CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Hindi word for good is achcha.
It wasn’t long before, in fact about seven months into our relationship that Kishore and I discussed the possibility of marriage. He almost scared me off on our first date with his straight forward intentions. I was glad I had not let myself be intimidated by his comments. I was pleased I had decided to let nature take its natural course. Everything in our relationship so far had fallen into place so becoming engaged seemed to be an imminent progression.
Kishore never actually proposed to me, it was again Linda who played an important role in this next logical step. She often teased Kishore at work about tying the knot and dropped hints about us getting married.
One day she cheekily joked, “Come on Kishore, it took you six months to even talk to Julie, is it going to take you six years to propose to the girl?”
Caught off guard Kishore replied, “You never know, Linda, Julie and I could already be engaged.”
By this time, Linda and I had become good friends and after receiving this snippet of information from Kishore, she immediately rang me, demanding, “Julie, why didn’t you tell me you and Kishore are engaged?”
“What?” I said, “That is news to me, as far as I know I am not engaged and if I was, Linda, you would be one of the first to know.”
That evening after work I asked Kishore what mischievous stories he had been telling Linda. He was surprised I knew, not realising just how quickly women relayed information to each other. He decided to turn this opportunity to his advantage.
“Well, Julie, my jewel,” he declared, “How about it? Why don’t we get engaged.”
Although I was a little surprised, I promptly replied, “Okay then, why don’t we?” and that as they say, was that.
We were now engaged.
It was time for the next part of the ritual. I chose what to wear with extreme care - a dress I hoped would convey I came from a respectable family. As we climbed the steps to the front door, it opened and out came Kishore’s Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal.
All of a sudden I had this overwhelming feeling of wanting to curtsy in order to make a good impression but I managed to curtail it. It was extremely important I made them aware that I was a polite and well-mannered Kiwi girl, that I would make a positive addition to the family and be a good wife for their nephew.
Aunt Bhamini wore a traditional light blue sari. Her hair was tied back and hung neatly down her back in a long plait. She wore red lipstick and as I leant in to give her a hug she smelt of ginger and sandalwood. Uncle Harilal wore a smart suit and his greying hair was lathered back with brylcreem. I had seen my Father many times smooth his hair with the same cream and fondly recalled its unique smell.
Their living room was quaint with flowery wallpaper and beige carpet. We sat on comfortable chairs with pretty white crochet doilies placed on the arm and head rests. Photos of their three children were proudly displayed on the walls. Aunt Bhamini offered us tea. Kishore’s eyes lit up when she also presented us with little bowls containing a sweet dish she called gulab jaman. The fluffy dough balls, fried like doughnuts, were covered in a sticky sugary syrup, I took a spoonful and it was heavenly, with just a slight taste of cardamom, scrumptious!
I was overly apprehensive of the meeting but soon felt comfortable in the calm and quietness of their company. I told them I was grateful they had helped sponsor Kishore to move to New Zealand otherwise surely I would not have met him. I knew they would report back to Kishore’s family their thoughts of me. If their opinion was unfavourable then, I wondered, could the family influence Kishore into not marrying me?
While placing the last spoon of gulab jaman in my mouth, I allowed myself to relax a bit as I felt welcome. An old Indian saying states ‘a guest is god,' this means god could appear on earth at anytime, showing him or herself in any form, so each person must be treated as if they were god, especially if they’re a guest in your house. So I was warmly received into their home and treated with courtesy and respect.
I was amused to hear Aunt and Uncle speaking with a Kiwi accent mixed in with their own accent, though their traditional customs taught from birth were apparent. They asked me about my family, what did my Father do? How many brothers and sisters did I have?
I finally plucked up the courage to ask, “Aunt Bhamini do you have any photos of Kishore’s family?”
“Photos? Of course we do dear,” she said and quickly disappeared returning with a bundle of albums. I was so excited to finally put a face to all of the names I had been hearing about, even if they were out of date. For the next half an hour I devoured the snapshots as Aunty sat next to me and explained in detail each and every person in the main family and some of the extended family. Kishore chatted in a mixture of Hindi and English to his Uncle.
My anxiety of this meeting had almost disappeared but this lull of my nerves did not last long. I felt myself tense up again as the conversation changed to Kishore’s and my relationship. Being representatives of Kishore’s parents, his Aunt and Uncle felt it was their duty to see how we were getting on together so they could relay it back to India. They had three concerns, they said.
Firstly, they thought it could be a problem for me to fully understand true Indian culture. Although a person could be told all of the many traditions and customs of India, they believed I would never truly comprehend the meanings behind the many ingrained beliefs that were there from birth. There were some things that could never be taught, as they were part of the life you’re brought up in.
Their next concern was that they worried I would always feel like an outsider, that I would never fit in. After all, they had experienced this first hand. They had been in New Zealand for a long time and still found some of the Kiwi customs and traditions hard to understand. Coming from two different cultures and trying to appreciate each other’s ways might be difficult for Kishore and myself.
We both understood what they were trying to say because Kishore had tackled these sorts of situations already - at home, at work, in shops and on the street. He often wondered if he would always be an outsider living as an Indian in New Zealand.
I lived in my homeland, my country of birth so I felt comfortable, at ease. We had not been to India or attended any Indian functions as a couple but I hoped my love for Kishore would out-weigh any cultural problems we might come across.
Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal then brought up their third and final worry. It was their belief English people did not take marriage seriously. They said a lot of English marriages ended in divorce because there is no one to go to for advice before they married to see if they’re compatible. In their opinion, a lot of English people tended to jump into marriage not understanding the true seriousness of what they were getting into. Naturally, they believed the parents of the son or daughter getting married should play a big part in the choosing of a life partner for their child because this was the tradition of arranged marriages in India.
Kishore and I spent a long time convincing them we did understand the seriousness of what we were getting into and that our devotion for each other was absolute, our love genuine and that our relationship would last.
We finally left, promising Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal we would come back again soon.
Getting into Kishore’s car, we both admitted that we felt like we had just been thorough an interrogation, totally drained from so much discussion.
On the way home, I reflected on the afternoon. It was the first time I had been in a room with Indian people with no westerners for support. Although everyone spoke English during our meeting, there were a few times when, in the excitement of seeing each other, the three of them switched to Hindi. Instantly, I felt cut off from them and blocked out. Sitting in a room full of strangers - his Aunt and Uncle - and not understanding a word being said was terribly uncomfortable and to be sitting in a room full of people with your potential life partner sitting next to you and not understand a word he was saying was very, very bizarre.
At one point during the conversation, while they were all conversing in Hindi, Uncle Harilal must have said something funny because everyone laughed. Everyone, that is, except me who just sat looking blankly at the smiling faces. Finally, in frustration, I put my head down and stared at my lap. It was the oddest feeling and for the first time a smidgeon of doubt about being with Kishore started to creep into my mind.
It is the way is was always going to be?
Kishore had glanced at me to see if I had enjoyed the joke but as I looked at him he saw the blank look on my face and confusion in my eyes. It took a few seconds for him to realise why I wasn’t happy, that I hadn’t understood the funny joke or what was being said. His face changed from sympathy to annoyance. He had taken a long time to grasp the Kiwi accent - he, too, had been in a room full of people and not understood what anyone was saying. He was annoyed with himself because he had not kept control of the situation and made sure everyone stuck to English, or at least kept a running commentary going so I knew what was being said.
That day we made a pact. Kishore would spend a few minutes whenever we met teaching me a few basic Hindi words. A couple of days later he presented me with a book titled, ‘Learn to speak Hindi’ which resulted in me giving him a sweet kiss and a big hug.