Pakshi's Story - Part II :The Wedding

The wedding was a momentous affair, in India, with over 500 guests! When, a few months later, Pakshi showed me her wedding album, the opulence and glamour seemed garishly ugly and pointless in comparison the bride’s tear stained face. Red, swollen eyes brimmed with tears in every single photo, the kohl running down her cheeks in smudged, grey stripes. Her response to my obvious questions was double-edged: as a bride worthy of her dowry, she was expected to be in mourning for her lost family. It would show her to be chaste and pliable. But, Pakshi said, hers was not an act which some brides perform with macabre virtuosity. Hers were real, raw tears. Tears of fear, loathing, brokenness, anger. Even as she spoke, her eyes shone with tears and she tried to distract me by opening up her big, wooden trousseau where her blood red wedding sari seemed to mock us in a kind of glittery defiance.
Although it shocked me, I suppose it wasn’t much of a surprise when she told me how it took 3 months for their marriage to be consummated. This is so impossibly different to our understanding of weddings and honeymoons; it would be futile to even attempt a comparison of values and dreams and disappointments. But what is so miraculous about being human is the ability to console another hurting heart – and that thing called empathy – despite any apparent borders of culture. Fingering the intricate gold embroidery on her red wedding sari, her tears tumbled down her cheeks, the pain still so tender, as a wound which will not scab over. The past pain must all have blended with the current agony of her living situation – which was something beyond which I could imagine coping with. As the youngest member in a family of 9 other in-laws, her role was basically that of an indentured servant to the rest of them. And without having any sort of family or even friends no closer than India, it must have been humiliating, desolately lonely and frightening – not to mention exhausting! She was always the first one up in the mornings and the last to head to bed. She had two sisters-in-law – both in their mid-30s – who Pakshi said behaved like spoiled little children who left their coffee cups for days beside their beds and often forgot to flush the loo. The one, I remember, was a successful criminal lawyer! With her husband the first one to leave the house in the mornings, Pakshi would get up with him at 5am to prepare his breakfast and a cup of tea. He was also, incidentally, the last one home at night, often returning after only 10 or 11pm. It was Pakshi’s job to cook the supper for the family of nine, and then wait up until her husband returned home and then reheat the food and only then eat supper with him. And while he was preparing for bed, she would do the last of the dishes and clean the kitchen. She complained about how she hardly ever saw her husband because he worked so hard – and that she still hardly knew him after a year of marriage. I’ve heard many South African women (and British!) complain about the same thing – but it can hardly be compared: how many of these South African women could be found living as the youngest and expectedly servile member of a family of 9 in-laws? The loneliness must have been unbearable. Her mother-in-law prohibited her from having a cellphone and disliked her having any friendships outside of their closeknit circle of family friends. It was only when Pakshi fell pregnant with their first grandson that they deigned to give her a cellphone – for obvious reasons. Staying in touch with her was a matter of phoning the house’s landline and inevitably having to face one or the other’s brusque hello, and then the awkward wait while Pakshi’s name was barked and screeched till she appeared from whichever corner of the house she was working in. And meeting up with her at Paddington station was always a logistical nightmare, because so often a train was running late – but there was no way for us to know because of her lack of cellphone contact. And even when she did receive one, it was with great reservation: she didn’t ever use it so send text messages – its function was purely for her safety while pregnant.
Perhaps I seem harsh and critical of her situation and her culture – but what I am saying is mostly shaped by her own words and feelings. No doubt she was somewhat prepared for the life she would lead as she would have grown up with the knowledge that marriages are arranged. That love is something that should grow – and is more akin to devotion and loyalty than romance and passion. She spoke about her own parents’ deep love for each other – despite their marriage being arranged as well. So must have been this that convinced her that marriage produces love, and not the other way around. Perhaps the mere fact that one is marrying a virtual stranger you know you must come to love is a more realistic basis for marriage: there is very little place for disappointment, and one certainly cannot fall out of love! Whereas so many of our Western marriages are based on unrealistic ideals of love and beauty that shatter at the slightest pressure. Maybe spending one’s childhood and adolescence observing and understanding this Indian notion of marriage prepares one for hard work and the ability to make the most of every situation. As a wannabe feminist in my university years, I would have blatantly chastised the Indian version of marriage as feudal and barbaric – downright colonialism and slavery! But, with my own failed marriage behind me, I can see the simple and functional beauty of the Indian way. Pakshi believed she would come to love her husband more and more as the years passed – though she still wished he could spend more time with her, and dreamed of living in their own house minus the hoard of in-laws. Even having my ex mother-in-law over for dinner left me reeling in general pissed-offness – and a brief holiday seemed like sugar-coated hell to me!