Hollywood Boulevard has proved a harder road to pave than Sand Hill Road for the South Asian. Compared to the immense success of South Asians in high technology, Aladdin Ullah finds himself a pioneer for South Asian-American comics, paving the often bumpy, often slippery road, one joke at a time.

“Learning comedy was a tough job,” says Aladdin. “I played every room I could. I played rooms even the devil himself wouldn’t enter. No room was beneath me. Friends thought I’d gone crazy when I told them I agreed to play maximum-security prisons. You don’t know fear until you see a room full of killers and your job is to make them laugh.”

In the swank library room of the Hudson Hotel in New York City, this thirty- year-old, second generation Bangladeshi actor/comedian explains his story with a humorous and jaded take on topics such as the television industry and New York comedy club owners. His “Bangladesh –meets Spanish Harlem” roots have left him using comedy as a weapon to battle frequent schoolyard fights since kindergarten. He continues to use comedy as a weapon, and as a way to express his plight as a South Asian with street-smart wits and a serious integrity regarding his art form and background.

His is a world without Indian-American mentors and venture capitalist patrons. And his is a career that has coped with issues parallel to those of Latino and African-American contemporaries. Aladdin has been patient with the roles he accepts, watchful of getting pigeonholed as a South Asian actor by the American media.

He recently entered Indian-American movie halls and households as the star of the independent hit movie, American Desi. Dubbing himself “The Funniest South Asian in the Nation,” his issues with the film and comedy industry are no joke. Whether it is comedy clubs or television casting studios, Aladdin feels that entertainment industry decision-makers have been slow to introduce progressive roles to the community.

“When I was young, I thought that if I was a funny comedian, I would get paid. Now I have sort of taken on the role of the sacrificial lamb . . . I grew up poor, so what’s another day?” he asks, explaining his unwillingness to accept stereotypical South Asian roles for short-term economic gain.

While Indian satellite channels like Zee-TV and Sony find his material too edgy, and American networks are unwilling to offer roles beyond cab drivers and 7-11 owners, Aladdin is left in the middle searching for an audience for progressive content. “American Desi did over a million in revenue, which proves that there is a market [for South Asian-American films],” he says.

There are few struggling actors who can be as proud of the roles they have turned down as those they have accepted. He declined roles in The Siege, The Guru of Love and the NBC TV show, “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit,” claiming the roles were stereotypical and inaccurate depictions of South Asians. “TV tells people what to think of other people,” he says. “[TV executives] are thinking for people . . . Although people like Sonia Nikore (head of casting for NBC) have some power, they can’t change things overnight.”

Aladdin believes that with the barrage of stereotypical depictions of South Asians and Arab-Americans in the media, now is an important time to create visibility for accurate portrayals of South Asian-American culture. “Even the high-tech guys like Sycamore Chairman Deshpande admit that their kids get tormented at school for being Middle-Eastern looking,” He says.

When major comedy clubs did not give ethnic comics a chance for prime-time performances, Aladdin interpreted it as discriminatory, and co-founded “Colorblind,” a sociopolitical comedy show performed by an ethnically diverse lineup. “While the privileged comics ride on easy street in the comfort of the bland comedy clubs,” he says, “the ‘Colorblind’ comics pay their dues every day at unconventional venues, like prisons and homeless shelters.”

In 1997, Aladdin created and performed his one-man show, “Curry Power.” In it, he poked fun at television networks for the absence of Indian doctors and physicians on “ER” and “Chicago Hope.” A casting agent later told him that an Indian-American cast member had been hired on the short-lived “Gideon’s Crossing” show after he heard Aladdin’s routine earlier that year.

Aladdin knows that changing perceptions through outlets such as comedy can eventually help create more positive visibility for Indians in American TV and film. But, he admits, that time is about 10 years from now. He sees the future triumph of South Asians in American entertainment as a three-step plan. “To be successful, we have to: do our own thing; aggressively seek an audience; and stop accepting stereotypical roles,” he says. “The next generation will knock down the doors.” si