The day before yesterday, my aunt and uncle flew back to India.
They had visited Canada for a month, staying in our guest bedroom and sharing
in our daily lives. I felt uncomfortable at the prospect of this level
of closeness after I found out that they had gotten their Visa to visit in early
September. In the past it was always I who dropped in on their lives in Northeastern India, and when I did, it was just for
brief spells of time.
Although they are nice people, I have always felt a sense
of disconnection from them. We have vastly different beliefs on every facet of
life imaginable – caste, marriage, religion, racial minorities, the role of
women in society, gay people… I could go on. Their world view was developed in a traditional, middle-class Hindu household. Mine was forged in a liberal, interracial family living in Canada.
My father, the rebel, left that traditional Hindu lifestyle
and married a Canadian woman. Although both sides of the family came to embrace
the new couple, I often wondered how I would be viewed in my Indian family as a
half white, Westernized young man. Would I be considered Indian? Would my
grandmother still insist on arranging my marriage?
The answers to these questions have become much more clear
over the past month. Little did I know, I occupy an important position
within my extended family hierarchy. I am the oldest son of the oldest son of
the oldest son on my father’s side. Take of that what you will, but the Hindu tradition
regards this as being spiritually significant.
Even better, I apparently haven’t even let my
Indian family down, despite my Westernization. Going into university, studying
medicine and generally being well behaved mean that I’m a good Indian boy. But of course I’m going to fail the
next and perhaps most important step: marrying an Indian girl.
The older generations of women in Indian families comprise a
highly effective marriage machine. As soon as a young man has graduated from
his studies, they begin to sweep through their vast networks of friends and
track down girls to marry. Once they decide on a suitable prospect, they
arrange a meeting between the woman and man. If they like each other, then they will get hitched in a massive ceremony several months later. They may not even see each other until the wedding.
Oftentimes, as with my uncle, the man leaves the responsibility of selecting his wife entirely to his mother and grandmother. His objective is to find a beautiful and hopefully docile girl from within his caste. But in turn there are factors that affect his attractiveness as a potential suitor; first his income and caste with his height and looks
as distant, secondary factors.
Not to boast, but since getting into medical school I’ve become an ideal Indian
groom. A doctor’s salary in Canada is enormous when converted to rupees (the
Indian currency). My father was also of a “decent” caste, I’m tall,
fair-skinned (a plus) and can speak Hindi. My dad claims, quite seriously, that my grandmother could have a long line of gorgeous Indian girls waiting to marry me, ready to
serve me hand and foot for the rest of my life and have my children – two is traditional.
Personally, that sounds like a nightmare. I don’t want someone to marry me based on economic convenience, and I don't want to marry purely on looks; what about factors like a
sense of humour, kindness and personal interests? Sure, on paper it may sound like a
good idea to marry a random, beautiful brown girl – but what happens when you find
out that you don’t get along with said hottie? What if she has a terrible
temper or hates puppies?
Sadly, in my experience, many arranged marriages end up cold
and lifeless but stay bound together for life because of the deep taboo
against divorce in India. Faced with this prospect, young Indians turn to Bollywood
films to get their fix of love relationships. It’s also becoming trendy among
middle class youth to have a wild love affair with whomever they like before settling
down into an arranged marriage with their family’s chosen suitor.
While we were shopping last week, my aunt suddenly asked,
“So... what nationality will you marry?”
I replied, “It could be Indian, or black, white, Chinese…
whoever I fall in love with.”
She smiled. “So it will be a surprise?” For a second I imagined introducing my future spouse to my Indian family.
All I could say was, "Yes auntie. It will probably be a very big surprise."
