Indian Families

I have to say some nice things about India. I’ve made fun for a couple of weeks, but there are some good things to say about the place. Firstly, nobody smokes. I’m told people do in Mumbai, but I can count the smokers I’ve seen on all my fingers and toes. This is amazing to me as everywhere else you go in the world the air is fouled with smoke, and as a person who’s lived so long in California I can hardly take the stuff anymore. Then again, I’m healthy as a horse. I suspect the lack of smoking is due to Indian thriftiness, the concept of burning money in an anathema to them.

Secondly there’s no real drug problem here. Yes it exists, but nothing like you find in other parts of the world.

Thirdly, there are no Western tourists here, at least this time of year. When I write about tourists 99.99% of them are Indians. Which is really a good sign when you think about it, Indians taking an interest in their own country. I’ve gone days without seeing another Westerner and only see a few at airports, train stations, and major tourist attractions. We look at each other uncomfortably wondering who would be crazy enough to be here this time of year.

Fourthly, it is safe. I can’t say enough about that. I was warned about thieves and pickpockets and danger from Gopi and others. But I laugh at him, who’s going to mug me in front of 100 people? In South America I’m always looking over my shoulder, stories of robbery and murder are legend. Here I’m relaxed and hardly thinking of my safety. I’m sure there’s danger and one should never get too relaxed, but compared to Oakland, India is harmless.

Fifth, the concept of family is solid as steel in India. This is partly because you cannot trust anybody else in this country except family, but it goes deeper than that. Americans believe they invented family values. Let me tell you about family values.

An Indian will do anything for their family. Need a kidney? No problem. A spleen? Easy squeezy. Your heart is failing? You can have mine, I won’t be needing it if you’re gone.

I had a guy who worked for me and then did a shift at his brother’s 7-11 in the evenings because his brother needed help. His brother’s wife was a spendthrift and he couldn’t afford employees. But there was no talk of divorce and he thought it was his duty to work two jobs for his brother, even though his brother wasn’t paying him.

Sometimes it doesn’t even seem necessary and they do it. A friend of mine told me that she was in debt and I knew how she lived and made good money. How? She’d bought her brother a nice brand new car since he graduated from school and needed one.

I told her, “In the U.S. when your brother needs a car you don’t buy him a new one, you give him your junker to get around with until he learns to get on his own feet”.

“Not in India”

“You’re not in India”

“It doesn’t matter”.

Gee, I wish my sister had gone into debt to buy me a new car. If you’re reading this Sis, my car is two years old now and I could use some more horsepower.

Family is so important that as far as I can tell the only thing Indians care about are weddings. Who’s engaged to who? What will the wedding be like? How big will the wedding be? Who was invited to the wedding? The front pages of all major newspapers look more like Hollywood tabloids than the serious press they should be.

War, the economy, terrorism, poverty, environmental disaster, all take a back seat to a good old fashioned marriage scandal. The current most famous one is a Hindu politician who was technically already married from an arranged marriage but in love with another woman. The solution? He and his mistress converted to Islam so he could have multiple wives. Top that Bill Clinton.

The arranged marriage is a very strange concept to Americans, but it seems to work for Indians. I know of a hundred arranged marriages and two divorces. I know of eight love marriages and three divorces. But one of the most romantic things I ever heard was the guy above who worked at the 7-11.

He was from a higher caste than the girl he loved. Both families, especially his was opposed. His family moved to the U.S. in part to separate them. He saved up his money and one night he snuck out of the house, made his way to SFO, flew back to India and eloped with his love. A story worthy of a Bollywood spectacular.

But even so, things are changing in India for the middle and upper classes. While the marriage is still semi-arranged, the individuals themselves are going online to find their mates instead of the family doing the choosing. However family approval is still necessary for the marriage to take place.

A friend of mine in the U.S. is an Indian Catholic. He went online and found a nice Catholic girl in India. They spent months on the phone before even meeting in person. The Catholic Church requires a six month training course to get married in the Church.
As he was in the U.S. and she was in India they took the course separately. He said he spent most of his course time explaining the whole arranged marriage concept to the priest who couldn’t quite get his head around it. I guess the priest is more used to the couple coming in after the baby’s already born.

But I still meet Indians who’ve told me that they met just 15 minutes before the wedding. How’s that for a scary thought?

“Here’s your wife. She doesn’t look like her pictures? You can thank Photoshop for that!”

The other thing curious about Indian weddings is the dowry. I’ve had women tell me they paid $35,000 for their husband. You’re kidding. You paid money for that guy? You should have invested in a dog.

My friends hauled me into a room onetime to explain to me all about the whole dowry thing. These were educated intelligent people, but still held hostage to an ancient tradition. One of them who was very opposed to the dowry arrangement told his rich friend that he should not accept his fiancée’s family’s dowry, he didn’t need it, it was time to stop this.

“You don’t understand”, his friend answered, “I have two sisters and we shelled out $200,000 each for dowries, this is payback”.

I’ve always wondered how the negotiations work.

“We think Ram is worth $10,000.”

“Our son comes from a good family, we won’t accept anything less than $50,000 for him.”

“Your son is born of camels. He’s not worth more than $20,000.”

“Our son was educated at a famous University, $40,000.”

“That University is worthless, he’ll never amount to anything. $30,000 is our final offer.”

“What a wonderful day for our children. $30,000 it is. Welcome to the family!”

Finally, when it comes to treating guests hospitably Indians have no peer. I can’t budge from my chair without them asking what I want. They’re paranoid that I might have one blessed moment of boredom to myself. That I might think they aren’t doing enough. That I might be a bit uncomfortable.

If I mention, “How much is that picture”, they buy it, have it shipped off to the U.S. and tell me about it later. I was just curious, it was the first part of thinking about where I’d put it, or if I even wanted it. I have to be very careful of what I say, it is like having a Genie granting wishes from your random thoughts.

“Hmm, I’d sure like a Hershey’s bar”.

“We can’t get Hershey’s here, so here is a chocolate store we bought for you.”

“How’d you afford a chocolate store?”

“We sold the family jewelry. Don’t worry, it’s only been in the family 15 generations.”

Gopi explained, “My mother stays awake at night worried something will happen to you and everyone will know she did not take care of her guest. It will be in all the papers and the whole country will shake their heads in disappointment”.

One night in Haridwar Kovi and I went to dinner and I got a plate with six things on it. Three were cold and I didn’t dare eat them, the other three were delicious. First of all, Kovi hates to waste food, which I can’t blame him, but Americans are used to wasting food. It is our national pastime. And when I travel I always expect there are things I cannot eat and will not touch them. This is triply true in India.

The next night I want to go back to that place but Kovi won’t hear of it, that place wasn’t’ good enough, we’ll find a better place. He thinks this because I didn’t eat half my food. I must not be one hundred percent pleased, therefore it’s not good enough for me. We end up in some dive with just nan and watery dal, no rice and I’m fed up.

“Stop trying to please me!”, I yell, when I’m hungry I get irritable, “When I travel I would rather go to a place that I know what I’m going to get even though it’s not perfect than risk something else!”

Kovi balls his fist and holds it to his lips. I think he’s going to cry.

Later I tell Gopi about this and he asks, “Did you yell at Kovi?”

“Yeah, you guys don’t listen to me unless I yell”.

“You’re lucky he didn’t hit you. He hates being yelled at. He wasn’t going to cry, he was trying to control his temper”.

See? Anything for a guest in India. Despite my yelling at Kovi, he didn’t pound me.