rivers would once more be flowing for me. I was excited.
I left the Toronto airport, which hosted a sea of huge Air Canada jets that resembled resurrected red dinosaurs. At London, I was met with an ocean of British Airways’ carriers. One of them carried me to Mumbai. The flight from Mumbai to Chennai was by Indian Airlines. A train carried me from Chennai to Amballore. Finally I was at my new home in Amballore.
When I reached Kerala, I was greeted by all in the family. It was one of only a few occasions when all ten in the family were assembled under the same roof. Some of them had gotten married since my departure. Rita and her husband, Tim, were there to greet me. Kareena came from Rajasthan, and it was a pleasure to see her.
While enjoying mouthwatering Kerala cuisine, I was reminded of the bland Canadian food such as hamburgers, French fries, and soft drinks that they served in the university dorm cafeteria. While eating at my home in Amballore, I could not help thinking that back in my university, there would be long line of students holding food trays, heading toward the counter to order the kind of food he or she liked and filing out to sit in the sprawling dining room, after they were served. It felt strange sitting in a small dining room in Kerala. I felt out of place. However, the meal was appetizing enough to put those uncomfortable feelings behind.
One of the main highlights of the trip was visiting a prospective bride who happened to be Kareena’s friend. Kareena had arranged for me to meet the girl to see if we matched. This was an age-old tradition in Kerala—paying a visit to a prospective bride to gauge if she and the prospective groom matched and to see if their astrological signs and stars were on an amiable and non-collisional course. This custom—called pennukanal
or “seeing the girl”—
was integral part of the time-honored custom of arranged marriage still followed in India, though not as vigorously as it used to be.
I must say, that I was forced by Kareena to meet the girl, since I had my own reasons not to be drawn into a marriage proposal. I had agirlfriend in Canada. That was the first time that I revealed the news to my family. All my siblings were surprised to hear of this news. In my mind, that was reason enough not to initiate any wedding plans. However, my family, especially Kareena, would not hear of this and they insisted on proceeding with pennukanal.
“
We want you to marry an Indian girl, preferably a Malayalee girl,” Kareena insisted, talking on behalf of everyone in the family.
“What is wrong with marrying a Canadian girl?” I asked her.
“Listen, you Canadian,” she mocked me and continued: “Even if you live away from us for a hundred years, you will always be one among us and we all insist that you do not sever the family ties. We want to see you continuing to be one among us, by marrying a Malayalee girl.”
Her argument had finality to it and I gave in, against my better judgment. I was torn between my own conviction that I should not jeopardize my friendship in Canada and my sister’s forcible argument that family ties should be honored, however far and however long one stayed away from one’s siblings. Curiosity also got the better of me and it propelled me to check out the possibility that a Kerala girl could be a better soul mate than a Canadian girl.
I was invited to the bride-to-be’s family for a social gathering. Typically, this gathering would be attended by extended families of the bride and the bridegroom.
The girl’s name was Latha. Her sprawling, luxuriant long black hair reminded me of a miniature Amazon forest. She was dressed in a sari. Her forehead was adorned with a huge, red bindi. Two ear rings the size of cathedral bells hung from her ears.
Kareena put all of us at ease, since she was the girl’s friend and knew her family well. They also liked the proposal, because I was Kareena’s brother. She introduced me to the girl and
I left the Toronto airport, which hosted a sea of huge Air Canada jets that resembled resurrected red dinosaurs. At London, I was met with an ocean of British Airways’ carriers. One of them carried me to Mumbai. The flight from Mumbai to Chennai was by Indian Airlines. A train carried me from Chennai to Amballore. Finally I was at my new home in Amballore.
When I reached Kerala, I was greeted by all in the family. It was one of only a few occasions when all ten in the family were assembled under the same roof. Some of them had gotten married since my departure. Rita and her husband, Tim, were there to greet me. Kareena came from Rajasthan, and it was a pleasure to see her.
While enjoying mouthwatering Kerala cuisine, I was reminded of the bland Canadian food such as hamburgers, French fries, and soft drinks that they served in the university dorm cafeteria. While eating at my home in Amballore, I could not help thinking that back in my university, there would be long line of students holding food trays, heading toward the counter to order the kind of food he or she liked and filing out to sit in the sprawling dining room, after they were served. It felt strange sitting in a small dining room in Kerala. I felt out of place. However, the meal was appetizing enough to put those uncomfortable feelings behind.
One of the main highlights of the trip was visiting a prospective bride who happened to be Kareena’s friend. Kareena had arranged for me to meet the girl to see if we matched. This was an age-old tradition in Kerala—paying a visit to a prospective bride to gauge if she and the prospective groom matched and to see if their astrological signs and stars were on an amiable and non-collisional course. This custom—called pennukanal
or “seeing the girl”—
was integral part of the time-honored custom of arranged marriage still followed in India, though not as vigorously as it used to be.
I must say, that I was forced by Kareena to meet the girl, since I had my own reasons not to be drawn into a marriage proposal. I had agirlfriend in Canada. That was the first time that I revealed the news to my family. All my siblings were surprised to hear of this news. In my mind, that was reason enough not to initiate any wedding plans. However, my family, especially Kareena, would not hear of this and they insisted on proceeding with pennukanal.
“
We want you to marry an Indian girl, preferably a Malayalee girl,” Kareena insisted, talking on behalf of everyone in the family.
“What is wrong with marrying a Canadian girl?” I asked her.
“Listen, you Canadian,” she mocked me and continued: “Even if you live away from us for a hundred years, you will always be one among us and we all insist that you do not sever the family ties. We want to see you continuing to be one among us, by marrying a Malayalee girl.”
Her argument had finality to it and I gave in, against my better judgment. I was torn between my own conviction that I should not jeopardize my friendship in Canada and my sister’s forcible argument that family ties should be honored, however far and however long one stayed away from one’s siblings. Curiosity also got the better of me and it propelled me to check out the possibility that a Kerala girl could be a better soul mate than a Canadian girl.
I was invited to the bride-to-be’s family for a social gathering. Typically, this gathering would be attended by extended families of the bride and the bridegroom.
The girl’s name was Latha. Her sprawling, luxuriant long black hair reminded me of a miniature Amazon forest. She was dressed in a sari. Her forehead was adorned with a huge, red bindi. Two ear rings the size of cathedral bells hung from her ears.
Kareena put all of us at ease, since she was the girl’s friend and knew her family well. They also liked the proposal, because I was Kareena’s brother. She introduced me to the girl and
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