Julie & Kishore (23 page)

Once
everyone had eaten, it was time for the dancing to begin. Contemporary and
classic Indian songs mixed with a few English hits bellowed seemingly from
nowhere. Somebody, somehow had hooked up speakers
that had been hidden
amongst the trees bringing forth the type of beat
that makes your heart pound, the guests were drawn to dance like moths to a
flame. With Kishore’s encouragement he pulled me off the stage to join in the fun.
I thought Indian people were reserved, composed and shy. I was so wrong, talk
about party! I heard when dancing to Indian music you pretend with one hand to
screw in a light bulb, while with the other you pat a dog. This is what I did
and I found it worked pretty well, although I wasn’t quite a Bollywood dancer,
yet.

After
all the excitement some of the guests, the very young and the very old, began
to trickle away. Those who wished to see the actual ceremony stayed.

We
were led to an area on the other side of the stage
tucked behind a tree,
where a little tent had been erected decked out
with mats arranged on the ground. As Kishore and I made ourselves comfortable
on the colourful silk cushions placed on the mats, I took in my surroundings.
In front of me sat a large metal square tray with raised sides. A stack of
sandalwood had been prepared in the tray ready to be lit. I observed a basket
piled high with flowers - bright orange marigolds. On my right sat the pundit
he wore a white men’s kurta (similar to a salwar kameez) and a yellow prayer
scarf printed with red Hindi script was draped around his neck. The pundit was
preparing his equipment. Next to him was a small bowl of uncooked rice
,
a whole coconut
,
a steel jug containing water
,
his prayer book
and doop.

I
had never seen an Indian priest up close before and was apprehensive and more
than a little surprised that he looked so young. I had always thought of
priests as old but I supposed that priests of any age, anywhere in the world
are highly respected.

Kishore’s
parents sat next to their son, once comfortable on the silk cushions they both
stretched across to grasp my hands.
 

“You
okay Julie?” Mummyji asked her eyes glittering.

I
warmly smiled, “Yes Mummyji, I am just fine.”

Their
role in this part of the ceremony was to give blessings for their eldest
sons
marriage, the words, ‘Who gives this woman to be
married to this man?’
came to my mind
. Kishore’s Dad
and Mum
then placed my hand in their sons.
Still ensuring my head was covered they tied a length of my sari to his shawl.
This represented the binding of the marriage or mayb
e
in the English sense ‘tying the knot’ with this done, their part in the wedding
ceremony was complete. They rose and took a seat in front of the tent with the
other guests so they could witness the rest of the proceedings.

Finally
it was time for the actual ceremony to begin. To my utter surprise the pundit
turned to me and spoke in English with a British accent. I was to find out
later Kishore’s parents had kindly chosen him for this exact reason.

“Hello
Julie” he said
,
“My name is Ashok.”

“Hello,
Namaste,” I shyly replied as I held my palms together in front of my heart.

“It’s
okay,” Pundit Ashok assured me, “Don’t be nervous Julie, I will explain to you
in English each part of the marriage process as we go along.”

I
smiled and nodded.

Pundit
Ashokji explained to me that he had been born in India but when he was a young
boy his family moved to England. After his education he found his calling in
life was to become a priest and returned to India to study Hindu religion.
After this explanation I felt at ease. He did not seem such a daunting person
after all.

I
took a deep breath, so much had happened so far on this day, so many emotions,
so much celebrating, eating and dancing, finally the actual ceremony was about
to begin.

The
commencement of the proceedings began with Pundit Ashokji placing the coconut
in position over a sturdy bowl. With a great thrust of a large knife he cracked
the coconut
open
letting the milk spill into the bowl. He lit the
fire and began reciting mantras in Hindi from his prayer book. Once the fire
was well alight he poured the milk from the coconut around the edges of the
flames. He lit doop and continued
saying
mantras and
uttering the
vows that are part of an Indian marriage
ceremony. After each recital he threw a small handful of rice into the fire.
Sometimes he motioned for Kishore or
I
to do the same,
or we were to sprinkle a few drops of water from the jug. The pundit faced me
every now and again and said “Julie, you must repeat after me.” Finally it was
time for us to stand and take our walks around the fire.

We
stood very carefully as we were still bound together. Cautiously holding my
sari away from the flames, we walked in
a
circle
around the fire. I walked in front
a total
of
four
times and then Kishore and I swapped places and he
walked in front once.

Sitting
back on the silk cushions again mantras were recited
,
 
more
rice thrown and
more drops of water from the jug.

In
due course Pundit Ashokji
softly
patted my
shoulder
, turned
to me and smiled
warmly
. He gave a little laugh as he said in
an overly dramatic English accent, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” my
eyes opened wide.

“Really?
Are we married? Is it over?” The pundit nodded. I spun my head to see Kishore
s reaction
and saw he was grinning from ear to
ear. We were now married, husband and wife, Mr and Mrs Patel.

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 toward
s
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
in
to
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 calculation
s
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 t
ell 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.

E
arly 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 t
o
, 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
silve
r
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 fear 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 farewell
s
. 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 go
r
g
e
ous 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 a
l
right
isn’t it Julie?
after
all that happened that day?”

Realising
I had been holding my breath I exhaled deeply,

“Yes
Kishore it’s al
l
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.