“Julie…” he cleared his throat and began again. “Julie my precious jewel, Julie my love, Julie my…” he stopped mid-sentence. Seeing the anguished look on my face he started once more, “Julie my precious jewel” he repeated.
“Yes” I calmly said, although I wanted to shout, 'stop the soppy talk and just get on with it!’
“Julie, my Dad and Mum have had a long talk.”
“OK…, go on.”
“Well, Julie, they are suggesting that since, umm, since we have just under three weeks left before we go back to New Zealand…”
“Go on…,” it was like extracting teeth.
“My Dad and Mum love you Julie, Mum says she feels like you are already part of the family.”
I appreciated the sentiment but really couldn’t stand much more of this, I just wanted him to get to the point.
Finally Kishore took a deep breath and said hurriedly, “Julie, Mum is suggesting that we get married here, now, while we are in India.”
I think my heart missed a beat, “What? marriage…us?...here?...now?”
“That’s right,” he was happy now he had finally said it and it showed in his voice, “Well, what do you think?”
I had heard clearly what Kishore had said but it took a few moments to sink in, to comprehend what he had said. My head swam and I tried to swallow as all of a sudden my throat felt extremely dry. I forced myself to look at him straight in his eyes, they seemed to be dancing with excitement. I knew I loved him, I loved him so much. I drew my eyes from him and over to his Mother. She had that same smile on her face but now there was also a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
In my heart I knew there would be no other answer. I again tuned my attention to Kishore, I managed to swallow even though, I now felt my heart was in my mouth. Finally, I was able to say the only answer I always knew I would say. A word that is understandable in any language…"Yes.”
The three of us beamed. It was the biggest smile I have ever seen on Kishore. I looked again at his Mother, she had obviously understood. Her smile was as big as a Cheshire cat’s.
If I thought my life had changed since I met Kishore, after saying that simple three letter word, my life was about to change a whole lot more.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Hindi word for treasure is khazana.
Kishore’s Dad was the head of the family but there was no doubt his Mother ran the house.
That morning on the balcony Kishore was surprised by his Mother’s serious tone, he had the feeling she had something significant to talk about. She began by saying how much the family liked Julie and believed she would make a good daughter-in-law. He was pleased, as it was important to him that his family liked Julie.
She said she had never met or spoken to an English person before meeting Julie, her life and culture was so very different to her own. Trying to imagine Kishore marrying someone who was not Indian took some getting used to. She confided in him her thoughts on how an English girl would fit into their household as their beliefs were poles apart. She admitted when she first met Julie she didn’t know how to speak to her but over the days since their arrival she’d gotten to know her and believed she fitted well into their family home and had easily adjusted to their life.
Kishore’s Mum asked him when he thought he would make it back to India again. He told her it would probably be a long time. Julie and he wanted to marry then save to buy a house. Treading cautiously, so as not to muddy the waters, his Mother then approached the subject of them getting married before going back to New Zealand. Both his Mum and Dad had discussed the situation at length and his Dad agreed it was the right thing to do. If they were going to marry anyway, why wait? Why not marry now while they were in India?
Kishore knew the recommendation from his Aunt and Uncle had obviously smoothed the way for his relationship with Julie. His Mother and Father would not have taken this step if they didn’t have some prior knowledge of Julie’s family and background.
At first he was taken aback but then he began to digest his Mum’s proposition. Could an entire wedding possibly be arranged in less than three weeks? His ever resourceful Mother assured him that despite the short time frame, she could organise everything. She was good at planning and would get all of the neighbours to help with the arrangements. She would also rally them into assisting with the cooking - besides Indian people just love parties. It would be a challenge for everyone but to have a wedding on their own doorstep would be exciting and truly romantic.
Kishore agreed maybe it was a good idea. To be married in front of his family and friends was something he was not expecting to happen. To have Julie as his wife was what he wanted from the moment he saw her, if this could be achieved in just under three weeks, then he was ready, bring it on!
As he was listening to his Mum talking, he felt Julie’s eyes boring into him but he kept his eyes down, he needed time to think this through. Part of the reason he had wanted to bring Julie to India was to get his families approval, there was no doubt he now had that. To have his family with him to witness his marriage and to take her back to New Zealand as his wife would be a great honour.
What more could he ask for? Well, convincing Julie was what he needed to ask for. Kishore said a quick prayer to help him to find the right words to say to her.
To convince her to say yes, would be one task, once the elaborate preparations began without any of her family or friends present - would be another, would she change her mind?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Hindi word for party is jashan.
I had no idea Indian weddings were so elaborate and regardless of the family budget the preparations just grew and grew, the more extravagant the better. There was a great deal to organise, the food, the guests, the decorations! With Kishore being the eldest child in his family and the first to be married, a precedent was to be set, it had to be a big affair. We’d be husband and wife – in less than three weeks! It would be a new year - a new year and new beginnings. Kishore’s family would be there to support me but no one from my family would come to witness our special event. I apprehensively called my family back home to tell them the news.
“Can I please make a person to person call to Auckland, New Zealand,” I asked the operator. As the call went through I imagined Mums kitchen and the phone ringing as it sat on the countertop.
Mum finally answered and after a few minutes of small talk she could obviously tell from the tone of my voice that something was on my mind, “You sound a bit strange Julie, what is it, is everything okay?”
I could imagine Mum pacing, she always paced when she talked on the phone, I took a deep breath, “Mum I have something exciting to tell you.” I eagerly blurted, “Kishore and I have decided to get married while we are here.”
“What?” she exclaimed, “Julie, are you sure that is what you want?” I explained our plans, she was a little stunned and I could tell she was a bit emotional but thankfully she supported me. She insisted I promise to have another wedding with our family when we came home. I heard Dad’s voice in the background, then a rustle as Mum handed the phone to him.
“Hello Julie, what’s all this about a wedding then?” he was putting on his grizzly bear voice but I knew he was a softie at heart. His advice was to take many photos because, when it was all over, photos would be all we would have to remind not only ourselves but my entire family of our special day.
I had always dreamt, of course, which girl doesn’t of a traditional white wedding. To walk up the aisle with my Dad at my side, my arm linked through his. I wanted my family and my Kiwi friends, especially Linda, to witness our marriage because without her persistence we probably would never have got together. Besides, we would have to marry in New Zealand to obtain a New Zealand marriage certificate.
Let the whirlwind preparations commence!
The suburb where Kishore’s family lived was named Sundar (beautiful) Garden after the large park-like area just across the road from their block of fla
ts. This was used by the neighbouring children as a playground and the elderly liked to sit on chairs in the shade and chat. The black crows that inhabited the trees teasingly cawed at the cheeky squirrels as they scurried amongst the branches. This was the site chosen to have the wedding. Tables and chairs were to be set up along with hundreds of lights and decorations. There was music to be organised and a pundit (priest) who would perform the ceremony had to be booked. Kishore was to wear a men’s Indian wedding suit but not have his face covered as in a traditional arranged marriage.
Kishore’s excited Mother soon whisked me away to the markets. I was still getting my head around calling my Mother-in-law-to-be, Mummyji. It was hard to call another person Mother especially having known her for such a short time. We travelled by bicycle rickshaw. This was another new experience for me, a three-wheeled pedal bicycle that pulls a trailer with a roof, where the customers sit on a bench. With apparent ease the rider pedals off fast pulling his passengers along the busy streets.
To my extreme surprise and complete embarrassment the bicycle rickshaw driver we hired didn’t even have a bicycle! His appearance showed he was a small thin man, dressed simply in a white singlet and billowing white drawstring pants. While Mummyji and I sat in the little trailer, he pulled it with his hands, with the strength of an ox he ran flat out amongst the traffic. My Mother-in-law didn’t bat an eyelid but I was mortified, poor man. I consoled myself understanding it was his livelihood, in fact it was considered a small business and the few rupees he earned from our fare, were after all, his wages.
It wasn’t long before we arrived at an entire street lined with shops dedicated to merchandise associated with material and clothing. Some of the shops sold ready-made saris or salwar kameez (the pants and top suit most Indian women wear day to day) but Mummyji and I had come today specifically to look for a bridal sari.
We began our search at one end of the street and went in and out of the shops. My Mother-in-law was now in full shopping mode and would not accept anything less than what she deemed to be the perfect wedding sari for her eldest son’s bride. As we entered each shop the salesman tried to direct his attention to me the tourist but Mummyji did not listen to any of his banter. She was in sole control of the situation and a force to be reckoned with.
Brides in Indian culture traditionally wear red, which symbolises fresh starts or new beginnings. The wedding sari is extravagantly decorated with gold embroidery. While English brides wear white, for Indian people white is worn by holy men, at funerals or by grieving widows or widowers.
The shops we entered had no door and were completely open to the street. Each store had three walls lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, each shelf contained dozens of types of cloth, the range of colours and types of fabric astounded me. I never imagined there could be so many shades, designs and styles – flowers, embroidery, lace and beading. A person could spend hours choosing the perfect material they desired.
Using a tailor in India is a popular way of having a garment made. After choosing and buying fabric, the customer takes it to their regular tailor to have the garment stitched. He will know from experience, his customers measurements and adds embroidery or trimming as requested. Tailors are extremely precise and will do an impeccable job.
Because of the time constraints my Mother-in-law decided to choose a ready made silk bridal sari. As we entered each shop with Mummyji’s requests of requirements, each salesman eagerly took sari after sari out of its packet. Opening each one, he laid it delicately on the bench, fussing and preening over it as if it were a diamond and ruby crown. Laying the fabric on my shoulder he made flattering remarks about how exquisite it would look on. With each man hoping he would make a sale they were disappointed when Mummyji was not satisfied. She shook her head as we left each shop and walked away.
After spending exhausting hours looking she finally decided on what she deemed to be the perfect one, the sari that met all of her requirements. When it came to the cost, she knew how to barter. My seemingly sweet Mother-in-law had no trouble talking the salesman into the best price, even if an English woman was present.
I completely trusted Mummyji’s judgement, there was no need to try the sari on because saris are, after all, just one especially long length of cloth. The only part that is fitted is the bodice (choli), which to me seemed like a small blouse. Kishore’s Mother assured me there was no need to even try that on. She knew just by looking at me what size I was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Hindi word for person is vyakti.
My Mother-in-law to be decided her next duty was to teach me how to be a good housewife. She literally meant the old sense of the word ‘house-wife.' Kishore tried to explain to his Mother that things were completely different in New Zealand and just because I was going to be his wife, it didn’t mean I was going to stay at home and look after the house. Kishore and I had discussed whether we would live with my parents or rent a small flat. The latter was more likely as we longed for our own privacy, despite the fact saving for our own home would become harder. Kishore’s Mother wondered if we lived in a flat with both of us working, who would do the laundry, which she did by hand, the cooking and cleaning? In her mind a man could not be expected to do these things.
Dust is a big factor in Delhi, it settles everywhere. Housewives will wipe surfaces daily and if a family goes away for more than a week dust covers are placed over the furniture and every surface. If this is not done the whole house will be covered in dust upon return. The hiring of a servant is a fairly easy thing to do in India, more so when Kishore’s Mother was little. A young girl or boy from a poor family was happy to work in a house for a small wage. The servant would more likely be a boy and would live with the family and be proud to be earning so he could send money back home to his parents. Wealthy households might have a whole family of servants living with them, who attend to the cooking, cleaning, driving, gardening and other household chores.
Servants were not usually an option in New Zealand during the eighties, so trying to earn, save, pay the bills, attend to all of the housework and look after a baby when it comes along is even harder for young couples.
Kishore told his sceptical Mother that we would manage, cooking could be done in advance in bulk and frozen, which is what he did in his boarding house. He said every house in New Zealand had a washing machine and cleaning could be done together on the weekends. He assured her modern women kept working after they were married. They didn’t stop when they were pregnant and quite often went back to work even after the baby was born.
After all the talk about being a good housewife, I wanted to appease my Mother-in-law so it was decided I would at least learn how to cook some Indian food. I loved to cook and wanted to prepare meals for Kishore I knew he would enjoy. With this in mind, I became an eager student. The first food Mummyji decided to teach me was to make rotis which are served with most meals. Sometimes rice is used as a substitute to rotis - vegetables, dahl or a meat dish are the accompaniments.
Due to India’s large population and the gap between rich and poor, adaptations have been made to serve nutritious meals that are extremely inexpensive. The variety of lentils alone is huge and can be bought in bulk for little expense. Chillies, onions, garlic, ginger and spices are used to add flavour to jazz up the meal – to give it some bite or grit and there are, of course, the medicinal benefits of these spices.
Kishore’s Mum and the other women of the neighbourhood make delicious pickles with lime, lemon, chilli or ginger and enjoy swapping their creations with each other.
Every morning on the footpath outside Kishore’s family home, a street hawker could be heard hollering “Fresh fruit and vegetables – bananas, apples, potatoes.” The hawker waits next to his cart, which is laden with produce while housewives determine what to cook that day by the best price they can get for vegetables from him.
As I stood next to Mummyji her experienced hands easily kneaded the flour and water, which quickly for
med into dough, which would be used to make the rotis. She then clicked on the gas for the tawa to heat up. A tawa is made out of heavy black iron and is similar to a frying pan with no sides. Sprinkling a dusting of flour onto her hands she effortlessly shaped the dough into golf sized balls. Picking up her rolling pin she pressed the first ball flat to the size and diameter of a side plate. She repeated this process with each ball, placing them, one by one on the hot tawa. When the bottom begins to cook the roti is flipped. It is supposed to blow up like a balloon when it’s fully cooked, this can be achieved by lightly pressing it with a cloth.
Up until now I had been an observer, handing me the rolling pin Mummyji gestured I could try rolling out the next roti. Ha! My attempts at trying to roll those little balls into neat round circles were hysterical! Square, rectangular, oval, my rotis were anything but round. I knew food was meant to be respected but I could not help picking up a knife and drawing eyes, a mouth and a fin into the dough I was rolling that somehow ended up in the shape of a fish. Even Mummyji had a little chuckle!
The rotis as they’re cooked are piled up one by one. Wrapping them in a cloth keeps them warm until they are ready to be eaten. If a hungry crowd is waiting, fresh rotis are served straight from the tawa. Young children eagerly stand by their Mothers as the enticing smell of the dough toasting wafts through the house. A hungry growing child could eat ten rotis one after the other, spread with a little ghee, clarified butter, which Kishore’s Mum also makes herself, they are absolutely divine, hot and buttery - just scrumptious.
Julie & Kishore Page 15