CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Hindi word for boy is lardakaa.
After that first date things seemed to blossom quickly for us. I felt comfortable in Kishore’s company - there was a connection between us that I couldn’t explain. I genuinely liked him as a person, which was a plus, he was intelligent, generous and kind.
I knew there were many differences between the Indian culture and my own. Being raised in traditional English ways this included the ways of finding a husband. A seemingly hit and miss situation that involved seeing a lot of boys in order to find a compatible partner. A judgement of a possible relationship totally left up to fate, which unfortunately often ended in one night stands or messy break-ups.
Before marrying Brett, Sarah had various boyfriends and although each boy was different, the relationships ended in the same way.
Without a word Sarah quietly put down the phone and ran to her room. Soon, the husky voice of Rod Stewart drifted out from under her bedroom door, ‘I don’t wanna talk about it, how you broke my heart…'
It was the same everytime Sarah broke up with a boyfriend, she would drown her sorrows in Rod Stewart’s crooning voice. Crying for days, only occasionally emerging from her room, her eyes puffy and red. Her pain and heartache soon changed to anger, “Who cares, who needs him anyway,” she defiantly exclaimed as she entered the final stage of boyfriend breakups - ‘Moving on.’
Knowing this kind of sorrow could also lay ahead for me, I knew I didn’t want to follow in Sarah’s footsteps - I wanted a relationship that would last. I didn’t want to have to go through her despondency, besides, I didn’t even like Rod Stewart!
As I watched Sarah, I thought it might be easier for me to pack it all in and become a nun - like Maria in The Sound of Music but then again what good did it do her? She fell in love with her employer and became a Step-Mum to seven children!
Western people went through this scenario many times sometimes never finding that Mr or Miss right. Often, the only chance of finding a partner was through friends or while out socialising, where strangers meet and try to find a mutual interest in each other that would sometimes result in a second or third date. Couples looking to become an ‘item’ or looking for love to last will eventually though not always get married. Living together is sometimes preferred as they do not wish to be bound by a piece of paper.
It’s the couple that decides on their life together, no one else, their hearts rule, not their sensible heads.
Of course I had been on a few dates with boys before but this time it was different. After spending time with Kishore, I knew it felt right and as the weeks went by we were sure we had found the missing piece in each other’s life.
Not long after I started working at O.S.W. I went on a date with Lance. He drove one of the company van’s delivering the office supplies. He was a tall, lanky guy with a mullet haircut and a tattoo of an eagle on his arm. We had chatted a few times during work hours and had decided to meet at Brandy’s bar one Friday night after work. I was hesitant and a little anxious about the date, he was a nice guy during work hours but I had never seen him in a social setting before. But the best way of getting to know someone, or so I had been led to believe, was to go out for a drink. It soon became apparent that my anxiety was justified.
Arriving at the bar on time I pushed open the door, a waft of cigarette smoke instantly entered my nose. Pulling a face like I had just sucked on a lemon I realised I could also taste it in my mouth. ‘Don’t dream it's over’ a new song by the band Crowded House, softly played on an unseen stereo. My attention was diverted towards a table in the corner, where the sound of glasses clinking and especially loud laughter could easily be heard above the rhythmic melody of the song. I could see the table was jam-packed with a group of people who were not just having fun but were over-the-top rowdy and were generally acting like juveniles.
A thought flashed through my head, what immature pathetic idiots they were. My eyebrows lifted as I took a closer look and realised my date Lance was one of those immature pathetic idiots. I was just about to whirl around to head towards the door but I was too late, Lance had already spotted me and was heading in my direction.
I apprehensively smiled and muttered, “Hi Lance.”
“Juuuuulllieee, how are ya?” His words were slurred and his breath stunk of a mixture of beer and ash. He’d had far too much to drink already and the night was still young. Draping his arm heavily around my shoulders, he dragged me over to join his friends at the table. Grudgingly, I said my hellos to each person and instantly felt out of place. All I wanted to do was leave. How was I going to get out of here? I glanced around, possibly looking for someone to rescue me. An Indian guy was at the bar drinking a beer, did I know him from somewhere?
With Lance practically ignoring me, I sat for a long tedious hour, eventually making an excuse to go. There is nothing wrong with people enjoying a good time but when they become drunk around me and behave stupidly, I’d rather not be there. Needless to say I never saw Lance on a social basis again.
In comparison, as time progressed with Kishore and me, we enjoyed seeing alot more of each other, things were going well and it wasn’t long before we were seen as a couple.
When he was at work, Linda’s attitude towards Kishore changed. His smile told her all was well in his life. As the weeks flew by and our love blossomed, we both wore that in love, aura that radiated from us like the warmth from the sun on a crisp autumn day.
Linda was all smiles, she knew she had created this happiness between us and as time went by she saw Kishore transform into someone completely different, from a shy Indian boy into a happy, self-assured young man.
I remember a particular episode of the iconic New Zealand TV programme Country Calendar. A proud dairy farmer sat on his horse at the highest point of a ridge. He had taken a moment out of his busy day to survey his vast land - his trusty black and white sheep dog sat faithfully at his side. The farmer was watching his cattle grazing in the paddocks below, his face holding a huge smile of satisfaction. He was proud of his five thousand acre farm on the Canterbury Plains in the South Island. The land he knew like the back of his hand was his achievement and he was content.
This is the same satisfied look I now saw on Linda.
She had taken me under her wing and her stern warning to Kishore was that he had better treat me nicely or else he would have her to answer to.
Most of the time we spent together was at parks or chatting in one another’s cars, neither of us feeling we could have the privacy to express our emotions at each others houses.
It was as if a part of the puzzle in my life had been found. I ignored the doubts my friends put into my head, “An Indian! You’re going out with an Indian?”
Or I was told, “Be careful Julie, he might be hiding from you a wife and children back in India.”
Conversation flowed freely between us and I learnt Kishore was a complete romantic. I didn’t care what my friends said as my heart melted in the heat of Kishore’s flowing compliments. There was no doubt in our minds we were a couple - in fact, it felt like we had known each other all our lives.
We talked and talked and never ran out of things to discuss. We discovered the differences in our childhood were like chalk and cheese. Growing up, I wore jeans and t-shirts, the women in Kishore’s life wore saris.
I ate bread, cereals, meat and vegetables, Kishore ate dahl, subji (cooked vegetables) and rotis (or chapatti - round flat bread).
Although we did find some similarities - childhood games that were universal regardless of race or culture: hopscotch, hide and seek and marbles. Little girls from both countries used their Mother’s old stockings to stretch and jump over while singing counting games, while boys played soccer or catch. We both enjoyed learning to ride a two wheeler bike and ran and played in the street with the other neighbourhood kids.
It was a terrible day, rain was pouring but regardless we had decided to go for a drive. Kishore carefully negotiated the winding roads as he guided his car through the pelting rain, we eventually arrived at Piha, a wild west coast Auckland beach, famous for its black sand and big waves which are popular for surfing. After parking we both clambered into the back seat. Enclosed in the tomb of his car, we snuggled as close as we could, with the rain teaming on the steamy windows we gloriously soaked in the warmth of our love.
He adoringly pronounced,
“Julie… (‘Ju-LEE’ – each time he said my name that way it was like music to my ears)…you are so beautiful.” I didn’t believe him but went along with it, relishing in the fact someone thought that way about me.
Kishore reached for my hair and lightly wrapped his finger around one of my curls, “Your red hair is like little soft, tiny balls of fire.”
Softly touching my face he murmured, “Your freckles are like tiny kisses from the sun.”
Gently pinching my cheeks he whispered, “Your cheeks are like little red tomatoes.”
His fingers moved to my mouth and as he tenderly touched my lips he said, “Julie, your lips are like pink rose petals.”
Finally he took my hand and kissed my palm softly, holding it to his face he declared,
“Your skin is as soft as...is as soft as...three ply toilet tissue!”
Snatching my hand back I hit him on the arm exclaiming “Kishore!”
“Okay, okay, sorry” he laughed, rubbing his arm, “Your skin is as soft as cotton wool.”
He then stared deep into my eyes, he leant closer and softly touched his lips with mine, our first real kiss, he pulled me closer. I held him tighter, both of us lost for an instant in each other’s embrace, our souls drowning in the passion of the moment.
As I became happier I outwardly began to change. I was much more confident about myself - in fact I positively radiated and found myself walking taller. I had finally met someone who liked me for who I was including my fiery red hair, sun-kissed freckles, tomato red cheeks, rose petal lips and skin that is as soft as cotton wool or, apparently three ply toilet tissue.
Kishore had long since declared his love for me. He told me so over and over again. He taught me in Hindi the one sentence he wanted to hear from my lips, “Mai tumse pyiar karti hun” (I love you). I knew I loved him, long before our first kiss I knew but I had never actually said it. In fact, I was pretty sure I loved him from the moment I looked up that day in the lunchroom and saw him hovering over me holding out the pink carnation with a big silly grin on his face.
I didn’t want to proclaim my love until I was absolutely one hundred percent sure, so when I knew, when I was one hundred and one percent sure, I decided to make the declaration a special occasion.
Like most girls I kept notes of important events in my diary. On the fifth month anniversary of our first date, a Tuesday, I secretly bought a happy wedding anniversary card. Carefully crossing out the word wedding I replaced it with the words five month.
With Kishore having no idea of the occasion, that evening we went to his favourite place to eat McDonald’s. Hindus don’t eat beef but he loved fries and chicken burgers. He didn’t even mind that today he would eat vegetarian as the Hindu worship he chose to follow meant he couldn’t eat meat or eggs on Tuesday’s and Saturday’s.
As we approached the counter Kishore asked for fries and a hamburger with just salad, no meat (there was no varied choice of menu in the late 80’s). We were given our meals and looked around for a table, the restaurant was busy for a Tuesday but eventually we found a semi-secluded booth near the children’s playground and sat down.
Regardless of us being in a public place, we felt anonymity was the best way to be alone. Nobody here knew us so we could have privacy in our own company, despite a lot of people being around.
Before starting our meals I pulled the card from my handbag and presented it to Kishore. He was a bit surprised, wondering what and why we were celebrating.
As he read, his expression took five seconds to change from puzzlement to understanding, a smile spread across his face, “Oh Julie, that’s so sweet, thank you so much.”
He began to wrap his hands around his burger but before he could pick it up, I proclaimed I had something else to tell him. After practicing the little sentence all day I was relieved to be about to say it. I cleared my throat but was interrupted by children running past our table heading for the slides, I cleared my throat again.
“Kishore, mai tumse pyiar karti hun,” I announced.
Kishore’s eyes lit up and he beamed, “Ohh…thank you Julie, I love you too.” Taking his hands away from his food he reached to put his arm around me, I slid closer to him in the booth seat. Cuddling while we ate, children scuttled past us running to and from the playground.
After I had said I loved him once, I couldn’t stop saying it, the words bursting from my mouth again and again like popcorn as it heats and explodes in a pot.