(Dhol is Urdu for drum; Bhajaa is Urdu for horn)

I haven’t been as prolifically bloggertastic these past five months but that doesn’t mean that the interweb is not moving forward.  While I was experiencing the throes of my second semester at law school, processing all my misgivings about being a law student and becoming a practicing attorney, I didn’t have much time to process a pretty significant event taking place on the digital platform but now its time to reflect and put to rest a very good thing that happened to me through its discovery.  This is a goodbye and thank you to Sepia Mutiny, a blog for South Asian politics, culture and discussion that ceased its html contribution back in April after 8 years of amazingness.

I was saddened by the news but also compelled to add a few pixels by code to express my sadness a month on.  When a blog shutters its doors very little is heard except for frantic tapping on the plastic tabs of the key board, and then there is forever of silence, except those that relied on it, like me, in whom the blog continues to shape and express itself.  In my frantic typing to catch up with the events that transpired there is a great degree of significance of the gratitude and appreciation I am publicly offering to Sepia Mutiny and the Mutineers.

As a silent observer I was very much in awe of the very existence of a “South Asian American” community, let alone one that shared my progressive world view.  To understand this, please bare with me on my jaunt through my own South Asian identity awakening.  I am a Pakistani, born in Karachi, that knows very little of Pakistan or experience being a Karachiate.  My Pakistani experience was instilled into me by my parents because I was two (maybe three) years old when I came to the United States.  I have known only America and “Pakistan” was a parental experience, a familial relation that was colored by the British Raj experience of my Grandparents.  Luknow and Pune, India were my roots; Karachi, Pakistan was my transplanted experience- the complexity and diaspora of the Partition of India were very much my contextual basis of understanding who I was as a child.  I never quite fit into this South Asian identity growing up in America and by the time I got to High School I was very much American.

I kept a distance from “Brown” people because I just didn’t find myself fitting in, maybe because I didn’t feel a shared experience; my parents weren’t very “Pakistani”.  It was easier to identify as an American until 9/11.   Suffice it to say experience, politics and life choices lead me to embrace Islam and reconcile that religious identity with being an “American” “Muslim” with “progressive values”.  I felt at ease and complete having gone through years of this process.  That was until I lost my Grandmother (Nani, my Mom’s mother) and a few months later my Grandfather (Dada, my Dad’s father).  Around that time I also met Taz.

Taz introduced me to the Sepia Mutiny world and ya’all plunged me into a whole new aspect of my identity.  I saw the light!  I couldn’t reject the history- rich, vibrant and complex; the culture- spicy, wonderful and brilliant; because it represented universal struggles and sacrifices of my parents, my grandparents generation and a BILLION people who had the same sufferings and triumphs I had.   Sepia was the gateway for me to discover that part of me, begin a new course and seek out knowledge from a civilization that represented the cornerstone of humanity.

What a splendid mutiny it has been!  Incredible because i found people that showed me the potential of a dormant part of me and the place I have in this larger community.  A mutiny is a bold risk, borne on the shoulders of honor, duty and values of high moral principles; or its simply a treacherous deed wrought in the deepest most inner ego of greed, desire and selfishness.  This Mutiny has been both and oh so skillfully, like a masterful and dutiful surgeon wielding a blade, balanced between these two sides of the mutiny all these years.  As sad as it will be to say Goodbye, new adventures always begin with endings of some sort.  And furiously on some flickering screen and keyboard a new adventure is forming, a new mutiny is conspiring, inspired by this bold endeavor to mutiny.  South Asian Americans are whispering, clamoring amongst themselves about the rights, honor and empowerment owed to them; about the injustice requiring justice, the dignity requiring a voice, but most importantly for a piece of that damned American Pie that belongs to us.  These are the things yearning to once again be let loose into a unified voice on the web.  i am certain some familiar characters will pop up bringing along new conspirators in this new tale.  As long as things fare progressive, you will find a friend, supporter and fellow mutineer in me!

Good luck to all you industrious mutineers, you “whitish brown” people and may your future rabble rousing be as successful, wonderful, joyous, inspiring and appreciated as this one.

The center of the Earth was a 36ft Catamaran named Mahie, besides the skipper and the other student sailor with me, there was only sun, wind and waves.  Even though it was a two hauled ship I learned just how difficult it is to keep balanced.  Similar to life tossing me off balance, whenever I felt that I was doing a decent job of keeping myself upright or standing the elements of the open water and a ship tossing around in it would prove me wrong.  Those three hours out on that ship proved just how difficult are arduous it is to hoist up the main sail, all the while avoiding the lose of a finger or tripping over a line, losing balance and taking a dive in Davey Jone’s locker.

The sailing experience, which was extraordinarily fun (but maybe not as exhilarating as sky diving) despite the hazards and hard work, helped me to appropriately gauge the shear human willpower and effort required to sail the oceans over the centuries and gain an appreciation for my Uncles commitment to the trade.  Saying that the British Empire never faced the prospect of the sun setting is placed into context when for several hundred years the primary means of transport required voyages across vast oceans with crews of sailors manning ships.  Part of the lessons I took away from my first sailing class experience were pretty simple- balance, team work and authority.

The environment doesn’t harbor anarchy and even amongst anarchist such as Captain Jack Sparrow‘s lot there was a consistent string of authority, albeit constantly called into question.  The person of authority isn’t just a leader, but its the person with the most knowledge AND experience.  Being on a ship I began to understand the essence of what different types of leadership really means and the crucial nature of those differences.  Most importantly though, I realize that the purest and most effective leader is the one that has that combination of knowledge and experience.  Knowledge in that they know what they are doing and have the intellect to keep things functional, but also the emotional intelligence to understand people and connect with them, to lead people toward a destination.  To have that leadership you command authority and authority takes the shape of how the people you command treat, behave and interact with you.  In the words of Vance Packard “leadership appears to be the art of getting others to want to do something that you are convinced should be done.”  To keep a crew in shape and function as a unit without divergence from the plan is pure authority.  Which is interesting because lately I have felt a lack of authority in my own life because I have began to live with this notion that I am unhinged from the larger apparatus that holds my social fabric together- I am a lone wolf, or a man living on his own island.  My experience on the Mahie requires evaluation of this idea that a man can be his own island, because to sail successfully is to sail with a crew that works in sync with one another, something we call “team work”.

When your trying to sail a ship its difficult enough to keep from loosing your balance and, or, loosing a finger or a limb from all the lines, wenches and various sharp or blunt objects waiting to strike you or be struck by you given the slightest moment of carelessness or inattentiveness.  The ship is like walking through a border filled with land mines waiting to maim and hurt you.  Now imagine that this ship requires a group of people constructively working together to make it get to a destination, or else your stuck in the middle of the ocean with limited provisions.  The authority than is nothing if the folks on the ship don’t work together, therefore, the leadership required is of the kind that must command respect, loyalty and trust.  If one person is tugging off beat it can snare up the sail lines and worse tear off some piece necessary to keep the sail in its place.  Rhythm is part of working together, but there is so much more to working together as a team.  My experience reminded me of my friend Ashiq from Frisco who gave me a book “The Five Dysfunctions of a Team” by Patrick Lencioni in which team work is pretty succinctly described- successful teamwork requires trust, room for healthy debate (exchange/open communication), commitment, accountability and results. (I skipped all the beginning chapters and read the last couple of chapters where the meat of the information could be found so I can’t speak to the entirety of the book.)  The ability for the ship to function requires the group of people to follow directions and work together but the team functionality requires the individual to have the skills, intelligence and ability as well.

Here Kobe would be singing “I wish I was a little shorter” because that boom would strike him silly whenever he tried to tact!

The day was sultry, the sun was bright and it was hot, but out on the waves were tempered by gusty winds of 28 knots at times, giving us lots of speed under the sails.  I was out there and my entire world was on that ship.  The Mahie was my present world and it felt wonderful to glide so fast over the waves.  The essence of my experience was about how off balance I felt the entire time I was on that ship.  My performance out there, no matter how physically capable I was or how intelligent I may be was hampered by my inability to remain poised.  My physical ability was compromised by the constant shifting of the surface I was standing on.  Sailing is an experience of maintaining an equilibrium in the physical situation and understanding the mechanics of the physical world your in.   I needed to learn quickly how to anticipate the movement and the future potential outcome of the movements.  Life is like that too.  Life is also about understanding the physical world- its science in action when your sailing.

Physics started to make sense out there on the waves.  One principle that manifested itself brilliantly was the fact that even when we didn’t have the wind behind our sails, we kept moving forward in the direction we were going.  How does that even happen?  Well this brilliant Dutchman named Bernoulli presented a postulation that became the cornerstone of fluid dynamics.  Bernoulli’s principle, simplified incredibly here, involved the idea of vacuum and suctions coupled with the forward momentum of the hull of the ship and the keel (rudder) provides resistance.  When the wind flows over one side of the sail it fills the sail while the air flowing on the other side is moving faster and cannot push as hard and thus the sail recieves a force that is perpindicular to the direction of the wind. This would normally not push the sailboat against the wind but the keel of the boat again resists much of the lateral movement so that the boat has only one direction it can move which is forward, providing that the combined forces that are pushing the boat perpendicular to the wind are greater than the force of the wind pushing the entire boat and sails backwards.  Its the same dynamics behind how airplanes flies.

I am thankful to Marina Sail for providing such an awesome opportunity and for keeping the tradition of sailing alive and well.  The person who deserves special credit is Chas, the super cool captain who has sailed in the Transpac and was our trusted teacher and authority figure.  I look forward to working on getting my basic sailing license and one day be even fractionally as capable as Chas is.  It would be a dream of mine to have the opportunity to sail the Transpac, but for now I am keeping my sights on the basics!

The Dictator that keeps dictating the terms must be applauded, however, Cohen’s Dictator sort of did a belly flop.  More people were discussing its ramification to the American Muslim community, but like I suggested in my previous review of the movie, its a bit of a flop because it disappoints in so many ways.  Well I hope the financial disappointment is some sense of vindication for folks like my friend Munira Syeda, former colleague at CAIR Los Angeles, who wrote a Huffington Post op-ed on the movie.

Interestingly enough, who would have thunk that the ADL’s Foxman might share a beef with the folks at CAIR in regards to Sacha Cohen Baron’s movie, read here.

The math adds up as such- Paramount Pictures spent $65-million to put together the North African Dictator comedy, within the first three days it grossed $17.5 million dollars in the US, placing it at third place behind Battleship and the raining first place movie The Avengers.  Surprisingly though, the Dictator, grossed some $30.3 million in sales overseas.  However the dice rolls, the truth is “The Dictator” just was not financially adding up as a great success.  Though the sales from DVD’s as well as all the other licensing post theatrical release might bring is questionable.  But the fact remains that most viewers found the film polarizing- or they just didn’t get the political satire- and gave it an average rating of C on CinemaScore, Rotten Tomatoes had it at 61% (3.5 stares out of 5.5).

Tract housing is like boring factory specialized machine work, where the only thing that changes is the color and possibly the make up of the folks living inside it.  Blah.  But you havent seen an Eichler neighborhood because it is what I would term as the California Modern Atomic Ranch homes.  I think about these homes as being part of the Nuclear Bomb era.  Designed for the very snaazy, super modern age heralded by the Atomic size explosions that were revolutionizing the world.  The United States decided that it would promote world peace by exporting Atomic energy and Japan ate that shit up by opening up 22 Nuclear power plants since 1954 when the nuclear agency was created as a nation wide strategy to gain energy independence.  These homes were designed for that era but in all honesty for me they are timeless architectural gems.  When I dream of  home ownership, I dream about my first home being an Eichler because they sum up my world perspective.

Mr. and Mrs. Incredible’s Eichler inspired home!

Think the Incredibles when you want to imagine an Eichler home.  What precisely is this Eichler?  Well its not so much a “what”, as it is a “WHO” and the “WHO” being Joseph Eichler a real estate developer here in California.  The sad truth is that if there were more of Eichler architecture in Southern California we would have less desperate housewives, fewer unhinged from society teenagers and probably way more intellectually stimulated genius to fill up a half dozen Stanfords.

What Eichler did was amazing because he brought to the general middle class public accesibility to modern architecture.  He stripped away the high falouting hoity toity nature of custom made modern homes and high rise office buildings along with the high-end furniture and interior designs by creating tract housing communities- 9 of them to be exact- that incorporated the best of modern architecture with a reasonable price range for the average consumer during the 1950′s and 60′s.

All those things we now take for granted in architectural features in homes were Eichler’s doing- the exposed beams, the unfinished floors, natural elements like stones and wood tongue-groove exposed joints, metal ducts and lots and lots of windows, but most importantly incorporating the outside natural world within the home to create a indoor-outdoor flow that was in sync with the living style of folks in the house.  This is what Eichler represented, this is why I dream of buying an Eichler as my first home.

So it was not a big surprise that when there was a neighborhood open house event this past Sunday, yours truly rolled out of my sofa and into the random houses of the lucky bastards that owned those homes- well it helped that one of them happened to be a really good lawyer friend who was the daughter of the recent owners of this particular house that was open to the public.  It was weird, but these houses invited the public- largely the neighbors- to enjoy snacks and drinks and conversation all over the “open house”.  You got to snoop into the owners rooms and see the bathrooms and go lounge in the backyard and kick it at the dining room table.  I mean the only thing missing was the “HELLO STALKERS COME INSIDE” sign, but that was made up for by the nicely placed pink flamingo’s in front of the houses that were inviting folks on in for the freebies.

The sad reality is that Eichlers, like many other architectural gems that are frozen in an era, are not cheap or easy to maintain and that sadly has led to many of the homes and the yards, since Eichler’s Atomic style was all about indoor/outdoor feng shui, have fallen into bad repair.  Unfortunately there is a bastardized neighborhood in the city of Orange where people have not appreciated Eichler’s vision and turned the homes, along with the neighborhood, into an architectural Dante’s hell where each home progressively gets worse, taking you into the various stages and depths of hell that is not humanly imaginable.  So the people who had the open houses deserve a very special appreciation because they took Eichlers vision and made it their own, pain stakenly maintaining the homes, repairing and updating them to also leave a special mark that is unique to them on the larger vision that was the California Modern Atomic Ranch house architecture as curated by the development efforts of Joseph Eichler.

If you go looking for bigotry and prejudices about Arabs and Muslims at the theaters you may not have to look further than “The Dictator”, comedian Sacha Baron Cohen’s newest satiric installment.  Though premised on a mash up of popular dictators from around the world channeled into a single non-Arab-yet-very-Arab-dictator, the movie promotes a far more sinister concept than authoritarian dictatorships, or flaming Islamophobia- DEMOCARCAY- so you might be disappointed in finding out that the comedy is no deeper than the commercials and theatric media junkets behind it.
Unlike Aasif Mandvi or Dean Obideallah, or the many American Muslims steaming at the prospect of another Hollywood creation undermining the image of Islam or Muslims, I looked forward to the movie.  What I found was not so much a movie disparaging Arabs and Muslims, but rather a skillful political satire, albeit done in a fairly absurd, predictably lewd and raunchy way.  The comedy was only skin deep.

Political satire is Sacha’s comedic tool, and satire is using irony to portray people, culture and politics in a ridiculous fashion, therefore alienating us from the object of humor.  What’s ironic is that I felt empathy for the Dictator as he grew from a lonely little boy with Daddy issues into a Mubarakesque democratically elected prime minister (with an astounding 99.9% of the votes- which pretty much gives away the entire movie).

I reject Dean and Assif’s contention that The Dictator is just an active “brownface ministerial” undertaking.  Their point being that Muslims and Arabs best know how to portray the stereotypes incorporated into films like The Dictator.  That argument would mean that law enforcement should let Muslims do the counter terrorism investigations because American Muslims are best at creating terrorism plots.  Neither of these arguments work for me because they are premised on this narrow contention that itself is stereotypical of a minority community’s inability to gain or wield social and political power.

On the other end of the spectrum is the American Muslim pre-emptive outrage as expressed in online petitions and ambivalent social media discussions around the movie.  One such petition making the rounds reads “It promotes negative stereotypes of Arab culture as well as places a prejudice against Islam and Muslims. This Film may initially seem to merely poke fun at the Authoritarian regimes so often found in the Middle East, however what it does not show is the reality and views held by this regions population.”  The petition goes on to say that the movie is a satire making profit by promoting ignorant and stereotypical views about Islam and Arabs.

What Dean and the petition got right was that they haven’t seen the movie, instead they jumped to conclusions.  Dean’s being a very sad short sighted, maybe misguided, conclusion about the roles minority’s should play in Hollywood and the petitions author’s not understanding or appreciating the social utility of satire.  Rather than talk about something you haven’t seen, it makes more sense to go watch it, unless of coarse you plan on boycotting it out of moral obligation.  But than don’t talk about the movie like you know what it is because you’ve been watching the trailers, I mean what happened to not judging a book by its cover?

I had the chance to watch the movie, there were no points at which Islam or Muslim could be attached directly to the characters or to Waadiya, the fictional dictatorship of General Aladeen.  The mismash of cultures- Indian, Sikh, Arab, Persian with Russian Imperial architectural forms made the whole thing a smorgasbord focused on the lifestyle of General Aladeen, the dictator.  Ofcoarse people watching it will think the language being spoken is Arabic, but honestly it sounded more like Hebrew to me.  People will in effect walk away coming in with all the same stereotypes they had about Arabs and Muslims, except satire does a funny thing to someone willing to sit through it.Satire provides the keenest insight into society’s collective psyche, making it an effective tool to understand challenging and often complex situations.  It is no surprise than that the most poignant moment of the film comes at the somewhat anti-climatic speech by Sacha’s Dictator character suggesting what he has discovered about democracy in his experience and interactions with people in New York City, its “a hairy, smelly” thing which requires “listening to every stupid opinion.” In the Aladeen’s words “Democracy is flawed and it’s not perfect.”

In fact in Aladeen’s big speech, Sacha outlines the steps that America had taken toward authoritarian dictatorship – detaining political prisoners without trial, putting the media in the hands of one man, rigged elections, filling up our prisons with one particular race – and in the most brilliant social commentary found in the film Sacha suggests that “America is a country built by Blacks and owned by the Chinese.”
I wouldn’t encourage you to go watch the movie, because, honestly, its not that funny.  You probably should just go watch one of the numerous summer blockbusters coming out than sit through The Dictator.  On the issue of “whitewashing” Hollywood, I agree its something that is critical to examine and discuss, however, the issue is what purpose it serves.  I find that Hasan Minhaj, who also happens to be a comedian, had a take that made much better sense- lets move past these stereotypical roles and actually get South Asian and Arab (minority actors in general) roles that are main stream.  In fact I write about typecasting, in particular with Disney’s show Jessie and the character Ravi, so I am not saying that the whole thing is crying wolf, I just think its misplaced criticism.

The rational me was shaking his head, yelling and screaming at me, “why do you need to jump from 13,000 feet up in the sky?”

“Thats what 9,000 feet looks like,” Jonas said softly in his weird European accent.  ”Are you okay?”  I was peering over a wide open space, a hole in the hull of the airplane, down those thousands of feet.  In a few moments Jonas was yelling “Go!  Go!  Jump NOW….!”  All of a sudden all my excitement morphed into shear naked cold fear.  As Jonas pushed us out of the plane all I could do was shut down the rational part of my brain and hold my breath.

Your wondering- hold your breath; its not like your jumping into the deep ocean off of a boat, so why would you hold your breath?  held my breath as panic continued to drive me toward unconsciousness, a rational person wouldn’t jump out of a plane risking life and limb, forsaking responsibility, letting down parents and siblings and cutting themselves off from their dear friends unless they were suicidal.  If I were suicidal than this act of complete utter selfishness would or could seem reasonable, but I wasn’t depressed and desiring to end my life- it was the complete opposite, I wanted to live my life.  I wanted to do something for myself, something off of my bucket list of things I want to do during my life.

My vision blurred as I tried to keep my eyes focused on the horizon but everything seemed overwhelming in its immensity to the point where all I saw meant nothing because everything was just so small compared to the bigger picture.  Yet I continued free falling in tot he celestial blue, the mountains didn’t seem to get any closer, the ocean continued to be infinitely far away but always imposing in its size.  Everything, yet nothing mattered while floating downward.  The wind was all that was present- here but not totally material.  I could feel it but I couldn’t see it, but the wind mattered.  The wind got warmer.

Falling soon didn’t seem all that important because all I could comprehend was floating.  I was floating.  Thats when the fear lifted and soon afterward the parachute jerked and reality set in by placing everything in its proper place- time mattered again.  On the plane was the time I felt fear.  The time I spent floating, where we were free falling, was my moment of zen.  Then there was the time after the parachute when I felt serene, living in the present again.  Fear was behind me some 5,000 feet in the air, and I liked leaving it back there.

I realized while arcing my way down, circling the airfield where Jonas was trying to guide me for our landing, that there are promises I made to myself, of which certain promises have always taken, if not consumed my energies more so than others.  Getting closer to the ground one thing began to gain clarity- getting by was not going to be an option because living is going to require more calculated risks.  Risks are scary, I felt that fear on the airplane.  But less concentrated, the fear is just as immobilizing as the intensity of fear that kept me from jumping 13,000 feet in the air.  But once I took the risk it wasn’t that scary anymore, in fact the experience that risk was keeping me from doing was exhilarating.

I didn’t know exactly what all of this means right now, but I do know exactly one thing: I want to live my life feeling like I have lived and not just gotten by.

My sky diving experience was accomplished by using a Groupon I purchased back in December 2011 for SkyDive San Diego.  I highly recommend the folks at SkyDive San Diego, they were pretty cool, no bull crap and most importantly, the jump is probably the most scenic jump in the world.  The Pacific Ocean is right there, the desert mountains are near by and there even is a lake.   I enjoyed my experience so much that I got information about getting my solo sky diving license and hope to go through the good folks at SkyDive San Diego to get it.

I am a bit confounded that its been 23 days since I lasted posted on the 70 Day Challenge I stared 35 days ago.  But here is the link to the 70 Day Challenge and the link where you can find the links for all my days- hold me accountable at youtube, pinterest, and twitter.

I haven’t failed at the challenge- not all together, at least- but rather failed at the blogging aspect.  Where I did fail was the past week.  I admit I did not go to the gym or do any sort of physical activity beyond getting up to go to the kitchen and bringing back food to my bed.  Even while I was in the midst of my appellate brief drafting, midterm prepping, resume sending, Houston interview prepping I actually managed to sneak off to the gym and get my manly sweat on.  It was the trip to Houston that done that in.  First I sat for hours, sleep deprived, at LAX.  Then I sat on a plane for four hours.  Then I sat in a hotel room for hours.  Then I sat I stood in lines at Bush International, then sat for a few hours in the terminal all the while looking forward to sitting some more on the plane.  Then I drove a few hours in my car from LAX to my parents home and then from their back to my home.  By the time I got to the gym on Monday my muscles were numb from all the sitting.  My normal warm up mile resulted in severe back pain.  I landed firmly in the confines of my bed alongside Mr. Tiger Balm, Tylenol extra strength pain reliever pills and two whole garbage bags worth of carbohydrate and pure white glucose (the other white powder…) worth of goodies.

A good 10 days worth of time that makes up what I call “THE GREAT COLLAPSE” adding to that whole spiel is the fact that I haven’t blogged about the challenge.  So I promise to get my act together by back filling while simultaneously keeping up to date on present posts.  I know it’s a tall order, especially since I am no James Franco, but I made this promise and I do intend to keep to it like tar and feathers, or a kid and chocolate in a candy store.

Protests against a rape by the Indian Army officials. Courtesy — SepiaMutiny.com

The youngest girl was aged 13 and the oldest woman was 85 years old.  On February 23, 1991 these two along with 51 other woman were ganged raped by Indian soldiers in Kunan Poshpora, Indian occupied Kashmir.  Its been over 20 years now but not a single solider has been held responsible.  The young girls who were raped have not been married because of the shame placed on them for what the soldiers did that night.

On April 7, 1991, the New York Times reported the Kunan-Poshpora rape incident under the headline, “India Moves Against Kashmir Rebels” (evidence of the continuous marginalization of both Kashmirs numerous human rights violations by taking the MAIN issue and burying it in the articles text).

According to the report, on March 5, 1991, villagers complained about the incident to the then-Kupwara District Magistrate, S.M Yasin, who visited the village two days later to investigate. “According to a report filed by Yasin,” the article reads, “the armed forces behaved like violent beasts.” He identified them as members of 4th Rajputana Rifles and said they rampaged through the village from 11:00 pm on Feb 23 until 9:00 am the next morning.

According to the old woman, around 10 to 15 soldiers entered every home in the village. “They would gag women to prevent them from raising hue and cry. We were not able to make much noise,” she says. There must have been around 1,000 soldiers in the village that night, she recalls.  When interviewed in 1991, villagers claimed about 100 women had been molested. “They left the very small girls untouched,” she adds. “Besides them, no one was spared.”

But India did nothing but respond back with the retort that the allegations were “baseless.”  Yet countless human rights organizations around the world have condemned the incident, and even the US Department of State rejected the Indian governments claims.

I think I fell off the blogging roll.  Even doing a simple post is pretty taxing.  I will leave out the update for the past several days and continue to update you on my progress once I catch up.  But here is the link to the 70 Day Challenge and also the link where you can find the links for all my days- hold me accountable at youtube, pinterest, and twitter.

Most influential for my health consciousness was Men’s Health magazine because it introduced me to “The Abs Diet.”  The magazine editor and author of the book is David Zinczenko.  Although the book is written in a way to attract males towards the diet, any dieter can follow it. I learned that each person has to make a personalized way to get to the goals you have and the book I think best presents the way to do it on a great foundation.

Following the steps in the book  I got a way to transform the fat into muscle, as well as steps to sculpt the rest of the body.  I know I put down the “diet” trend, and yes, I am not a fan of diets but that term is associated with a “lifestyle” where you purge yourself of your natural desire to eat carbs or other things.  Here your body and your personal habits are taken into account and there is a way for you to incrementally change and add the healthy lifestyle choices to your life.

The Meal Plan

The meal plan consists of a 7-day plan, filled with what the author calls “power foods.” There are twelve power foods listed in his book, accompanied by recipes. You get one meal per week that is considered a “cheat” meal so you can et anything you want. The diet suggests that foods, such as fat-filled meats, processed and refined carbohydrates, as well as foods high in sugar, should be avoided.

The Power Foods

The foods below are referred to as the “Power 12,” and play an important role when following the Abs Diet.

  1. Nuts: almonds, walnuts, pecans, hazelnuts, etc. These should be eaten with the skin still in place.
  2. Beans and otherLegumes
  3. Green Vegetables: spinach, asparagus, broccoli, lettuce, etc.
  4. Dairy: This includes fat-free milk, low-fat milk, yogurt, cheese, as well as cottage cheese
  5. Instant Oatmeal: When eating this food, no sweeteners should be added and it should also be unflavored.
  6. Eggs
  7. Turkey and other lean meats: This includes lean steak, chicken, as well as fish
  8. Peanut Butter: This selection should be all natural and contain no sugar.
  9. Olive Oil
  10. Bread and Cereals: These items should consist of whole grains.
  11. Extra Protein Whey Powder
  12. Berries: raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, etc.