CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Hindi word for tea is chai.
We were going to attend our first official family gathering as a couple.
It was a naming ceremony for Andrew and Tanya’s first child, a son, the first grandchild in my family. Naming ceremonies using a Justice of the Peace were becoming popular for new parents who chose not to go down the path of a traditional baby christening but still wanted a get-together to bless their baby. New Mums and Dads wanted to publicly announce the name they had chosen for their child and enjoy a celebration in the baby’s honour.
Kishore had not yet met Sarah, Brett or any of my extended family and friends so this was to be the first time I was to show off my Indian fiancé to them. They had heard a lot about Julie and her Indian man and were intrigued to meet the source of all the gossip.
Although this was not a formal occasion, Kishore took it quite seriously, he wanted to impress my family and make me proud of him. He took ages deciding what to wear, deliberating for hours whether to wear a tie or not.
Kishore, minus a tie and I arrived on a glorious spring day at the public rose gardens where the naming ceremony was to take place. As we walked towards the main party area every head rotated as if someone had pushed an automatic button on a remote control - all eyes stared at us. We ignored their vacant looks as we took in the pretty roses growing all around which were blossoming in gorgeous shades of pinks and reds. The gardens, which are also dotted with pergolas, are often used for weddings and special occasion photography. We realised as eyes continued to follow us that we were being judged but we disregarded the looks and headed to where my main family were waiting for the ceremony to begin, I made introductions to Sarah and Brett.
The ceremony commenced and with the Justice of the Peace’s sanction, my baby nephew with cheeks as soft as marshmallows and legs as podgy as bread dough, was officially introduced to the guests with his given name. Andrew and Tanya proudly held their son Christopher high for everyone to see.
After the ceremony the guests were invited to a shaded area under a pergola to enjoy an afternoon tea that had been delicately laid out - delicious mini sausage rolls, rectangular club sandwiches, melt-in-your-mouth lamingtons and sweet, crumbly meringues. Rather than hide in the corner, I took Kishore around to introduce him to the guests. He made polite conversation to the people he met and was given the chance to show them his charm. He asked the older ladies if they would like another cup of tea and talked to the elderly men about weather and sports. He scooped up daisies from the lawn presenting them to the little girls and joked about with the boys giving them high fives. He then took up conversation with the younger ladies, teaching them how to say naughty words in Hindi. One of them decided to try out her new found words on her boss on Monday, oh dear.
By the end of the afternoon Kishore was the envy of all of the single girls at the naming ceremony. His ability to use the crowd to his advantage amazed me, showing he was a confident, genuine and kind young man but of course I knew that anyway. The only surprise I found was his shyness seemed to have miraculously dissolved. Once the guests took the time to talk to him they saw he was more than an Indian man with a funny accent and that he was a suitable match for any girl. As his personality shone through, they soon forgot he was Indian and liked him for being him.
Although later Mum did mention a few of the older relatives voiced comments of their own. A family cousin had said, “Oh, Julie is young, she has plenty of time to meet and settle down with a fine English young man.” One of Mum’s Aunts wondered what was wrong with Julie and why could she not find a nice Kiwi boy? Mum politely informed them that what Julie did was up to Julie, she told those well-meaning relatives that she and my Dad had given their blessings to Kishore’s and Julie's relationship.
The most astonishing comment of all came from another Aunt, an elderly relative on Mum’s side of the family.
Aunty Gladys is known as the type of woman who speaks her mind. Approaching Mum as if she had a big secret to tell her, she pulled her to one side and made her sit down. Mum obediently sat, waiting and speculating what was coming next.
Aunty Gladys questioned sternly, “Helen, are you really going to let Julie marry that man?”
“Yes, certainly.”
The old lady snorted “You do know what those Indian people do, don’t you?”
With a sigh Mum replied, “No, tell me Aunty Gladys, what do those Indian people do?”
Aunty Gladys turned her head from side to side, peering behind each of her shoulders to make sure no one else was listening. She leaned in closer, lowered her voice and said, “I know what they do, I will tell you. People in India are cremated on an open fire, if the husband dies before the wife, the wife must be cremated with the husband - alive!”
“What!” exclaimed Mum, “How ridiculous.”
The stubborn Aunt crossed her arms in defiance, “I can assure you, it is absolutely true,” she claimed.
“What a load of nonsense,” scoffed Mum.
Mum later discussed this with Kishore and yes Aunty Gladys was right - to a point. This horrifying tradition called Sati was performed hundreds of years ago when it was believed a woman could not survive without her husband.
It certainly did not happen today and absolutely would not happen to Julie.