By Anoop Ramankrishnanmenonpatelmodiji

I am seething. Absolutely livid. Why? Not because of climate change, political polarization, or the collapse of meaningful human connection in the age of AI. No — I’m mad because in 2025 America, it is still easier to find a $19 avocado toast than a proper, oily, turmeric-stained plate of goat curry within walking distance of my apartment.

Yes, I know, some will say, “But there’s an Indian place three blocks away.” To which I reply: If your “Indian” restaurant spells samosa as *suh-moh-suh* on the menu, it doesn’t count. If the curry doesn’t stain my shirt in a way my mother will sigh about for years, it’s not real curry.

But it’s not just about curry. Oh no. It’s about the America we’re building. Despite the conveyor belt of imported Indian brilliance, we still have *never* had an Indian president. Not one. In a country that has elected B-list actors, reality TV stars, and men who believe salad is communist, somehow not a single person with the last name Patel, Singh, or Subramanian has made it to the Oval Office.

What will it take? Do I have to run myself? Fine. My platform will be simple:

1. Federal subsidies for small, family-run curry houses in every zip code.

2. A cap on the number of bland chicken breasts sold in grocery stores.

3. Replace the Electoral College with the Curry Electoral College — one vote for every restaurant that serves a proper butter chicken.

America loves to call itself a melting pot. Well, I say — let’s turn up the heat, add some cardamom, and let this thing simmer properly.

Until then, I will remain here.

Seething.

Brown.

And very, very hungry.

*The Author is a Professor of Colonial Studies at Colombia University

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5762015&forum_id=2/#49181685)