ARRANGED MARRIAGES

It really startled me when a guy told me that he was going to get married in two years' time but he didn't have a girlfriend yet. Innocently, I asked him how he was so sure. He, as if it was the most natural thing on earth, explained that since his mother was becoming quite old, he needed someone to take care of him and of his mother!

In our western minds, maybe, obliging someone to marry a complete stranger raises rejection and horror; we consider it a barbarism from the Middle Ages. I guess that's because we've been brought up where freedom of thought and action are basic values. Nevertheless, there are historic, social and cultural reasons for arranged marriages.

A woman in India spends all her life under someone's command, as a daughter first and as a wife afterwards. Only when she becomes a mother-in-law will she have some authority!

Indian marriages are the union of two families. Cast and income outweigh the fact that the husband-to-be and wife-to-be like each other or not. They think that the fact that both spouses have the same background guarantees the durability of the marriage (quite arguable, I believe). Love'll come afterwards! According to them a physical attraction may fade, while this browed "love" will not!

Parents have more experience than children, hence, they are more capable of choosing the right person. Children accept that since obedience is basic in the family. A love marriage would mean that you are setting yourself before your culture and your family. If love fails and you get divorced, your family will be dishonoured and you'll be rejected by all your community.

Nowadays, marriages are "semi-arranged". The parents select an aspirant asking friends, accepting relatives' suggestions, peeking through mating sites, thumbing through the papers,... Yeah! You read it right! In the papers you can find matrimonial ads! They, together with the net, are the modern matchmakers! These ads are categorized by cast, religion and profession. Browsing them you can find a manglik (if you're also one), your vegetarian sweet heart, your fair and glowing Shahrukh Khan-like guy, or whoever you are looking for!

When they estimate they have the appropriate candidate, they organize a "date". It's the future couple's task to hook up or not. Could we take this as a step towards liberation?

By the way, it's the bride's family the one who has to pay the groom's family the dowry! Unbelievable!

Not being married, especially a woman, is something they consider fishy. I was often asked why I wasn't married, what my flaw was! Why wouldn't a not that bad-looking 41-year-old woman be married? In the end, we concluded that it was because of my character (too strong for men, especially Indian) and because my index toes were longer than my big toes! I just couldn't stop laughing! I'll tell you about Indian superstitions in another blog.

Meanwhile, have a look at this hilarious Goodness Gracious Me video and at a matrimonial ad parody!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kbxA1_1_Sw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xClorBb71-4

 

P.S.: I did go to a wedding in India (well, to the reception), but I didn't take any pictures. How silly of me! The photo at the beginning of this post is pasted. 

INDIAN FAMILIES

Although you can find regular families in India, what really abound are really large ones. And when I say regular families, I mean families with a father, a mother and their offspring. Nothing out of the ordinary as those 'modern' families (which some old-fashioned people don't even call families) of gays or lesbians with adopted children, as we have here in Europe.

 

In Indian culture the family is really important. Indians horrify at the western 'lack of family loyalty'. For them, a family is not only people of the same clan living under the same roof, but relatives joined together by rights and commitments and subject to a hierarchical authority among its members.

 

So it's not weird to ask someone how many brothers or sisters they have and to get '40' for an answer! That is called an extended or joint family. It consists of all persons lineally descended from a common ancestor, and includes their wives and unmarried daughters. A daughter ceases to be a member of her father's family on marriage, and becomes a component of her husband's.

 

So that you get the picture: a couple lives with all their sons and daughters. When the sons get married, their wives come to stay in the same house and there their children are brought up, too. And the daughters live there until they get married. At that momento they move to their husband's house.

 

The patriarch (usually the oldest man) makes decisions on financial and social matters. His wife exerts control over the kitchen, child rearing and religious practices. Old women have more competence than young men, though. All money goes to the common pool and all property is held collectively.

 

This has its advantages. They develop a feeling of strength and security. They know they'll never be alone; they'll always have their family's support. To get that support they just have to comply the rules and not to dishonour the family.

 

So imagine you got married to an Indian man. You'd move to his house with all your in-laws and without a saying in your relantionship! So, there you are obeying your parents-in-law blindly, and with no right to complain. If one day you fancy eating this or that thing, you can't! If you feel like shouting at your husband, you can't! If you consider your kiddo needs some punishment, you can't! If you'd like to save money to indulge in a whim, you can't!... As if a 'normal' marriage wasn't complicated enough!

 

If you that you add that polygamy is an extended practice in India,... Picture yourself in your in-laws' house with your husband's other wife/wives! A loony house!

 

P.S.: Polyandry is also in practice.

INDIAN POLICE

 
Every foreigner entering India on an employment visa is required to register to the police withing 14 days of arrival. That's the law!

But it's not that easy, my friend! Even if you want to, it's not that simple! Remember that nothing in India is uncomplicated!

Before travelling I had to send innumerable forms duly filled, countless passport photos, passport copies, letters of the company taking responsibility of me during my stay, etc., etc., etc., to the Indian Embassy in Spain. But not happy with that, they want to see your face when you get to India! And you cannot just go to any police station! No! You have to go to the one in the place mentioned in your visa.

After settling down in the boarding school where I was going to live, my friend and I headed for the police station. After taking off our shoes (I still horrified at walking bare-footed anywhere), of course, a chubby police officer deigned to attend us. While my friend explained the situation, the cop just laid his eyes on me as if I was a kind of geek. I didn't understand a Word of what they were saying, but the cop simply shook his head over and over again. I guess that my friend even tried to bribe him (that's the way things work in India), but this guy was really tough and didn't accept any bribery (or perhaps the money offered was not enough!).



(Well, I have to say that this photo doesn't depict the police station, but the treasure office. I didn't have any shot of it. So, come on, use your imagination!).

The thing was that I couldn't register there, in that police station. I had to go back to Vijayawada again, since even though I was going to work in the school there, the letter sent to the Indian Embassy in Spain was written by the same community in Vijayawada. So, no need to argue (Indians don't know the meaning of that word)!

Vijayawada is only 546 km away from Punganur. And you may think, 'Well, it's not that bad!' But we are talking about Indian roads and Indian buses here! And on top of that, instead of going with my friend (with whom the trip would have been much more pleasant) I had to go with a not so nice fellow. Thank god he just fell asleep and kept snoring all the way. One jeep ride, one bus ride, one auto ride and 11 hours later, we reached the boiling Vijayawada!

But as everything in India takes its time, there was no need to hurry. Instead of seizing the time, well, they decided we would go to the police station the following day. So, there I was in the scorching sun in this hideous city, sweating like a pig, and waiting for the next day to arrive!

To kill the time I decided to go shopping. That always cheers me up. I wanted to find some shampoo and some tissues (which is also a difficult task). When I dared to get out of the air-conditioned room and into the torrid streets, I was followed by a bunch of kids asking me all kinds of questions in 'English'. I seemed the Pied Piper of Hamelin, but luring children instead of rats! They followed me around for hours until I managed to get lost in a crowd. But so lost was I that I couldn't find my way back! A police officer happened to be there. Noticing how adrift I seemed, he stopped me and asked me for my passport, which I didn't have on! And I didn't even remember the name of the community where I was staying. But the buddy was nice, and instead of taking me to the police station for not carrying any documents (which he could've done perfectly), he just showed me the way to the river from where I told him I would be able to find my way. That would've been another 'funny' experience to tell!

So, the next morning, the secretary and I went to the police station. I was warned to wear Indian clothes. So, there I was, trying to look natural in a chuddidar, leggings and a veil. But, how silly of us! It was the second Saturday of the month, so everything in India is closed: schools, offices, banks,... everything, including the police station!

So, I was trapped in that city for the weekend! I decided to take it easy and go sightseeing. I visited some Hindu temples, I saw a puja,... In the end, it wasn't that bad.





On Monday, the secretary, three Austrian guys and I took off for the police station again. And what was our surprise that we didn't have all the documents required. We lacked a letter written by ourselves saying, in other words, that we promised to 'behave well'. As it was my last posible day to do it (remember that there are only 14 days to register), they allowed me to handwrite it just there. But the other three had to come back the following day. Two hours and a half later I was received by the officer in charge, or whoever that big fish was, and I was asked questions such as: what colour are your eyes? what is your father's name? and the like! At some point I wanted to shout, 'if you want to know the colour of my eyes, just look at them yourself! And if you want to know my father's name, look it up in my documents, asshole!' But, of course, I didn't. I was my best me, I behaved myself and I restrained the evil within me! I, obediently and quietly, signed some papers and finally I had my Indian residence permit! Or that is what I thought!

That night I took a bus back to Palmaner. It had to leave at 10 p.m. but it left nearly two hours later. My friend picked me up there, after waiting for me for three long hours!

Three days later I was told that I had to go back to the police station. Since my three signatures were not exactly the same, they were not sure if they were authentic! Luckily, they managed to send a boy with the papers and I just had to sign them again, being very careful this time that the three signatures were exactly the same!

Welcome to India!

 

 



MUGGU

Also known as rangoli, it is the art of creating patterns on the floor (usually in front of houses and temples) using flour, coloured sand or flower petals (chalk in our case). Its purpose is decoration, although it is said to bring good luck, too.

 

 

Design vary depending on the occasion. They are usually inspired by nature, but they can also be in the form of abstract art. So you can find geometric shapes, deity impressions or flower and petal figures. They can be every size and are generally done by girls and women, for festivals, auspicious observances, marriage celebrations and other similar gatherings.

 

 

If there's one thing Indians like doing (apart from making flower strings) is decorating their houses and worship places. Some would say that they always do it in a cheesy manner, but anyway that's the Indian way.

 

 

But muggu is different! For me it's a creative expression of art. Girls learn to do it from their mothers, so at a very early age they are experts! At school they make competitions to see which pattern is prettier and more original.

 

 

To do it, first you have to clean the surface where you are going to draw it; wet it lightly if it is on soil. Then you draft lines of dots. Each dot has to be in the middle of the two dots in the upper row. After that you link the dots building the desirable sketch. Finally you fill the model with different colours. And there it is! Muggu is ready!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

INDIAN MOUSTACHE

It's not that I was looking for any affair when I went to India, but, had it been like that, I'd have found it impossible. It's not that I didn't have the chance (which I had); it's that I was put off, since every single Indian man has a moustache! Hindus, Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists,... all of them! And I find it squeamish to draw closer to a man if he has that furry little friend!



India is a moustache-dense country, especially in the south, where I lived. I read that 80% of men in Southern India wear moustaches. Where was the remaining 20%? I didn't see any guy without, at least, a little bit of fur above his upper lip!



In Europe we usually associate beards and moustaches with uncleanliness and laziness. A guy with a moustache looks unkempt. Moustaches are not fashionable and they definitely don't look cool or attractive; just the opposite, cheesy. There's nothing that puts a woman off more than a man with a mo' (well, I actually think there are other gross things, too).



Nonetheless, in India moustaches are seen as a potent symbol of virility. It is considered gentlemanly etiquette for guys to have a moustache. They think they look more majestic. A moustache makes any random guy look like a South Indian super-hero. Others, like Sikhs, have some excuse. They display facial hair proudly since for them 'kesh' (uncut hair) is a religious non-negotiating principle.



Fortunately, the traditional belief that facial hair is a sign of manhood appears to be facing the chop  (not in rural areas, though). India is entering the clean-shaven age!

It's a pity Indians don't compete in the World Moustache Championship; if they did, they would completely overshadow everyone. According to the Guinness World Records 2009, the Indian Badamsinh Juwansinh Gurjar holds the record for the longest moustache. It measures a staggering 12.5 feet; he had been growing it for 22 years. Another Indian, Ram Singh Chauhan of Rajasthan, registered a moustache at 11.5 feet and Kalyan Ramji Sain started growing his in 1976. By 1993, it reached a span of 11.1 feet. It seems like moustache growing is India's 'baseball' - their national pastime .

Here you have a selection of the moustaches you get to see while in India:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8w6n5f3yeUE



INDIAN BREAKFAST

Though it is said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I myself am not used to those huge breakfasts you can find in international hotels with bacon, eggs, toast, cereal, fruit,... I just have a cup of coffee with milk and three biscuits. That is it!

But what was my surprise when my first morning in Punganur I found noodles (spicy, of course) and idli with some chutney or pickle. "Oh, my! How can they have this for breakfast?" I said to myself. I mean, you get up, you brush your teeth and you simply start narcotizing your mouth with hot food not to feel your tongue for the rest of the day? Was that the way?



In the beginning (as would happen to you) I didn't like anything. But as I had to nourish myself, I swallowed (without letting my taste buds noticing much) a little amount of whatever was on the table. As my friend saw that I didn't eat much, every now and then he brought me some sandwich bread and jam (which, by the way, I didn't like, either). But after some time I learnt to enjoy everything we had for breakfast, including jam. Well, not everything! Neither Aravind (one of the kids at the boarding school) nor I liked pongal much.





But, to tell you the truth, we had a wide range of dishes, and nearly every day we could choose between two different ones. So, if I didn't like one, I could have the other.



We had idli, pongal, upma or semiya upma with sambar, pickle or chutney. We also had dosas (which I loved), Maggie (which later I found out that was the Brand of the noodles), poori and the occasional omelet.



My favourite breakfast food was yellow rice, which Leena and Anitha used to cook on Sundays, but I kept it for lunch instead.



Apart from having all these delicacies, there was milk. Rich, tasty milk! We had a cow at the boarding school. Somebody milked it every day. Being used to that tasteless carton "milk" that we drink in most parts of Spain, that milk was like God-sent milk. I remember I exclaimed, "it smells of milk!" when I was given a cup of it with my first breakfast there. Everybody laughed, but its aroma really awed me. It took me back to my childhood in my mother's village where I used to drink fresh milk.



As I told you in one of the posts, two of the bosses there weren't very fond of me. As they knew ('cause I told them) that I "needed" a cup of milk just after waking up (I think that is the only whim I had in a whole year), what they did was lock the dining room and the kitchen so that I couldn't get any until the cooks came two hours later. I asked for a key to the door over and over again, but with not even a thin excuse or anything (that's the Indian way) they just refused to give me a copy of it. There was a side door, anyway, with a kind of broken mosquito net and a latch, so every night, before they locked everything I made sure this door was not latched. You can imagine the rest: every morning, at 6, I would sneak in through that door, prepare a cup of milk, have it, leave everything in the exact place I had found it and crawled out again. When the children saw me they must have thought I was nuts or something! I did that for about three months; that's what it took me to get hold of a copy of the key.

If you think about it, that was funnier than going straight to the fridge and getting your milk!



Before finishing I must apologize for the "English" used in the menu in the main photo. It was written by the asshole who ran (and still runs) the place. It was one of his brilliant ideas" Shakespeare must be turning in his grave!

Here you are some recipes of Indian breakfasts. Enjoy them!
 

http://www.umakitchen.com/2013/07/vermicelli-upmasemiya-upma.HTML
http://www.padhuskitchen.com/2013/01/khara-pongal-recipe-ven-pongal-step.html
http://www.vegrecipesofindia.com/idli-recipe-how-to-make-soft-idlis/
http://www.padhuskitchen.com/2013/11/rava-upma-recipe-how-to-make-upma-quick.html
http://www.vegrecipesofindia.com/masala-dosa-recipe-how-to-make-masala-dosa-recipe/
http://chefinyou.com/2010/12/poori/

EATING WITH YOUR HANDS

Indian food needs a couple of whole blogs. But I can advance that it made my eyes tear, my nose run (a marathon) and my palate blow out! But, again, it was only at the very beginning. Well, and recurrently every time I have spicy food now! 

I have to say the title (Eating With Your Hands) is imprecise. It should read ‘Eating With Your Right Hand’, since that is the one you have to use when eating. You must put to work your left hand only to serve yourself when the courses are not served by the host or to grab the glass when you want to drink.

Indians eat with their hands because it gives you a connection with the food. Eating nourishes the mind, intellect and spirit. There’s a tactile dimension added to the eating process. Either that or, again, it’s a matter of saving on cutlery! Moreover, if you eat off a banana leaf (that deserves another entire blog) trying to use a fork and knife would shred your ‘plate’.

When I arrived, exhausted as I was, I was presented with the Indian delicacies that they had for lunch that day. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember what it was, but I’m sure it was hot! But what was my surprise that they used no tableware! For all that they seemed so skillful and neat.

And here is when I realised things in India were going to be a little messy and complicated. It’s not that I found a squeamishness in being that intimate with my food; it’s just that I wasn’t familiar with the technique and I didn’t want to end with curry juices running down to my elbow!

 

In fact, if you look at the bright side, it’s like forgetting your elementary table training and recapturing some of the early childhood joy of playing with food.

 

Once more, my friend taught me how to do it so that I didn’t make a fool of myself whenever I got invited  somewhere; so that I didn’t seem a clueless foreigner and the host and the rest of the commensals thought that there were several pets in India who knew better! I mean, even little children could do it better than me!

 

 

There are two variants to the techniques: with and without chapatti.

 

With a chapatti it’s much easier (at least once you get the piece to eat torn from the rest of it). The middle finger is pressed down to hold the crepe down and the forefinger and thumb are used to grip and separate a small part. And with it you scoop whatever you are struggling to pick.

 

In the south, where I was, they eat lots more rice and enjoy very soupy curries. They use the rice to soak the sauces. First you have to mix (with all your four fingers and your thumb) a bit of rice and whatever else you are eating (curry, dal, rasam, pickle, meat,…) on the plate to make a little ball. Then with the four fingers acting as a spoon, gather the balled up food onto the tips of your fingers using your thumb. Bring it up to your mouth with a twist of your wrist till your finger nails are almost touching your lower lip. Place the thumb behind the food and catapult the food into your mouth. 

 

With this explanation and a meal or two practicing, you’ll be eating like a native.

 

 

Eating with your fingers is a cultural experience everyone should go through while visiting India. So, if you are heading for India, have a look at this video and also practice a polite way of saying you don’t want to eat any more since your hosts will serve you more without warning and will egg you on to eat more and more and more and…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFnwlb8Ao5c