Marlee felt like rolling her eyes but resisted. She wasn’t sure if fortune tellers were just considered entertainment or if there was a high level of belief bestowed in them in India. Either way, Swami was a guest in Raj’s home, and she didn’t want to be rude to him. But what if Swami was right? Oh, no. I hope Barry doesn’t propose to me when he comes to visit over spring break!
Swami uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet in one deft motion without the use of his hands for support. They rejoined the rest of the group, and Marlee was instantly surrounded by Raj’s two sisters-in-law, Chandra and Gita. “Did you learn anything about yourself? What did Swami say? He is so wise and knows what will happen in the lives of everyone he meets.” The questions were flying from all directions, and Marlee looked around to find Raj. He was in the corner with his parents and Swami discussing a serious matter.
“Are you very rich?” asked Gita wearing a green print sari with part of the sash draped over her head, which was customary when in the presence of one’s father in-law.
“Me? Rich?” Marlee laughed until she caught the solemn expression on both of the sisters-in-law’s faces. “No, no. I’m not rich. I’m a college professor.” She squirmed as she talked, unaccustomed to discussing her personal finances with anyone other than her accountant, let alone someone she just met.
“But you must be rich. You are traveling alone, a single woman, to India. Do you have your own home in America?” Chandra questioned.
“Yes, I have a house, but there’s a mortgage on it. I don’t own it outright and probably won’t for at least ten more years. My university in America paid for me to travel here to teach at Delhi University.” Why is it so hot in here? It’s December! Marlee wiped her brow with her sleeve, thoughts racing. I hope I don’t get grilled by everyone in India about my personal life and finances.
Finally, Raj approached her and motioned her to an outdoor seating area where the rest of the family and friends had gathered. They all sat on couches low to the floor, which was perfect for Marlee’s short legs. She noticed Raj, his brothers, and one of the sisters-in-law moving their long limbs to find a comfortable seated position.
Raj’s father, whom he referred to as Daddy-ji, stood to speak, and everyone went silent. “It is my honor, no, my pleasure and great honor to welcome Miss Marlee to our family home. We have lived in this home for over a hundred years and have seen many generations of boys go on to be businessmen, engineers, doctors, and scientists. We have also seen many generations of girls move into adulthood to become devoted wives and mothers.”
Marlee looked at Raj’s sisters-in-law to gauge their feelings about their father-in-law’s very sexist speech, characterizing women as not much more than breeding stock. To her surprise and dismay, they were both smiling and nodding. She didn’t have a problem with women who chose to raise a family. More power to them. What Marlee did object to was the notion that being single and childless was some sort of disease.
Raj’s father talked on about their family’s history in the home, and Marlee realized that Raj and his wife and children must live in the same home with his parents, siblings, sisters-in-law, and nieces and nephews. Maybe Swami lived there too. This reminded her of the 80s drama, Dallas, in which three generations lived under one roof on a sprawling ranch in Texas. She also recalled the frequent feuds between members of the family and their dysfunctional ways of dealing with them. No wonder I haven’t seen Raj’s wife and kids yet. They’re probably hiding from the rest of his family.
Raj stood and thanked everyone for making the evening so special, and then he guided Marlee toward the buffet. She was in awe. Before her stood steamer trays of rice, vegetables, curries, meats, and her favorite, naan. Since the first time she tried it, she loved the delicious flat bread whether plain or with garlic. Following Raj and his parents, Marlee heaped her plate with nearly every dish offered on the buffet. She loved rice, and there was jasmine rice, biriyani rice, and another type of rice, of which she took generous portions. Marlee also took a large helping of a stewed beef dish, spinach paneer, two slices of naan, and curried lentils. Remembering her goal of eating more fruits and vegetables, she plopped a heap of pumpkin curry atop her already heaping plate of food. As long as she didn’t have to eat lamb or any sheep-related food, she was happy.
The group sat at two long banquet tables; children at one table and the adults at another. Marlee was steered toward the center of the adult table with Raj’s parents sitting on either side of her and Raj sitting directly across. The parents were nice, but very traditional and a bit intense. They sat, backs rigid, quick glances darting toward her then at each other. She didn’t think they would appreciate her jokes or wit.
Marlee dug into her food as a way to avoid talking. Everything was delicious, especially the naan and the beef stewed in tomatoes. She was surprised to find a beef dish since so many Indians are Hindus. Beef was especially hard to find in India and was rarely served, even in non-Hindu homes. Raj’s family must be Muslim, she thought as she savored the meaty beef dish in the slow-roasted tomatoes.
After a few minutes of silence, Marlee felt as if she had done something wrong. There was a negative vibe in the air, and she hated waiting until someone addressed it. “I am so honored to be in your home and eating your delicious food,” she said after swallowing a mouthful of rice. “I hope that I’ve been able to honor you, and if I’ve made any social transgressions, please forgive me. Our customs in America are somewhat different than in India.”
More silence followed, but the eyes of Raj and his parents spoke volumes as they looked back and forth at each other, not uttering a word. Marlee’s usual tactic when dealing with people who had something to say but didn’t want to speak was to wait until they couldn’t take the tension any longer. In the United States, it’s hard for most people to endure silence while in the presence of others. Apparently, that was not the situation in India. Given that she had no idea what was going on and couldn’t adapt her behavior until she knew the grievance, she kept eating. And eating.
After at least five minutes, Mommy-ji spoke to her husband. “If you won’t tell her, I will.” She fixed her spouse with a wicked stare and determination.
Daddy-ji cleared his throat and took a long sip of water. “We have been advised by Swami that your astrological chart does not coincide favorably to that of Raj. We are honored to have you in our home, but you will not be allowed to marry our son.”
Shocked was the least of Marlee’s emotions. She could not believe what she just heard. Raj’s parents didn’t want him to marry her, and this was based solely on the reading of the fortune teller. But what was most alarming was that Raj had invited her to his family’s home with the intent that they might someday be married. No wonder I never met his wife and kids. He’s wife hunting, and I’m the prey. Her eyes were wide, and her jaw was open. Marlee had no idea what to say that would not disrespect Raj, his family, or their culture.
In an attempt to soften the perceived blow by his parents, Raj pointed at Marlee’s plate and said, “I see you really like the stewed goat and tomatoes. Please have more if you wish.”
Like the body that is made up of different limbs and organs, all moral creatures must depend on each other to exist.
Hindu proverb
Chapter 6
To say the remainder of the meal was uncomfortable would be an understatement of the highest degree. She was stared at with contempt by Raj’s parents and with pity by the sisters-in-law. Marlee felt as welcome as a turd in the punch bowl after Raj’s parents’ startling announcement. She was more than happy when Raj suggested they forgo the entertainment planned by the family and instead leave for home.
Thirty seconds after the front door closed behind them, Marlee turned on Raj. She had so much rage bottled up that her voice came out as half shriek and half yelp. “What the hell was that? You brought me here for a marriage interview?”
Raj no longer seemed shy, just exhausted. He let out a long sigh before he
spoke, looking her directly in the eye for the first time since they met. “I am sorry that our astrological charts did not match. I thought for sure we could be married, but Swami said you are not good for me. We would fight, and you would try to be in control. My family is very disappointed. They liked you and were sad that we cannot be a match. But there is no need for you to be embarrassed. Swami says you will be married to someone in a few months.”
“Embarrassed? You think I’m embarrassed? I don’t want to get married to you. I don’t want to get married to anybody. There’s nothing wrong with being single, at least not in my culture. Do you have any idea how insulting this was to me?” Marlee asked.
“But why would you be insulted? At your age, I thought you would be anxious to find a husband, especially since you could not find one in your own country. I like you. I thought I was doing you a favor.” Raj’s face was downcast, and he seemed hurt by Marlee’s outburst.
Taking a deep breath, she tried a new tactic. “Raj, do you know any women who are not married?”
“Only widows or girls who are too young to marry. Even the young girls have a marriage arranged for them in my family, but they do not marry until they are eighteen.”
“At the University you must know of some adult women who are not married. Some of the professors or the students, maybe?” Marlee asked, certain Raj must know more single women than he thought.
“No, I believe every adult woman I know is engaged, married, or widowed,” he insisted.
“Are widows expected to get married again, or do they remain unmarried after the death of their spouse?” Although she was still pissed at the way the evening turned out, she was nonetheless interested in the role of women and the cultural expectations of them in India.
“No, they do not have to get married again. In fact, some of them throw themselves on their husband’s funeral pyre so they may be united forever and ever.”
“Are you kidding me? Women jump on the fire that’s cremating their husband because they think their life is over? That happens in this day and age?” Marlee had trouble believing what she was hearing. It was almost 2012 in India, one of the fastest growing economies in the world. How could women kill themselves just because a spouse died?
“It does not happen so much anymore, but it still occurs. Primarily in the rural areas of India where women have much less value than in Delhi and other large cities. My mother’s sister did such a thing just two years ago when her husband was killed in an automobile accident.”
Marlee stood slack-jawed, staring at Raj as the thoughts stormed her mind. Why would anyone sacrifice themselves in the prime of their life when their spouse died? Was it because of lack of income or a drop in social status? She needed to know much more about this so-called custom and the prevalence of it in modern day India.
The walk to the bus stop and the transit back to the university contained very little in the way of conversation. Raj seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts while Marlee was still digesting the role of women in India and how much different her life could have been if she had been born there, especially in a rural area of the country. The bus lurched to a halt, and Raj walked Marlee back to her apartment.
Marlee remembered something he said earlier as they left his parents’ house. “Raj, did you actually want to marry me, or were you just doing what you thought was a favor?”
“I would marry you because I think you are a nice person, and I knew you would want to get married as soon as possible.”
Marlee wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug Raj or punch him. He just admitted he would have married her because he liked her. But he also assumed she was marriage-minded and desperate.
“As I said before, I don’t want to get married,” Marlee said, hoping she was making a firm point that would stick in Raj’s mind. “Why did you have me come over to meet your parents right away?”
“First, because I thought you were desperate, and I think you are a nice lady. Second, because I thought other men on campus would think the same thing and might ask you to marry them before my parents and Swami could approve of you to marry me. I’m still very sorry that we cannot be a match.”
Rolling her eyes, she didn’t care if it was insulting to Raj. After the night she had, Marlee was over being polite. While she thought Raj’s heart was in the right place, given his culture, she couldn’t wrap her head around the roles and perceptions of women in India. Marlee often thought the United States was unfair in its treatment of women in the workforce, in the family, and in society in general, but that was nothing compared to this country.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” Marlee projected Raj to be in his late thirties or maybe even early forties. His appearance and demeanor both suggested he was within a few years of her.
“I am twenty-seven. May I ask the same question of you?”
Marlee was shocked to hear of Raj’s young age, but she could see life in India, even for the middle class, was tough. She thought of men Raj’s age back home who wore their baseball caps backwards, continuously high-fived, and referred to each other as “bro” or “dude.” Raj had an appearance and a level of maturity suggesting he was much older than his appearance, at least when compared to the American men Marlee knew.
“I’m forty-six,” Marlee said, not afraid to announce her age. She knew several women who would be offended if asked their age and would lie by ten or more years even when it was obvious they were not the youthful age they proclaimed.
Raj didn’t even try to hide his astonishment. “Forty-six? No wonder Swami said we were incompatible. I thought you were much younger. Forty-six is too old to bear children. My parents never would have allowed a marriage between us.”
India was baffling. Yesterday, Raj was embarrassed when he pointed out her bed and the bathroom in her apartment. Discussing marriage, reproduction, and money, however, were not off limits in polite conversation. Both of Raj’s sisters-in-law questioned her about her finances earlier that evening. And his parents were ready to marry off their single son after meeting her one time. Is this true for all of India, or are Raj and his family oddballs?
“Whether I can have children or not is none of your business! But for the record, I don’t want to have children. Just like I don’t want to get married! I’m very happy to have a career and a life of my own without a husband or children. I can do as I choose and don’t have to consult with anyone. If I want to travel or buy new shoes, there’s no one to tell me I can’t do it. I have free will and can live my life as I want. Isn’t that something you want for yourself?”
“But how will I know if it is right for me unless Swami and my parents agree?” Raj asked.
“Have you ever met someone you wanted to marry?” Marlee asked, curious as to why Raj, who was such a believer in traditional marriage, was still single. Twenty-seven was the average age of marriage for men in America, but she assumed it would be much younger in India.
“Yes, but it was impossible. My parents would never approve it.”
Marlee motioned for Raj to sit with her on the stone wall at the edge of campus. It was quiet, and few people were walking by at that time of night. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Marlee pressed on with the conversation.
“Were your parents against it because she was from a different caste?” The caste system in India was still a strong indicator of who could marry. Had Raj and a woman in a caste below his wanted to marry, his parents would have forbidden it because of the loss of status it would bring to them.
“No, that is not the problem. You would not understand. Our culture is much different from yours. I know that from what you have told me, and I also watch some of the American television programs.” Raj hung his head, the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders.
“Well, what is it? Did her astrological numbers not match up with yours?” Marlee asked with a bit of a smirk. She and her friends played with tarot cards and read their fortunes in the online newspapers, but
none were true believers. It was a fun pastime.
“It has nothing to do with astrology or numerology. I do not wish to discuss this any further,” Raj said, but he made no move to get up from the wall. Tears welled in his eyes, and a large tear drop rolled down his cheek. He quickly swiped it away and cleared his throat.
A light bulb went off. Marlee understood what Raj was alluding to and also why he wanted to get his parents’ approval to marry her. It wasn’t that he was doing her a favor, but the other way around. He needed a legitimate cover.
“Are you gay, Raj?” Marlee asked, catching his eye.
More tears flowed down his brown cheeks, and he nodded. Then came the sobs, one after another, retching his body as he leaned his head toward his lap. Marlee reached over to touch Raj’s shoulder, but he flinched. They sat together without words while Raj cried. He couldn’t talk about it yet, because he had twenty-seven years of pain to rid from his system.
When Raj was able to speak, he talked of his fears. “You are the only person who knows of this. No one in my family knows. I would be disowned if they knew. My friends do not know. They continuously try to find me a girlfriend. None of them would be my friends if they knew. I would be fired from university, and I could be arrested and imprisoned. Homosexuality is a violation of law in India.”
Marlee had several friends in the United States who were gay, and she knew they faced tremendous discrimination in their families, at work, and in society in general. Still, that was minor compared to the sanction Raj could face if his true sexual orientation became known. “Raj, do you know any other gay men? Is there anyone you can talk to about this?”
“I have met some men, but they were just, hookups as you say in America. It was not to discuss our lives, just to have pleasure with each other. There is no one in India that I trust to talk to about my secret. If they were to tell someone, I could lose everything in my life, and I might even go to prison. It’s too big of a risk to take.” Raj sobbed again as he contemplated his circumstances in an intolerant country.
Blood Feud Page 4
