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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Hindi word for sun is suraj.
It came to Kishore’s attention that pets played an important role in family life in New Zealand, almost every home contained a cat or dog or both. Dogs were not so strange in India but cats? In India cats were considered dirty. He had never known anyone to own a cat as a pet or welcome one into their home as part of the family.
My family owned a golden Labrador, Jasper, who had been with us for many years and Penny, a five year old grey and white cat. Kishore found this bizarre, when visiting my home he observed as Jasper and Penny ate their meal next to each other and slept together. He was astonished to see them as friends.
Kishore seated himself on the couch and Penny took this opportunity to jump up on his lap to try him out for a cuddle. She rubbed herself up against him expecting to be patted. I told him what she wanted and as he had never done this before I showed him how. Very gingerly he stroked her soft, fine hair and she began purring. This was a strange noise to Kishore, it startled him, he thought she was growling and was about to bite him. He jumped up quickly moving out of the way. I laughed asking what was wrong, “That cat is going to bite me,” Kishore exclaimed.
I explained when a cat purrs it’s their way of expressing contentment or happiness.
“Penny‘s just enjoying you patting her,” I clarified.
“Ohh,” he sighed, much relieved. He sat back down again but Penny had moved, deciding to settle on her favourite armchair. After making herself comfortable she turned to look at him. Her eyes were glazed as she stared, the sleepy way cats do when they’re content, her purring continued, becoming in tune with each breath she took. Kishore intently scrutinized her and finally he concluded, “It is like a motor they have inside them that switches on when the trigger is activated by someone patting them.” Coming from a man with a systematic accountant mind, this was surely a true analysis.
Penny soon stopped purring and began her licking and cleaning ritual, carefully stretching her neck, she smoothed the hair on her back with her rough tongue.
“Now what is she doing?”
“She’s cleaning herself.”
“Does she think I dirtied her?” Kishore examined his hands, “My hands aren’t dirty,” he joked.
“No,” I giggled, “Cats are always cleaning themselves.”
“I thought cats were dirty animals but if they can clean themselves with their own tongue, that's impressive, that is clean, not even a dog does that.”
The next time Kishore came over he brought his camera with him. He took photos to send to his family of my Mum and Dad, the house, garden and the pets eating and sleeping together. His parents reported back they were also most surprised to see a dog and cat happily living together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Hindi word for welcome is swaagat.
Kishore received a telephone call from his parents regarding his Aunt and Uncle’s impression of their meeting with me. Apparently, to Kishore’s and my great relief they told his parents I was a lovely, sweet girl. As in conventional arranged marriages the parents of the intended boy and girl seek advice from friends and family about the marriage of their child. Kishore’s Mum and Dad could only use Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal's comments to judge the girl their son was engaged to. They were really keen to meet for themselves, the red headed, freckled girl who had stolen their son’s heart.
We made a few stumbling phone calls to his family home. Kishore handed the phone over to me whispering in my ear, “Say Namaste,” (hello) then, "Kei ha lai” (how are you). I repeated what he told me and could hear a tiny voice deep within the phone lines reply, “Namaste, mai theek hu,” (Hello, I am good). I was talking t
o Kishore’s Mother, as I spoke I imagined an older version of the woman I had seen in the photos at his Aunt and Uncles house. I saw, in my mind’s eye, his Mother dressed in a sari holding the phone up close to her ear. I thought she must be wondering, who is this English girl that my son is so intent on marrying? Is she genuine? Is she a good person? A Mother is a Mother regardless of race, culture or religion and only wants what is best for her child.
Secretly, I was scared. I was beginning to realise just what I might be getting myself into if I married Kishore. I hoped his family would like me and support our decision to marry. We knew meeting his family was exceptionally important, so as a couple we made our first big decision.
We started planning a trip to India.
When I told my friends my exciting news, they were not as enthusiastic as I hoped they would be. In fact, as they each voiced their own opinions, their remarks astonished me. Louise, with a hint of sarcasm affectionately called me a 'curry lover.’ Michelle said, ‘what if he sells you to a white slave trader?’ Kerry’s concerns were, ‘be careful, Julie, Indian men treat their wives as slaves’ and ‘what if he takes you to India and dumps you there?’
When I sadly told Kishore these comments he surprised me by laughing. He especially found the last comment funny, “Julie, my jewel,” he said, “Why would I spend our time and money on planning a trip to India to meet my family, if all I do is dump you when we get there? What would that achieve? Why would a person do that?”
We decided the best thing to do was to ignore the comments and continue saving for our trip.
We loved each other deeply, that is all that mattered to us.
We were discussing travel plans one afternoon at Mum’s house when I got up to get a drink of water.
“Julie,” Kishore called from the lounge where he was busy petting Penny, his new best friend, “Can you please have a look in my wallet for a business card that has the name of a travel agent on it.”
I picked up his wallet that was sitting on the bench next to his keys. While looking for the card, I found a folded note tucked behind his driver’s licence. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened it. I was surprised to see my own handwriting. I realised with astonishment, it was the note with my phone number I had given to Linda that day in the lunchroom when Kishore presented me with the flower. Confronting him, I waved it dramatically in his face, teasing, “Mmmmm, whose number is this, a secret girlfriend, aye?” To my surprise he took one glance at the piece of paper and said, “Julie, that’s the note with your home phone number, 472-9023.” He had not only kept it but also knew my number off by heart.
We headed out one Saturday night to Michelle’s house, she had also become engaged and organised a pre-wedding couples games night with inventive competitions that would make for an interesting evening. After introductions and drinks the games began. The first challenge was to see how many pegs each girl could fit into her hand while hanging out washing on a make-shift clothesline. A length of string had been stretched between two chairs while knickers and bras (which were clean!) were used as clothes - I lost, miserably.
A boys game was next, Kishore was very eager to participate in this competition, which was called ‘see who could eat the most spring onions.’ Peeking at each other we snickered behind our hands. Kishore had already told me of the competitions he’d had with his brother to see who could eat the most chillies. Compared to chillies, spring onions were like raw carrots. While his competitors had tears streaming from their eyes, my fiancé munched his way through those spring onions like they were raw carrots! He won, of course, easily.
*
Our first big argument was over a pair of jeans.
We had been saving for our trip for a few months when Kishore arrived at my house one Saturday morning proudly wearing a brand new pair of expensive Levis jeans. He waited for the expected compliment but that was not what he got. I had always been thrifty, so saving came easily to me and with Kishore being an accountant I thought he would also be frugal. And he was, most of the time. This one time however, he’d blown caution to the wind. Kishore was oblivious, he didn’t even realise what he’d done. Although, the look of thunder on my face was enough to make him realise I was not at all happy.
He asked hesitantly, “What’s wrong, Julie, are you okay?”
With a scowl, I answered the only way a woman knows how to reply when she is not in the mood for talking.
“Nothing,” I seethed.
The poor man persisted, pushing me and falling innocently into the trap he was setting for himself.
“Come on, Julie, I can tell something is wrong.”
Not able to contain myself any longer, I exploded.
“Jeans! Not only jeans but Levis jeans! How can you be wearing an expensive pair of jeans? We are saving!” My eyebrows hit the top of my head as I continued ranting rather loudly, “If you want to buy something expensive we need to discuss it first, that’s what couples do, I am desperately trying to save every cent I have so we can go to India to meet your family, so we can start our lives together and you go and blow money on an expensive pair of jeans!”
Kishore’s face crumbled like a broken biscuit as the bottom of the packet. Never before had he seen his dear sweet Julie get so mad. He then realised for the first time in his life, life didn’t mean, ‘I’ anymore, it meant, ‘we.’ He was most excited to hear me referring to us as, ‘we’ and a ‘couple.’ He was also wise enough to realise that this was not the time to revel in that fact. He knew he had some serious buttering-up to do and started by apologising, many times over.
For the next few hours I only talked to him in one-syllable words. He pleaded with me to forgive him and I eventually gave in. He smiled so sweetly at me with his beautiful brown eyes and promised to always discuss big purchases with me from now on.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the surprise I received at work on Monday morning when a courier arrived with a big bunch of pink carnations. I stared astonished at the flowers and a tear fell from my eye as I opened the note:
To Julie my precious Jewel,
Please don’t be mad that I have sent you these flowers,
I love you and wanted to show you my love.
I promise this will be the last thing I will buy without us discussing it first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Hindi word for princess is raajkumaari.
On a warm day in mid-December, with their suitcases packed, they arrived at the hub of Auckland Airport. As they stood waiting in line to check-in, Kishore had their passports and tickets clutched in his hand. He reflected on how much his life had changed since he had last been at the airport. He had arrived in New Zealand a single man with just twenty dollars in his wallet, looking forward to a new beginning and wondering what lay in store for him. Now, he smiled to himself, he had his lovely red headed fiancé at his side, ready for another chapter in his life to begin.
Glancing at Julie he saw her take a tissue out of her handbag and wipe her eyes. She tried her best to smile at him although the tears were flowing - taking her hand he gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Her family were waiting to say good-bye. He looked over at them and as he did he recalled the conversation he’d had with his future Mother-in-law a few days back.
He had been visiting Julie at her house when Helen called him from the kitchen to help make tea. This had never happened before and he wondered what the problem was. While pouring hot water into cups she said, “Kishore, we have grown to love you as part of our family."
He let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, this is not so bad he thought, it all seemed okay.
Helen continued, “You’re taking my daughter away, further than anyone in my family has ever been.”
Kishore tried to speak, “Yes, I know, I can assure…”
Helen glanced up from the cups and held out her hand to stop him, staring straight into his eyes she spoke quickly, “You had better look after Julie a
nd bring her back to us safely.” She quickly turned her face away holding back tears that threatened as she put down the jug. Turning back to him she said, “We have never had a Christmas without her, she is my baby Kishore and I trust you with her.”
Kishore knew he had been warned. He assured Helen he loved Julie more than his own life and that he would bring her back safe and sound. He consoled her, telling her Julie was in good hands.
Following long and tearful goodbyes at the airport Kishore and Julie boarded the plane for their long flight to India.
*
After a marathon journey, we eventually arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport, New Delhi, India. Walking through the terminal with wrinkled clothes and feeling bewildered from the long trip, we were already an attraction. I felt completely overwhelmed. The amount of people looking at us as we strode towards immigration was just, well weird. My fingers clutched firmly onto the back of Kishore’s jacket, there was no way I was going to lose him. My first surprise, which would be one of many throughout this entire journey, was the security officers with their commanding stance and threatening looks. Across the front of their bodies, clutched in their hands, was a rifle. I had never in my life seen a person holding a real gun before, a weapon that could literally kill a person. I wasn’t in the peaceful haven of New Zealand now - this country was the complete opposite.
Julie & Kishore Page 10