This caricature was once celebrated by a generation starving for representation

Just say those three magic words at any social event, and you’ll create a small, exclusive club for people who have seen Blake Edwards’ “The Party” (1968). Often, their eyes widen, and they quickly respond with their own take of “Birdie Num Num.” Some say it fast, others take their time stressing the pause between each “Num.” However, everyone unconsciously says it with their version of an “Indian accent” trying to copy actor Peter Sellers.

He uttered the now famous lines as the character Hrundi V. Bakshi, an endearing, kind-hearted buffoon accidentally invited to an exclusive party in the Hollywood hills. And here lies the inescapable and enduring problem of “The Party:” Peter Sellers, a white, British actor, was literally wearing brown paint and paid to do a silly caricature of an Indian man.

Peter Sellers in “The Pink Panther Strikes Again” (left) and “The Party” (right).

My fellow South Asian friends and I knew Peter Sellers was white when we first saw the movie as kids growing up in the Bay Area. I loved him as Inspector Clouseau and made a point to see every movie in the “Pink Panther” series, even the inferior installments during the end of Sellers’ life. (“A Shot in The Dark” remains the best one.) My Pakistani immigrant parents, especially my father, was a huge fan of the actor as well. He brought “The Party” on VHS one day and made the family watch it, laughing uproariously as Peter Sellers caused havoc for 90 minutes. Other Desi kids who grew up in the 80s and 90s have similar experiences.

When I went to UC Berkeley, I discovered “The Party” wasn’t just a “South Asian” bonding experience but was also beloved by some of my Arab and Iranian American friends as well. Even the late Adam Yauch, a Jewish American kid from Brooklyn and a member of the Beastie Boys, loved the film. However, some cultural artifacts of their day age horribly. Upon reappraisal, they reflect an ugliness that was always present but went unnoticed due to acceptable bias and racism. For example, nearly every 80s teen-age sex comedy has problematic scenes of casual misogyny, racism and homophobia that make us wonder how no one intervened and said, “Yeah, let’s not have a wildly offensive Asian stereotype named Long Duk Dong in ‘Sixteen Candles’ in an otherwise sweet and charming John Hughes high school movie.”

“But that’s just how things were back in the days,” replied my parents’ generation who often had to endure mockery of their names, their culture and their accents as a sadistic rite of passage during their ascent up the ladder towards the elusive American dream.

My father and his older brother came to California as young students to gain a better education and better future for their family in Karachi, Pakistan. Thanks to the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, bright Asian immigrant students like my father were finally able to get the Willy Wonka ticket to America. In the late 60s, my father said that if he saw another South Asian walking across the street he would excitedly chase them down just to exchange phone numbers. That’s how desperate my father and his Pakistani friends were for a community. They were also desperate for representation.

Yes, The Beatles discovered psychedelic drugs and Hare Krishna, but India at the time was still seen as an exotic playground for white people seeking ethnic tourism and good drugs. There was no Kamala Harris running for President. There was no Mehdi Hasan, Ali Velshi or Amna Nawaz on television. There was no Ms. Marvel, or any Pakistani American superhero in comic books. The best they could get was Peter Sellers in brown paint as Hrundi V. Bakshi. “The Party” hopped over the bigotry of low expectations and gave them something they had never seen before in a Hollywood movie: a brown-skinned man named Hrundi who was the star of the movie and got the pretty girl in the end. Sure, that Indian man was actually Peter Sellers, but when you’re starving for representation you’ll take a white man in brown paint.

People who look like me or my parents were never seen as heroes of the American story. At best, we were sidekicks, like Hadji in “Johnny Quest,” or we were punchlines. Often, we were completely excised and erased. A question I often ask is the following: Is it better to be the villain or invisible? At least the villain has a speaking part and is memorable. When you don’t exist in stories, it’s the same as being invisible. It’s for this reason “The Party” was so powerful for my parents’ generation. Even though my parents are Pakistani and Muslim, they were able to see something resembling or at least acknowledging them, even if it was through the lens of myopic Hollywood brownface.

It could be easy for my generation to judge my parents for accepting and celebrating such simplistic and offensive narratives, but then again, we went through it with Apu and “The Simpsons.” Apu Nahasapeemapetilon is a notoriously cheap but industrious Indian grocery store owner voiced by Hank Azaria, a white man. Azaria based his Indian accent and mannerisms off of Peter Sellers’ Hrundi V. Bakshi. Imagine that: a copy of a copy of a white men playing Indian men.

Growing up, I was actually excited whenever Apu made a guest appearance or had special episodes featuring him as the main character. It helped that “The Simpsons” was consistently hilarious and one of the best written and entertaining shows of that era. But like my parents’ generation, we also didn’t have Muslim or South Asian heroes. Nobody who looked like me ever saved the day or kissed the beautiful girl at the end of the movie. Instead, we had Hollywood giving us Indian people eating chilled monkey brains, live snakes, and eyeball soup in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.” When you’re a Pakistani kid growing up in the 80s and starving for representation, you’ll take a 2D cartoon of an Indian Kwik-E-Mart owner voiced by a white man.

Apu from “The Simpsons.”

Matt Groening, the creator of “The Simpsons,” eventually responded to the criticisms voiced by comedian Hari Kondabolu in his documentary “The Problem with Apu.” Groening said the character was inspired by Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray’s beloved “The Apu Trilogy.” He said he meant no offense, and the show even initially downplayed and mocked the legitimate conversation that the documentary inspired. Similarly, I’m sure neither Blake Edwards nor Peter Sellers meant any offense with their creation of Hrundi v. Bakshi. It’s just a light-hearted movie made to entertain global audiences. And yet after Satyajit Ray saw “The Party,” he was so offended that he canceled his project with Peter Sellers. Despite best intentions, there is a legacy of harm and disrespect that must also be confronted and acknowledged.

Two years ago, I showed my young Pakistani American kids “Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom” to gauge their reaction to the offensive stereotypes. They weren’t outraged as much as they were disengaged. They thought it was just too silly and ridiculous. I haven’t shown them “The Party” because I believe they’ll look at me halfway during the movie and say, “This is stupid, Baba. Why is this white guy playing an Indian guy?” This generation isn’t going back. They have evolved. They aren’t content with caricatures or stereotypes. They reject them entirely. Instead, they demand meaningful representation and lead roles. As such, “The Party” now exists as an archaic cultural artifact of the past and a reminder of how we can and must do better moving forward.

And yet, despite its problematic legacy, I must confess that to this day I can’t help but smile every time I hear someone say, “Birdie Num Num.”  Nostalgia dies hard, but hopefully stereotypes die easier.