In a globalised and shrinking world, romantic liaisons and marriages
between people of different races, languages and cultures have become quite
common. This cultural remix throws up many comic moments, notes Lakshmi
Palecanda
(Marriage itself is a funny institution. So, what do
you expect in inter-caste marriages? Well, confusion more confounded, of
course.)
A couple of decades ago, an inter-caste marriage was a big deal. However,
with downing of international barriers and increased urbanisation has come a
whole new acceptance of unions between people from different castes, family
situations, and even financial backgrounds.
For, love conquers all, at least
initially.
There is a cultural remix happening now in the country on an
unprecedented level. All over the country, inter-caste and inter-state marriages
are bringing Indians closer to a more homogenous mix. Punjabi, Bangla, Gujju,
Bihari and Mizo are tying eternal knots with Tamilian, Kannadiga, Keralite,
Telugu and Konkani, blurring and sometimes even erasing caste and cultural
barriers, while encouraging national unity. Incidentally, this phenomenon also
throws up many comic moments.
First off, mixed weddings themselves are crazy.
Couples who marry without parental consent settle for the registrar. But, once
the families of the lovers have accepted the cross-cultural match, each of them
wants to contribute ideas on events to be conducted on the Big Day. From time
immemorial, Indian weddings have been bastions of faith and significance, and
naturally, both parties want the matrimonial bond cemented with at least a few
of their own traditions. The end result is somewhat like going to a discotheque
and finding two traditionally-clad ajjis, one Kannadiga and one Marwari,
together on the dance floor, jiving to Lady Gaga.
Ever go to your Iyer
friend’s daughter’s wedding and see the Dilliwalla bridegroom arriving on a
white horse to be received by madisaar-clad maamis? Or hear conches at a Gowda
wedding? Does the wedding hall look like a fancy dress party with saris worn in
Marathi, Kodava, Keralite, Gujarathi, and Kannadiga traditional styles? And,
does the wedding feast resemble the menu of a multi-cuisine restaurant with
dishes culled from kaara oota to thali to tandoori to Continental and Chinese?
Most of us have been to these kinds of dos, and if you haven’t already, chances
are that you will, sometime soon.
Once, a wedding was a solemn occasion in
which there was an underlying competition between families to see who would be
more traditional. With mixed marriages especially, the wedding has become a
spectacle or a pageant, where the families of the bride and groom are introduced
to the other’s cultural identity. At least, that is the intent. What really goes
on is a lot of funny compromises and a whole lot of gawking.
In the old days, being a guest at a wedding meant having to awaken
reluctantly at unreasonable times of day and night, dress traditionally, and
yawn through interminable sessions of same old muhurats. These days, you eagerly
charge up your camcorders, wear what you want that is jazzy enough, and dare not
blink in case you miss something interesting, like the bride’s North Indian
father dressed in a dhothi over his pants at a Tamilian wedding, or a groom’s
mother wearing Kannada sari at a Kodava wedding. The homogenous nature of the
cacophony heard at weddings has also changed, with the occasions sounding like
an audio version of the rupee note’s list of official languages… and don’t
forget the dialects!
Kitchen politics
Once the music of
the shehnai, nadaswara and vaalaga have become mere echoes in memories or
recordings on memory sticks, the newly-wedded couple settle down to real life
routines… and realise an immutable fact. Marriages may be made in heaven and
enjoyed in the privacy of the bedroom, but they are cemented in the kitchen.
Yes, one may love rotis or puliyogare once in a while, but if one grew up on
rice and menusu rasam or naati koli saaru, sooner or later, something… or
someone… has to give in. This point is definitely a factor in the everyday lives
of veg and non-veg combos in a marriage.
Flexibility is the key word here,
and since inter-caste couples have already compromised on the most sensitive
decision, this usually works itself out in a year or so, though not before
throwing up some interesting versions. Most men adjust quickly, especially if
they don’t want to cook, with vegetarian men turning omnivores without turning a
hair. Women, on the other hand, go nuts initially before establishing ground
rules.
Some women turn non-veg themselves, some cook meat for the husband but do not
eat it themselves, and a few neither cook nor eat it. Women of the latter
category come to another decision point when children arrive on the scene. Kids
with one carnivorous parent mostly tend to become carnivores themselves. The
same woman who turned up her nose at meat in her kitchen usually relaxes some
rules once her children are born, because ‘my children like it, what to
do.’
Language is another potential variable in a hybrid union. A woman
generally picks up her husband’s mother tongue rapidly, basically since only
then can she keep tabs on what the husband’s family is saying. Of course, she
justifies this by saying that this is to enhance communication with her husband.
But she soon realises that the communication barrier at home is not so much due
to the language, but due to the fact that her man has severely impaired
listening skills (except when it comes to sports and car talk, when he just
won’t shut up), probably due to his Y chromosome. That is when she switches to
swearing in her own mother tongue, as swearing is done most efficiently and
satisfactorily in one’s own mother tongue.
Meanwhile, the husband, who is not overly worried about his wife’s family’s
gossip, has picked up enough language to understand the wife’s cursing, but he
won’t reveal that he knows her language just in case she starts expecting him to
listen to her more often. Actually, the wife is aware of this fact but pretends
that she doesn’t know that he knows, so the deception is not really a deception…
well, anybody with a decade of marriage under their belt can grasp this concept
of mild passive aggression quite easily.
It is common knowledge that the
first year of a love marriage is harder than that of an arranged marriage,
because unlike the couple that enters the marriage with no expectations, the
love marriage couple have seen only the good side of their spouses during the
courting. And just when the couple have settled their differences, and settled
down, children come along to throw deep-rooted convictions and prejudices into
high relief.
This means a period of adjustment to deal not just with the new little
lovable tyrant who is now ruling the roost, but also on ways of bringing up the
said tyrant. Both parents agree that one set of rules only should be used to
bring up baby so as not to confuse the infant, but differ on whose culture it
should be based. Should the baby be eating porridge made of ragi or of jowar?
Should his first solid meal be rice or chapati? This period of adjustment ends
when the child shows its preference of a Lay’s potato chip and Cadbury’s milk
chocolate over porridge and rice/chapati. Every child is a born manipulator
with cute gummy smiles, and senses undercurrents of emotions far better than
adults can.
Therefore, in due time, parents realise that the little one has
actually understood what both parents are fighting over and is training them to
accede to its wishes by playing one against the other. On the plus side, the
child learns languages, customs and cultures very quickly and often acts as an
interpreter to its parents and grandparents.
Selective
adaptation
And it is in the children of inter-caste marriages that a
very important aspect of culture is revealed. These children live their lives
naturally by mixing their parents’ cultures and interpreting them in ways most
conducive to their own lives, along with their own input as individuals. Where
others feel compelled to follow hidebound customs and traditions, children from
mixed marriages have the freedom of choice, to pick and choose the ones they
want to follow.
They make their own family traditions, and by doing so, they show that
culture is not something that is carved in stone, something which is depleted
and diminished by change. Instead, culture is a very alive, ever-changing,
evolving entity that is enriched and invigorated by change so that future
generations are better able to combat challenges that arise with the passage of
time.
Therefore, long live cross-cultural conjugations!
go to the gurudwara. Relatives who wanted to invite the newly-wed couple home
for Sunday lunch would be shocked when the salwar-kameez clad, demure looking,
gori bride would innocently tell them that they would not be able to make it
since “theke jana hai”.
When the young bride, trying so hard to make a good
impression, did find out what her husband had been up to, she offered to break a
few bottles on his head. Now, almost two decades later, communication is not a
problem since she speaks Punjabi and her in-laws have caught on with her Welsh
accent.
When Boston-based NRI Prithvi Raj Banerjee fell in love with his
Benaras Hindu University classmate Anisha Mahajan some years back, there was a
face off between Bengali bhadralok and boisterous Punjabi cultures. Since
Bengalis don’t have a baraat in marriages and Punjabis can’t believe a wedding
can take place without one, groom-to-be was given a crash course on the topic by
his would-be wife and her brothers, who even arranged a band for the visiting
Bong brigade.
“Since the Banerjee clan (including my parents) had never
attended a baraat, they had no idea about its logistical constraints and didn’t
turn up on time on the D day,” recounts Prithvi. So, after an hour-plus of
waiting (with only him and his young friends having arrived), the band party
started muttering that they had a second shift to attend and would not stay much
longer. Common friends of the bride and groom even hinted darkly that the band
(as well as the baraatis) might just defect to the bride’s side and be at the
gate to welcome him when he eventually turned up.
The distraught groom had to
finally take a call on it and decided to go ahead without the seniors. The
baraat wound its way to the bride’s house with his tipsy friends and a lone
uncle doing him proud by dancing all the way. “My Mom still regrets that she
could not dance at my wedding. I’ve asked her to be punctual when it’s time for
her grandson to have a baraat. I don’t care where in the world his bride is
from, we will have a baraat,” he laughs.
Frankly speaking, how many of us can
say which gene pools future members of our family will come from? With the world
shrinking so beautifully, life is becoming a cultural cauldron. To quote my Kiwi
pal Julie Middleton (who incidentally married her mate of 14 years in a Hindu
wedding ceremony held in our garden two years back): Crikey! Who cares so long
as we learn to celebrate our differences instead of letting them build walls
around us.