seen in
romantic movies had come true. He compared me to India’s national flower – the
lotus and wrote loving words that in his eyes and
in his heart I was more beautiful than the flower.
Feeling
brave, we were daring enough to hold hands when walking down the street. We
were surprised to see passer-by’s reactions. People would literally stop
walking or talking to stand and stare at us.
*
I
parked my sunshine yellow Datsun in front of a big old villa and Louise and I
walked up the path towards the front porch. We were visiting two of our other
old school friends, Michelle and Kerry who were flatting in the large house with
two boys and one other girl. It was a grand old home with big rooms, polished
wooden floors and two stained glass windows. I couldn’t understand why the
owners of the house were renting it out, the history of the building alone
would be enough for me to treat it with extreme TLC - tender loving care - like
an object in a museum but I supposed the landlord needed the rent money.
The
girls and their flatmates did not treat the house with TLC, every surface in
the living room was covered in dust, it was as if
someone had sprinkled talcum powder all over. Michelle made coffee and as we
all sat on the cosy chairs - we were soon
catching up on all of the gossip. Louise produced a packet of chocolate
pineapple lumps from her bag and as we indulged in the chewy, chocolatey
sweets, it wasn’t long before the conversation changed to
what was actually on everyone’s mind – Kishore being my boyfriend.
Kerry , the boldest of the girls blurted out the question
they were all to o scared to ask -
“Are
you pregnant Julie?”
“Ummm,
no,” I replied trying to keep my tone under control.
“Then
why are you still going out with him? Is he paying you?” this was Michelle, she
quickly followed up with, “Have you checked his passport? He probably wants to
marry you so he can stay in the country.”
I
was infuriated, my face became bright red, if a raging bull was around it would
have surely charged at me, how dare they ask me
these questions?
Later
in the afternoon, I dropped Louise home and made a bee-line for Kishore’s
house. I told him about the remarks the girls had made, emphasising the last
comment, not because I believed Michelle, I just wanted to see his reaction.
Without a word Kishore went to his room and came back with his passport. Laying
it on the table, he opened a page and showed me a permanent resident stamp
clearly visible. Being a permanent resident was the first step in becoming a
citizen. There was no need for him to marry anybody to stay in New Zealand, he
already had residency.
These
types of remarks seemed to be part of the territory of going out with an Indian
man so I wasn’t really surprised when one of the girls at work had the audacity
to make the comment, “Be wary Julie, if you marry an Indian, you marry the
whole family.”
Indian
people look after their elders. Usually the oldest son will take on this
responsibility. The son and his wife and their children and his parents will
all live together in the same house. If the family is wealthy, a house is
sometimes built with three or four levels, with each level containi ng
its own separate apartment so that each son , his wife and
their children can have
their own separate living quarters.
In
India there is no such thing as rest homes or retirement villages. Kishore had
never heard of this concept until he came to New Zealand. Being the eldest son
of his family, it’s expected the responsibility of his parents welfare in their
old age would fall upon him. Now he was living in his new country he knew one
day he would have to deal with this situation, he knew he would eventually have
to help his Mother and Father, he would think of the ‘how’ later.
He
did know he would not
romantic movies had come true. He compared me to India’s national flower – the
lotus and wrote loving words that in his eyes and
in his heart I was more beautiful than the flower.
Feeling
brave, we were daring enough to hold hands when walking down the street. We
were surprised to see passer-by’s reactions. People would literally stop
walking or talking to stand and stare at us.
*
I
parked my sunshine yellow Datsun in front of a big old villa and Louise and I
walked up the path towards the front porch. We were visiting two of our other
old school friends, Michelle and Kerry who were flatting in the large house with
two boys and one other girl. It was a grand old home with big rooms, polished
wooden floors and two stained glass windows. I couldn’t understand why the
owners of the house were renting it out, the history of the building alone
would be enough for me to treat it with extreme TLC - tender loving care - like
an object in a museum but I supposed the landlord needed the rent money.
The
girls and their flatmates did not treat the house with TLC, every surface in
the living room was covered in dust, it was as if
someone had sprinkled talcum powder all over. Michelle made coffee and as we
all sat on the cosy chairs - we were soon
catching up on all of the gossip. Louise produced a packet of chocolate
pineapple lumps from her bag and as we indulged in the chewy, chocolatey
sweets, it wasn’t long before the conversation changed to
what was actually on everyone’s mind – Kishore being my boyfriend.
Kerry , the boldest of the girls blurted out the question
they were all to o scared to ask -
“Are
you pregnant Julie?”
“Ummm,
no,” I replied trying to keep my tone under control.
“Then
why are you still going out with him? Is he paying you?” this was Michelle, she
quickly followed up with, “Have you checked his passport? He probably wants to
marry you so he can stay in the country.”
I
was infuriated, my face became bright red, if a raging bull was around it would
have surely charged at me, how dare they ask me
these questions?
Later
in the afternoon, I dropped Louise home and made a bee-line for Kishore’s
house. I told him about the remarks the girls had made, emphasising the last
comment, not because I believed Michelle, I just wanted to see his reaction.
Without a word Kishore went to his room and came back with his passport. Laying
it on the table, he opened a page and showed me a permanent resident stamp
clearly visible. Being a permanent resident was the first step in becoming a
citizen. There was no need for him to marry anybody to stay in New Zealand, he
already had residency.
These
types of remarks seemed to be part of the territory of going out with an Indian
man so I wasn’t really surprised when one of the girls at work had the audacity
to make the comment, “Be wary Julie, if you marry an Indian, you marry the
whole family.”
Indian
people look after their elders. Usually the oldest son will take on this
responsibility. The son and his wife and their children and his parents will
all live together in the same house. If the family is wealthy, a house is
sometimes built with three or four levels, with each level containi ng
its own separate apartment so that each son , his wife and
their children can have
their own separate living quarters.
In
India there is no such thing as rest homes or retirement villages. Kishore had
never heard of this concept until he came to New Zealand. Being the eldest son
of his family, it’s expected the responsibility of his parents welfare in their
old age would fall upon him. Now he was living in his new country he knew one
day he would have to deal with this situation, he knew he would eventually have
to help his Mother and Father, he would think of the ‘how’ later.
He
did know he would not
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