A California Story, page 13
Fortunately, Father was promptly distracted by the local news. A carjacking and high-speed police chase were being telecast live. Next was the story of a woman who heroically fought her obesity, lost 250 pounds, and now conducts inspirational workshops, exhorting women to think of themselves as warriors and to view their bodies as a battleground. Then a preview of the latest alien attack movie, followed by breaking news of a new terrestrial speed record set in Nevada. All punctuated by ads with shiny cars, skinny women, and excited people. Watching Father mesmerized by all of this stuff, Ved wondered what exactly was going through his head.
*
His parents obsess over his health, diet, hair loss. Mother has brought a fancy bottle of Ayurvedic hair oil from India and frequently threatens to apply it to his head. She frets over how much older he now looks for his 36 years. Surely due to his poor diet! Other men his age are so full of vitality and laughter. What is it that plagues him? Why does he seem so preoccupied with vexing thoughts? What good have they done, she asks, all those books on his shelf? They’ve only turned him into a joyless, brooding philosopher type. No doubt, Mother declares, he is compelled to read because of his boredom and loneliness. If only he would cast aside his stubbornness and bring home a suitable wife.
Soon after their arrival, Father had asked about his work. Is he doing all he can to keep his boss happy? What about promotions? What is the nature of his work? Ved explained as simply as he could: how the Internet works, what Omnicon makes, where he himself fits in the order of things. His parents think he is a bigshot at work, indeed God’s gift to Omnicon. He hasn’t told them yet that the job they see as shining proof of his success actually means little to him, that he is nothing more than a reluctant and perfectly dispensable foot soldier in the system.
A week ago, he took them to his office at Omnicon. They put on their best clothes to make a positive impression on his colleagues, who offered polite, customary greetings as they passed by in the corridors. They met his boss Roger who gauged the situation and, charmingly enough, gave Ved a glowing review. They listened attentively and were easily impressed. Mother even donned a proud, beatific expression on her face that said: there, that’s my son!
All their lives they have exulted in his achievements: honors and awards as a student, now promotions and raises. In his extended family, he is regarded as a major success story – first his admission into one of the top engineering colleges in India, then a scholarship for ‘further study’ in America, and now an ‘important post’ in Omnicon, a hi-tech giant well-known even in India. Father boasts about him to anybody polite enough to listen back home – it is his success story too.
By now Ved is all caught up on news and gossip from his extended family, a veritable soap opera brimming with factions, psychological battles, and intrigues. Besides the mundane updates on jobs, marriages, newborns, and health disorders, they also span the unsavory gamut: cousins cheating each other as business partners; bitter fights over a dead parent’s patrimony; ungrateful sons stealing their senile father’s pension; a daughter-in-law insulted for birthing a girl child. ‘See! This too is the Indian family,’ Ved cheekily pointed out once.
He is reminded again of the large presence their clan has in his parents’ lives, a presence whose complex web of obligations and expectations they both resent and rely on. How immersed they are in the lives of people so peripheral to him. He is saddened by his inexorable drift away from their world and the huge gulf that now exists between them. The only two people who seem to love him unconditionally have no way of tapping into what preoccupies him most of the day. He must spend more time with them in India, he thinks, lest these gaps grow wider.
Mother fasts once a week. Every so often she even fasts for his sake, that is, for the gods to alter his conjugal fortunes. Two or three times she has initiated a conversation about his plans for marriage. Each time, he has managed to deflect the topic. He knows exactly what they will say: If he acts now, he can still get a suitable wife from India. It is not too late. India is full of independent, educated, and career-minded girls these days. He must not only settle down but have children too, else he will be full of regrets in old age.
‘But children can also be a source of sorrow in old age,’ Ved pointed out recently.
‘Why must you always imagine the worst possibility?’ Father responded with a dismissive shake of his head – a gesture that Ved now associates with Father’s refusal to question his own cherished beliefs.
They talk about the ongoing changes in India. Prices have skyrocketed, as have the salaries in the professional classes. Father was a mechanical engineer in a public-sector steel company. What he earned in his final year before retirement, eight years ago, is what fresh graduates from his college now earn in three months. Good thing they built their house when they did and saved for a secure retirement. At least one scourge of old age is unlikely to visit them, as in worrying about money and relying on one’s offspring for material sustenance.
They ask if Ved is saving enough. Despite his assurances, they suspect he is a spendthrift, doling out too much on travel and books, and tipping too much in restaurants. He listens with amused indulgence. At times, he marvels at their simple priorities and the spontaneous joy they find in little things, but he knows that this sort of simplicity, too, is not without an underbelly.
*
These differences pale in comparison to the difficulties he had with them on their previous visit five years ago. Those conflicts and memories still occasionally haunt him. That’s when they had met Pooja, an episode he can still only remember with bitterness. It revealed to him a whole new facet of them. Words and gestures from that time still echo in his mind.
He had told them about Pooja just days before their arrival. They were ecstatic on the phone – it was the only time he had talked to them about a woman in his life. They were full of anticipation when they landed, eager to meet their potential daughter-in-law. They asked about her even on their ride from the airport. Ved knew they would dislike several things in her family history – her parents, besides being in an inter-religious marriage, were also far more socially liberal – but Ved was determined to lay it all out on the table.
‘So here are the basic facts of Pooja’s life,’ he told them that first evening. ‘She was born in the US to Indian parents: Muslim father, Brahmin mother, who met in a US university. As one might imagine, especially in those days, her mother’s family did not accept the marriage for years. Pooja grew up in Houston and has only one sibling, a sister.’
He paused, bracing for the trickier part. ‘But like all families, they have their issues too. Pooja’s parents divorced after twenty years of marriage, so that caused some disruptions.’
‘Oh! Why did they divorce?’ Father asked. Mother looked on with wide eyes.
‘I don’t know the details.’
‘Did they start living separately too?’
‘Yes, the daughters divided their time between them. Their mother never remarried but the father soon married a white American, a secretary in his office.’ Their eyes widened further.
‘What does her sister do?’ Mother asked. ‘Is she married?’
‘She lives and works in Houston, but is not married. She was married, but not anymore. Now she is raising a child by herself, with her mother’s help.’ Ved lied, choosing not to reveal that the child had been born out of wedlock.
Noticing their initial excitement deflate sharply, Ved switched gears and said, ‘Despite all that, Pooja became an outstanding student, a topper! She holds more academic degrees than me, all from leading American universities. She is very sensible and sober and regularly volunteers her time to help others. Our interests and outlook in life have so much in common.’ But all this, Ved noticed, barely made a dent on their now sullen faces.
The following day, Pooja came home to meet them over tea. She wore her favorite leather coat and tights. His parents struggled a bit with her accent but nothing controversial came up. He thought it all went fine. So he was surprised to discover their disappointment with her, and their vitriolic remarks after she left. Looking positively glum, Mother began with a sigh of resignation, ‘She is very cunning. I can see how she has roped you in.’
‘What do you mean roped me in?’ he was genuinely puzzled.
‘Beta, you are too innocent, a simpleton in these matters,’ she said. ‘She is clearly not good enough for you … she is only using you. She is too American, not sacrificing like Indian girls. Before investing further, test her out.’
Hiding his irritation, he said, ‘I’ve tested her enough, ma.’
‘No, you haven’t. I don’t think she will stick with you in hard times.’
‘I think she will,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m happy with her.’ He said this and defended her even though he wasn’t himself sure about their long-term prospects – but for reasons very different from his parents’. Their one year of dating so far had not been without its challenges, even though, at 31, it had already been his longest relationship.
‘I don’t see anything special in her. Not even that good looking … she lacks feminine charm and grace, too dark …’
‘Too dark?’ His ears burned, he took a deep breath. ‘Too dark for what? By feminine charm and grace, you mean a fair-skinned Indian doll, with painted face and girlish giggle, who knows when to shut up in the company of elders, who meekly minds the household. Right?’
‘Beta, I know it doesn’t feel good to hear this. No one else cares enough to tell you, we are only doing our duty by warning you.’ She glanced at Father, trying to solicit his support, ‘It is clear that she does not even come from a good family. Look at her father – how disgraceful, divorcing in old age for the sake of physical pleasure.’
‘Just look at her sister,’ Father jumped in. ‘Also divorced! I am sure these values run in her family; this is their family tradition. She will not think twice about betraying you when the time comes.’
Biting his lips, Ved tried to reason with his parents but they were not going to budge. Too late to change their views. Another force, a whole different worldview, spoke through them. It made them oblivious to his arguments.
‘This girl is not reliable,’ Father declared in a tone of finality, shaking his head in bitter disappointment. ‘With such huge differences, how can you two stay together long-term? We had such hopes from you beta, and this is what you bring before us!’ Father had a look of genuine bewilderment, ‘This?’
‘What good are all her degrees? She earns less than you. Are you sure she is not after your money?’ asked Mother.
‘She is older than you. I heard that an older wife reduces the husband’s lifespan,’ asserted Father.
‘What? Where do you hear such nonsense?’ Ved asked with mounting irritation. ‘Shashi Kapoor and Sunil Dutt are doing just fine.’
‘To make matters worse, she is half-Muslim,’ muttered Father. ‘She must surely have some Muslim values.’
That drove him over the edge. He practically screamed, ‘What do you mean “Muslim values”? Shame on you and your stupid Hindu values!’ More recriminations and harsh words followed, until at last, he stormed out to his room. His anger had left him shaking.
In the days that followed, they kept long faces and exchanged hurtful looks. He came home late and left early in the mornings. He had not anticipated such a lopsided reaction to Pooja. It brought home to him that when it came to marital issues, people reveal their true colors, their bedrock views of the world. It filled him with a confused sense of bitterness and loathing. He would walk away with Pooja, he decided, if he were forced to make a choice.
Realizing he was not going to change his mind about Pooja, his parents began worrying about the fallout in their community back home. He had told them that he and Pooja had no fondness for the institution of marriage and did not plan to marry. If the heart and mind are in the right place, what else matters? They don’t need others to sanctify their bond. Besides, he said, marriage is no insurance against separation or unhappiness. Why then suffer the whole charade?
‘What will people say at home if you cohabitate without marrying? They will laugh and taunt us. Hai Ram! They will say behind our back, “Did you hear their son has taken in a rakhail, a kept woman! Such a nice boy he used to be.” They will say that America has totally corrupted you,’ Mother said.
‘I don’t give a damn what they say,’ he said angrily. ‘It is my life to live, the way I want.’
‘See, how selfish he has become,’ Father said, glancing at Mother. ‘This is what America has done to him. But we have to live among them, beta. Is this why we sacrificed so much for you, so you can bring this dishonor upon us, such disgrace?’ There was melodrama enough to put Bollywood to shame. It left him utterly drained.
‘Fine, don’t tell them about her,’ he proposed. ‘Let her be a secret for now.’ And that is what they finally settled on. For their extended family, Pooja would not exist. They met Pooja three more times during that visit, but never warmed up to her. They kept searching for an Indian daughter-in-law in her, much to their disappointment. Though Pooja made some allowances for their expectations – doing more in the kitchen, dressing more conservatively – nothing she did was good enough. A huge chasm separated them, mirroring in many ways the cultural chasm between India and America, and India came out looking far worse: petty, archaic, heartless.
A year or so later, he told them about his separation from Pooja but didn’t provide many details – certainly nothing about her pregnancy or the child. Like many of his friends, they too wouldn’t have approved of him ‘leaving’ her in that situation. They were mostly relieved by the story they heard. Father’s words are still etched in his mind. ‘Don’t worry, beta. She wasn’t right for you anyway. Find another girl. So many beautiful and qualified ones are available.’
*
The whole sordid drama over Pooja had forced him to reexamine the very foundations of his relationship with them. Nothing but random chance had brought them together as a family, he thought. In fact, his parents weren’t particularly admirable or inspiring human beings. What were his duties and obligations towards those who, were they not tied to him by accident, would hold no special interest to him? Their very existence began to feel like a burden.
Alongside, he also pondered his parents’ personal histories, casting his mind’s eye on their childhood and youth, reflecting on their modest start as newlyweds in small-town India. He recalled the soul-numbing quality of Father’s work – six days a week for four decades, he left early for the heavy engineering plant with its deafening roar of machines. He came home for lunch and then worked again till sundown. What pressures did they live with back then?
Not until Ved was ten did they move up into the middle-class staff quarters for the more senior professionals at his father’s company. Ved remembers a labor dispute in which his father was involved. Scores of people gathered outside their house and began chanting angry slogans. For days afterwards, Ved felt a strange menace in the air.
Mother managed the household and her fickle bunch of domestic helpers. For a stretch running into years, his parents quarreled over things Ved did not understand. He recalls father screaming at Mother once, ‘I will leave you to rot till you die!’ Twice he even saw bruises on Mother’s face. Occasionally when Ved was around during or after a quarrel, Mother would pull him into her embrace and let out a long, muffled cry, as though trying to choose between fitful hiccups and free-flowing tears. Without warning, father would turn crabby, fume and swear, then bury himself into the Hindustan Times. How did they see the world back then and what caused their discords?
He is glad his parents did not part ways, else he may have been deprived of a secure and stable childhood. Beyond the ordinary existential angst of boyhood, he recalls nothing unpleasant enough to haunt him today. They did their best in raising him, despite their own difficulties and confusions. It could easily have been far worse.
As he dwelled on their past, he began to see his parents in a new light, as small-town people in a fast-changing world, products of a middle-class order whose values and beliefs they had absorbed willy-nilly, and which were now central to their identity. Their struggles differed from his, their lives closer to the margins than his. No wonder they turned out so much more fearful of the unknown. Thanks to them, his own youth had been far more cushioned than theirs. He also saw that in their own way, they had come a long way too.
It later struck him that despising his parents for their provincial views was hardly heroic. Is this what all his ‘learning’ has taught him? It was now almost four years since he started making peace with it and began to accept them as they were. He began to engage them once again, this time more as an adult, relating to them not as lamentable departures from some concept of ‘ideal parents’, but as people with their own worldviews and struggles in life.
*
One evening, Ved plays for them a BBC documentary on evolution. It starts with the timeline of evolution. The earth is five billion years old, dinosaurs lived until 65 million years ago, a time of the early mammals. Hominids evolved only 4–6 million years ago, and modern humans a mere 200,000 years ago. How recent the human species really is!
Watching wildlife provokes in Ved disquieting thoughts once again, as he drifts into a reverie: How blind evolution is, proceeding with utter disregard for our moral imperatives. How all animal organs, abilities, capacities are shaped by the fierce, mysterious will to life, which he shares with all life, indeed all of nature. And how often he forgets this in daily life. All our talk of good and evil, truth and beauty, is a play of words, amid a dance of numbers. To feel this in the bones, and to live with such awareness, is surely to shed a veil of illusion.
