need to worry about his sisters, once a daughter is
married she usually becomes the responsibility of her
in-laws family.
Kishore
remembered a childhood fable his Grandma had told him to instill in small
children the bond a family should have. That family is extrem e ly important.
It
went like this:
A
Father has three adult sons. He is old and dying and the sons begin fighting
over his possessions. He hears their bickering and calls
them to his bedside. He tells each son to go to the forest to collect a bundle
of sticks. The sons do as they’re told and soon return to their Father each
with their own bundle. He then tells each son
to take one stick from his bundle and try to break it. Each son does this easily , of course, breaking the stick without
difficulty. He then tells the sons to put all of their bundles of sticks
together in one pile. He asks the eldest son to tie the now large bundle
together with twine. Once the sticks are tied, their Father tells each son in
turn to try to break the whole big bundle. Each of them tries but of course
they cant .
You
see, said the Father, there is strength through unity, just like the sticks
alone you’re weak and your bond can be broken. Bound together, like the sticks
you a r e strong - you a r e unbreakable.
*
We
were strolling together in the warm sun of Western Springs Park . Kishore held in his hands an
empty picnic basket and blanket. We were heading back to
my car after enjoying a picnic lunch in the sunshine. After eating we had stretched out on top of the blanket with the soft grass beneath
us. Now , as we walked we were looking intently into each
other’s eyes, oblivious of anyone or anything around us. Talking was not
necessary as we were so much in love. Suddenly, a tooting noise from behind
made us jump. A tram taking passengers through the park was about to run us
over! Our romantic moment was forgotten as we quickly scrambled out of the way.
As it chugged passed the passengers laughed and pointed at us.
Once
we had recovered from our fright, we continued on our lovers stroll. I asked
Kishore about something I had seen Indian people do often.
“Kishore,
why do Indian people move their heads from side to side while talking?”
Kishore , without answering my question, replied with his own
query, “ Well Julie, firstly tell me why English people nod
their head back and forth when they talk?"
We
both chuckled as we realised it was each cultures way of saying ‘yes’ or ‘I
agree with you.'
I
also took this opportunity to ask something else I had been pondering.
“Kishore,”
I said, “Why is it that so many Indians own dairies?”
He
again chuckled a little, “I have been wondering when you were going to ask me
that. Julie, it is really hard for some immigrants to find work, even if they
are highly skilled.”
“But
you found work easily , ” I interrupted.
Kishore , ever the darling said, “That’s because I was meant
to meet you, my love and my good fortune.”
“OK,”
I said, feeling slightly flattered but
still rolling my eyes a little, “What about everyone else?”
“Imagine
you have just arrived in New Zealand. You try to find work with your degree or
experience but cant. Maybe your qualifications aren’t recognised here or
the paper work is too costly.”
“Yes,”
I encouraged him “Go on.”
“It’s
easier with immigration to have your own business. That’s why Indians come here
and buy a dairy. Their Uncle or cousin might have done it and they will say,
come over to New Zealand, I have started my own shop, I will help you to do the same."
Pondering
this I nodded slightly, “I suppose also when people write back home it sounds
like a big achievement to say they have their own shop.”
Kishore
smiled, “Exactly! A shop sounds very auspicious and is a
married she usually becomes the responsibility of her
in-laws family.
Kishore
remembered a childhood fable his Grandma had told him to instill in small
children the bond a family should have. That family is extrem e ly important.
It
went like this:
A
Father has three adult sons. He is old and dying and the sons begin fighting
over his possessions. He hears their bickering and calls
them to his bedside. He tells each son to go to the forest to collect a bundle
of sticks. The sons do as they’re told and soon return to their Father each
with their own bundle. He then tells each son
to take one stick from his bundle and try to break it. Each son does this easily , of course, breaking the stick without
difficulty. He then tells the sons to put all of their bundles of sticks
together in one pile. He asks the eldest son to tie the now large bundle
together with twine. Once the sticks are tied, their Father tells each son in
turn to try to break the whole big bundle. Each of them tries but of course
they cant .
You
see, said the Father, there is strength through unity, just like the sticks
alone you’re weak and your bond can be broken. Bound together, like the sticks
you a r e strong - you a r e unbreakable.
*
We
were strolling together in the warm sun of Western Springs Park . Kishore held in his hands an
empty picnic basket and blanket. We were heading back to
my car after enjoying a picnic lunch in the sunshine. After eating we had stretched out on top of the blanket with the soft grass beneath
us. Now , as we walked we were looking intently into each
other’s eyes, oblivious of anyone or anything around us. Talking was not
necessary as we were so much in love. Suddenly, a tooting noise from behind
made us jump. A tram taking passengers through the park was about to run us
over! Our romantic moment was forgotten as we quickly scrambled out of the way.
As it chugged passed the passengers laughed and pointed at us.
Once
we had recovered from our fright, we continued on our lovers stroll. I asked
Kishore about something I had seen Indian people do often.
“Kishore,
why do Indian people move their heads from side to side while talking?”
Kishore , without answering my question, replied with his own
query, “ Well Julie, firstly tell me why English people nod
their head back and forth when they talk?"
We
both chuckled as we realised it was each cultures way of saying ‘yes’ or ‘I
agree with you.'
I
also took this opportunity to ask something else I had been pondering.
“Kishore,”
I said, “Why is it that so many Indians own dairies?”
He
again chuckled a little, “I have been wondering when you were going to ask me
that. Julie, it is really hard for some immigrants to find work, even if they
are highly skilled.”
“But
you found work easily , ” I interrupted.
Kishore , ever the darling said, “That’s because I was meant
to meet you, my love and my good fortune.”
“OK,”
I said, feeling slightly flattered but
still rolling my eyes a little, “What about everyone else?”
“Imagine
you have just arrived in New Zealand. You try to find work with your degree or
experience but cant. Maybe your qualifications aren’t recognised here or
the paper work is too costly.”
“Yes,”
I encouraged him “Go on.”
“It’s
easier with immigration to have your own business. That’s why Indians come here
and buy a dairy. Their Uncle or cousin might have done it and they will say,
come over to New Zealand, I have started my own shop, I will help you to do the same."
Pondering
this I nodded slightly, “I suppose also when people write back home it sounds
like a big achievement to say they have their own shop.”
Kishore
smiled, “Exactly! A shop sounds very auspicious and is a
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