make fun of everyone,” but when the white （okay, yellow） cartoon characters are the only ones well-developed and fleshed out, and when the Indian ones are the only ones whose racial signifiers are mentioned, that’s where the stereotypes come from. You might think to yourself, What about characters like Barney who are drunkards? Well, the reason they don’t count is because the leads themselves are also white （okay, yellow!）。 If The Simpsons had brown lead characters whose racial signifiers didn’t drive their character’s plotlines, it would offset what they did with Apu and the resulting depictions would be multifaceted.
14?Their website is literally NJ.com.
15?Besides bar and bat mitzvahs.
16?Cyanide.
17?I sometimes was, and still am, very dramatic. I AM!
18?Pun intended.
CHAPTER TWO WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OTHER THIRTEEN POINTS?
（and Other Questions That Don’t Have Answers）
We have a dear family friend named Pushpa Auntie. She’s a sweet, quiet woman with exceptionally long black hair tightly wound into a single braid, interrupted only by a bright red rubber band. She’s like an Indian Rapunzel, except, instead of being sadly banished to a tower, she happily enjoys the freedom of shopping at Target in suburban Passaic County. Pushpa Auntie’s conservative look accentuates her innocence: Two things she always wears? A salwar kameez and a smile. Her childhood friends gave her a fun nickname because she was so virtuous: They shortened Pushpa to Pushy—since she’s anything but.
Many languages, including Gujarati, have multiple s-sounds, which leads some folks to incorrectly pronounce the sh in Pushpa as a more dainty s, an unflattering Poo-spa. This type of transference can make the word action become ack-sun. And it turned Pushy Auntie’s nickname into…