Julie & Kishore

by Jackson, Carol

  Although Pundit Ashokji had used the English term of pronouncing us husband and wife, there was no further announcement of, ‘you may now kiss the bride.’ I had no veil for my groom to romantically lift and he would not be tenderly kissing me on the lips as his newly pronounced wife as I had always imagined would happen on my wedding day. I didn’t mind, as I knew this part of my dream would come true later when we were married again in New Zealand.

  As newlyweds we now stood as husband and wife, an enchanting glow radiated from his soul to mine as we left the little ceremonial tent area. Kishore’s Dad, Mum and family were there first to give their congratulations. The other waiting guests hugged and kissed us, wishing us a long and happy life together.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The Hindi word for beautiful is sundar.

  Kishore had married his beautiful bride, his Julie, his love, his lotus flower, his precious jewel. He was reminded again of the Indian movies he had seen about arranged marriages where the bride weeps for her family. He was so pleased their marriage had been fun and full of smiles and laughter.

  The previous night spent at his Uncle’s house, his Father’s friend, was a period of impatient waiting. Waiting for Julie to become his wife, waiting for them to be united as one soul.

  When he saw her walking towards him in her stunning bridal sari he thought his heart would overflow with joy, he was ecstatic.

  He looked forward to their lives as husband and wife to start.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The Hindi word for peace is shanti.

  Eventually after a long day and night, the last guests left to return to their own homes. A few of the men stayed to half-heartedly help Kishore’s family tidy the garden area and wearily pack up the tables and chairs. Mummyji, Ranjini and Saras helped to peel off my bridal sari, including all the trimmings, in the reverse order that they were put on. My wedding outfit was carefully placed in a box to be stored and the hired jewellery would be returned. I was still wearing the silver and gold necklaces and the remaining items, my chappals and the gajara - which I pressed into a book to be preserved - were to be put in my suitcase.

  The whole family finally went to bed in the early hours of the morning. Everyone, including Kishore and myself, fell exhausted into the same cots we had slept in since we had arrived in India.

  My husband and I both knew, yes, I have a husband! that we had a lifetime ahead of us to spend our nights together. The desire to sleep in the same bed and wake in each other’s arms was certainly something we both longed for. The passion we both felt deep inside us was strong and at times urgent but the respect for our circumstances at this time was more important.

  After only a few hours sleep, in the morning, we, the new Mr and Mrs helped Kishore’s family finish tidying the garden reserve. The remainder of the day, a Sunday, was spent in blissful delight. We lazed, dozed, told funny stories and contentedly chatted about the day before.

  In the afternoon, Ravi popped by and we thanked him for taking the photos. He gave Kishore seven rolls of film, which we would develop back in New Zealand. Seven rolls! Each roll had twenty-four shots, by my calculations that is close to one hundred and seventy photos. I secretly hoped Ravi was a good photographer. I remember hearing the click of the camera so many times, from the greeting of the guests, to the partying and of course the ceremony. I was especially keen to see the photos of myself in my wedding sari. Having only seen my image in the small mirror, I desperately wanted to know how I looked.

  That evening we began packing as we were leaving the next morning for Delhi airport to board a plane to go back to New Zealand. Although our time in India had only been for one month, what a life-changing month it had been. Not only was I now married, my view of life, myself and the world had changed. I experienced what it was like to live in a third world country and to see its immense poverty with no social welfare system. I saw what it did to its people and realised you don’t have to live with unnecessary possessions to be happy. We both knew the reality of life once we returned to New Zealand. It wouldn’t be long before our days returned to relative normality. After all, once we were home we both had to return straight away to work and I would look back on this time and feel it had all been a fantasy.

  Since arriving in India, I had been mulling something over that had been continuously churning beneath my thoughts during this entire trip. I had certainly been kept busy enough with other things but one thought in particular niggled in my mind like a persistent smouldering ember buried amongst the ashes at the back of the fireplace. I had, in fact come to a monumental decision - which I had discussed at length with my husband.

  I had decided once we were back home I would resign from my employment at the office supply company, return to my veterinary nurse apprenticeship and complete my qualifications so I can resume doing what I love, which is caring for animals. Surely, this is the next step in my path of life. Looking back, I truly believe deep within me that I had taken the job at O.S.W. solely to meet the love of my life, my soul mate, my husband Kishore. He of course believed meeting me was all planned out by god.

  We could not think of any other rational reason as to why I gave up the career I loved in the first place.

  We were excited to tell our friends and family our good news. Not all of them were aware of our unexpected marriage. Mum and Dad would have mentioned it to a few people but the communication network was not as intricate as in India. We wondered how they would react. Surely our friends would support and congratulate us but if they didn’t well, to put it bluntly – they were not our friends. Our journey, of our love and our trip to India, had shown me that we shouldn’t care what anybody thought. Our difference in race was a thing other people could worry about, we had tied the knot and it was a knot that couldn’t be undone.

  I straight away sensed a change of attitude from Kishore’s family now that I was their true daughter-in-law. Maybe it was my imagination. His family seemed to address me in a different manner, showing me new respect. Mummyji and Daddyji showed us both an admiration only given to the married eldest son and his wife.

  We finished packing up all of our belongings. My suitcase was lighter than when we had arrived in Delhi. Yes, I had bought gifts for everyone back home but I had given most of my belongings away, Ranjini and Saras being the main recipients. Why had I packed so much? All of these unnecessary possessions. I promised myself whenever we returned to India I would pack a bag full of items to give away to those in need. With our suitcases ready we made sure our passports and tickets were all in order. We talked with Kishore’s family well into the night knowing we would have plenty of time to catch up with much needed sleep once we were on the plane.

  Early the next morning, after dressing, we zipped up our suitcases ready to carry them downstairs to hail a taxi. Telling Kishore I had one last task to attend to, I tiptoed in the dim morning light down the stairs and tapped softly on the Roberts door. After a few moments, it opened a crack and once Mrs Roberts saw it was me, she opened it wide. I thanked her warmly for her kind and thoughtful gesture at the wedding and told her that I cherished her gift. I held up the silver cross, which still hung around my neck along with the golden chain. Mrs Roberts smiled and told me I was welcome. Did she know how much her kind gesture had meant to me? Did she realise the much needed strength her gift had given me to continue with my wedding at a time when I had lost all confidence in myself and felt so vulnerable?

  As we stood in the doorway, I hugged the elderly lady and noticed a photo hanging on the wall, near the cross I had seen the first time we visited her house. Why had I not seen it before? The photo made me realise she did know how I felt. It was of Mrs Roberts in her pretty white wedding gown with her husband standing next to her in his handsome suit. It was strange seeing an Indian woman in a white wedding dress and I smiled to myself thinking how odd I must have looked in my wedding sari. Pulling apart from Mrs Roberts I peered closer at the photo, I noticed a look of innocence mixed with fe
ar in her eyes. The dear lady must have known how much I appreciated what she had done for me. Maybe she felt the same trepidation and feeling of loneliness that I did when she married. In fact as I said goodbye I was sure I saw it in her eyes.

  As I emerged onto the street outside, Kishore and his family were already waiting for me. He had hailed a taxi and was just shutting the boot after putting in our suitcases.

  “Come on Julie,” he said trying not to sound anxious, “You should say your good-byes, we really need to get going.”

  Mummyji, Daddyji, Sunil, Ranjini and Saras had gathered to say their farewells. I gave them many thanks for the warm welcome I had received into their home, for all of the wedding arrangements and their ready acceptance of me joining their family. This of course brought more tears, hugs and goodbyes. Kishore was over all of the fuss and was getting aggravated about being late for the plane. He finally convinced me to get into the taxi.

  Driving through the almost empty early morning streets towards the airport was such a stark contrast to when we had arrived, then the roads had been absolutely packed with people. I now saw the morning scenes through the window of the taxi with rose tinted eyes. I felt a warm sensation in the pit of my stomach, I was now a part of India. How did that saying go? ‘You either love India or hate it.’

  I loved it.

  I turned to face Kishore. Yes, that same bubble of love for him emerged in my heart.

  He smiled back at me.

  “Julie, my lovely wife.”

  “Yes, my husband,” I giggled.

  He took my hand and I cast my eyes down at his warm hand enclosed in mine, his the colour of caramel, mine, lightly freckled and painted with crimson henna designs, what a couple we made!

  He leaned in closer so that his lips were right next to my ear, whispering so the taxi driver couldn’t hear, “You know I can’t wait until we are alone…but until then, I have something for you.”

  I felt goose bumps tingle through my entire body, “What…?” I managed to ask.

  Pulling a package wrapped in white tissue paper from his pocket he handed it to me. After carefully opening it, I found inside a khaki-green soft, silk scarf.

  I was touched, “It’s gorgeous Kishore but when…how?”

  “I bought it the day you went with Mummyji to get your bridal sari.”

  “Ohh…okay.”

  Seeing the scarf suddenly brought back horrible memories of the day I got lost at Jan Path Market. The feeling of total helplessness, the scary taxi ride, even creepy Raja - the fear and the anxiety engulfed me.

  Kishore quickly brought me out of my thoughts, “It is alright isn’t it Julie? after all that happened that day?”

  Realising I had been holding my breath I exhaled deeply,

  “Yes Kishore it’s all right.”

  “It is just…I wanted to buy you a scarf since our first date. I wanted you to have something from me that is a happy memory. I waited to give it to you here at the end of our stay in India. I was hoping the scarf will represent new beginnings.”

  I then thought of the last month, the good things that had happened along with the bad and the word home. I had wanted to go home so desperately that day when I got lost but now looking at my husband, I knew where home was. It was anywhere that he was with me.

  I understood the thought he had put into buying the scarf and his little speech. I placed it around my neck (to add to the collection!) and told him I would treasure it always.

  So much had changed in one short month. Barely four weeks ago, it seemed I was a young girl saying a tearful goodbye to my family in New Zealand. Now, the New Year had begun and I had just said, ‘fhir milenge’ (we will meet again) to my new in-laws, strangers who had welcomed me into their home and family with open arms.

  Most exciting of all – I was a married woman.

  Excitement surged through me as I thought of seeing my family and friends again. I couldn’t wait to show them the photos of our wonderful trip, our unbelievable wedding and introducing everyone to my new husband.

  Once back home we were keen to start planning our English wedding, the guest of honour without a doubt would be Linda, the person who played such a major role at that first encounter in the staff lunchroom. It seems so long ago but without Linda, who on that day gave us a gentle push, or shove, in the right direction, I am sure none of this would have happened.

  But then again who knows with fate.

  A life without Kishore would now be unimaginable.

  CUSTOMS & TRADITIONS

  People outside of the Indian culture may wonder about Indian traditions.

  Below are some of these traditions from the author’s perspective and although told as accurately as possible the author takes no responsibility as to their authenticity.

  These beliefs are from rich ingrained philosophies that have spanned thousands of years, coming from a culture filled with many customs and values.

  Some may be considered old wives tales but are generally there to teach good morals and principles.

  These few notes show how these beliefs have stood the test of time.

  NICKNAMES:

  When an Indian baby is born, they’re often given a nickname, such as Pinky, Bubbly, Muppy or Bunty. One reason for this could be because the birth name given to the child did not seem to fit a tiny, cute baby. The other reason is that it often takes some time before a priest is consulted and comes back with a suggestion of a suitable name for the child, so the parents nickname the baby in the meantime, one that will often stick.

  SACRED COWS:

  Cows are extremely important to Hindus and because of this Hindus do not eat beef. Cows are like a ‘Mother’ and babies drink their Mothers milk, we as humans also drink cow’s milk. Therefore, Hindus cannot understand why humans slaughter and eat their Mother.

  SIKHISM:

  Sikhism is a religion originating from Punjab. Sikh men wear a turban because as is their custom ‘to wear a turban is like wearing a crown from god.’ It’s a courageous act to wear a turban, to stand out from the crowd, because it shows a Sikh’s true devotion to Sikhism and their god. Sikh men never cut their hair - subsequently their long hair is wound and bound around the long cloth then neatly tucked around the head to make the turban.

  YOGHURT:

  Ingredients:

  One tablespoon plain natural yoghurt (culture)

  One litre milk

  Bring to the boil one litre of milk, don’t let it boil over, leave it in the pot and let it cool. Have a clean jar or container ready with an airtight lid. Once the milk has cooled pour it into the jar. Add a tablespoon of yoghurt (culture). Quickly store the container in a warm dry place overnight (twelve hours). The next morning you will have yoghurt.

  FIJIAN-INDIANS:

  In 1879, British colonials living in India sent people from India to Fiji to work in the sugarcane fields. Some of these people were bought as slaves and some went there on their own free will as labourers with a promise of a great life living on a tropical island. The Indian people who went to Fiji worked hard in the fields and after five years were offered a journey back to India for a reduced fare. Because the Indian people were farmers/labourers they could not afford the reduced fare so they were offered an alternative – to stay in Fiji and buy a plot of cheap land. Most of them took this option and built a house as they had become accustomed to the Fijian way of life, some of them were married and had children of their own born in Fiji. These people were now known as Indo-Fijians and had integrated into the Fijian way of life, yet still tried to keep their own culture alive: their language, religion, traditions and festivals.

  FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS:

  Relationships are more complex in Hindi. Each relation in the family is addressed by their own special name. In English we know our relatives as Aunty, Uncle, Grandma or Grandpa, which is the same for both sides of the family. In Hindi, each separate relationship has a name and each person on each side of the family has their own title. The Grandp
a on the Fathers side of the family is called Dada and Grandma is Dadi. The Grandpa on the Mothers side is called Nana and the Grandma is known as Nani. For example: Julie, Ranjini and Saras's older brother’s fiancé – then wife, is called Bhabhi. Kishore being Ranjini and Saras's older brother is called Bhaiya.

  GOLD:

  Giving gold to someone began many years ago when it was decided it was not safe to keep money in your house. Instead, people exchanged their money for gold as gold could be worn at all times. Over the years, the giving of gold in Indian tradition has become more and more extravagant, with the gold being passed down to the eldest sons wife, generation after generation. In extremely wealthy families the bride is draped in elaborate gold necklaces, earrings, bracelets, ankles, head gear and a nose ring.

  After the wedding the jewellery is kept in a safe in the brides home because it’s too intricate and heavy to wear on a daily basis and is only taken out, worn and displayed on special occasions.

  RANGOLI:

  The rangoli is an ancient sign – an equilateral cross with its arms bent at right angles. To Hindus the rangoli is second only to the most important symbol, which is the OM symbol, meaning ‘may god prevail.’ Similar in importance as the cross is to Christians. The name ‘swastika,' in fact, comes from Sanskrit (the first written language of Hindus) and is a sign of peace. The Nazi swastika looks almost identical but is turned slightly on a different angle. It’s said that the German Nazi party stole this symbol from the Hindus and changed it slightly for their own means.