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Kitchen Sink Drama - Part Three
I have finally got round to concluding the tale of my stay with an Indian family, back in December….
I had been made very welcome in Ramesh and Seema's home and enjoyed getting to know the family. However, there had been some awkward moments, culminating in Ramesh and his friend Manech announcing that they were both in "open relationships". I am still unsure whether they meant it in the way it would be understood in Britain, or whether it was a joke; nonetheless, with Ramesh's wife in the room next door, I had been just a bit unsure what to make of it all!
Ramesh had told me that Alison, a former American lodger of theirs would be coming to visit at the weekend. I confess I was relieved at the news; I hoped it would provide me with more clues as to the situation; something against which to measure and test my own assessment. It would be easier to read someone from a Western culture - I hoped her she would fill in some of the blanks for me. It would also be someone to share the spotlight with.
Friday evening arrived and Ramesh, Seema and I returned to the flat from our various work-places. Seema busied herself in the kitchen, Ramesh was using the lap-top, whilst I read my book. Alison, who was coming by bus from Rajasthan, was not expected till about 9.30/10. Around 9 she sent a text saying she was delayed; Seema and Anil retreated to the bedroom and ate their meal - I ignored the growl of hunger in my stomach. It got to 10 and Ramesh received another text from Alison; she was calling in at a friend's house on the way from the bus station so would be even later. It seemed strange to me, a bit inconsiderate even; would Alison be a reliable 'aid' after all? Finally at 11, much to my relief, Manech suggested we eat. Afterwards I went to bed, pondering the evening's events. It all seemed a little odd.
The next morning Ramesh called me for morning tea 'in bed'. I went through to find Alison and Ramesh drinking chai and chatting, whilst Anil played with his action figures. Alison smiled warmly and as I joined the conversation, I was forced again to reconsider my judgements of her. It was very 'Alice-in-Wonderland' - nothing stayed fixed, everything perpetually changing and distorting, so that it was impossible to make a clear judgements. I found myself keenly observing Alison's interaction with Ramesh scanning for clues as to the nature of their relationship, sniffing out its tracks and development like a police dog. It proved a difficult task, particularly as I became increasingly distracted by my own curiosity about her.
Alison had crammed a lot in to her twenty-two years, and had the experience and self-assurance of someone twice her age. She was here on a scholarship and was researching issues around population control. Alison was examining programmes that were ostensibly about providing education and choice to people, but in reality, were instigated as a means of population control and as such neglected to address a lot of the key issues (I think I have got that right?). She had been living in a village, and as a speaker of fluent Hindi had managed a degree of integration into the local community. I was both fascinated and impressed.
After making us breakfast, Seema went to work (yes, on a Saturday). Alison had plans to meet some friends, but suggested that we all meet up that evening. Ramesh invited me to go to an afternoon parent's workshop at Anil's school - in the sprit of trying new experiences, I agreed.
Anil's school is not your regular local infant school. It is part of the Sri Aurobindo movement, which has a particular approach to education (perhaps a bit like Steiner or Montessori). As well as the school there is a spiritual centre, with a library and room where they run yoga classes, lectures and courses etc. The buildings were set in pleasant grounds, and resembled more a retreat or modern monastery than a school. The workshop was advertised as lasting 90 minutes with a focus on Education and Enlightenment, or something to that effect!
After dropping Anil at the play-group, Ramesh and I entered the meeting-room. It was spacious, softly lit, and newly refurbished. A group of parents were seated in a circle in the middle of the room. A woman, who it transpired was the head-mistress, was talking. The meeting was conducted in English, although I noticed that when the parents were reporting interactions with their children, they lapsed into the Hindi that they presumably used at home. I admired the seamless transition between two languages - the effortless blending of English and Hindi.
The topics discussed and the attitudes towards education were a far cry from the others I had encountered in India. These parents and teachers were concerned with nurturing their children's creativity, encouraging them to think independently and broadening their horizons. In fact at times I felt the pendulum had swung too far the other way. The teachers suggested that parents should not instil their children with the concepts of 'good' or 'bad' (i.e. by saying their behaviour, or a painting they have drawn is "good"); that discipline is administered purely to meet parent's needs. Children, according to them, should be given a free reign, unpleasant or contentious activities like teeth-cleaning and bath-time should all be turned into play. If parents are doing it right, there will be no losing your temper. I found these ideas a refreshing change, however some of it seemed a bit OTT to my thinking.
There was also something just a little exclusive and self-congratulatory about it - as I suppose there often can be when a group of middle-class parents congregate to discuss their children. They related tales that demonstrated their child's exceptional talent, or showed off their own parenting skills. Ramesh explained that Seema doesn't attend these workshops because she can't understand and speak English well enough.
The workshop ran over an hour and it was dark when we started the return journey, Anil sandwiched on between Ramesh and me on the motorbike. After five minutes negotiating the Delhi traffic, Ramesh pulled into the slow lane. Attuned to the subtle shifts in the weight and position of his son's body against his back, Ramesh knew that Anil had nodded off. Immune to the cold wind and blaring traffic, sleep had claimed Anil with the ease of a child in the back of a cosy car. Ramesh was concerned for his son's safety. I tightened my arms around Anil and shouted reassurance to Ramesh. Anil's slumber continued uninterrupted as we clambered off the bike and I deposited him into the arms of his waiting mother.
At we entered the flat, I sensed tension between Ramesh and Seema and so retreated to my room. It was not long before I heard the beginnings of an argument - voices which increased in rate and volume; the unmistakable tone of an accusation being made. I started to worry that I may have contributed. I had just told Ramesh that I would be leaving earlier than anticipated; was Seema offended? Or was it that we had been late home from the seminar; she had been locked out, waiting in the cold for our return. I could imagine that in addition to being left out of conversations, and running around after all these guests, perhaps she was feeling more than a tad miffed.
In my room I was simultaneously packing my bag, planning my escape and cringing. Is there any more uncomfortable a place to be than smack bang in the middle of a domestic? I was relieved I couldn't understand Hindi; I felt it afforded them some privacy. Then I heard things being thrown. I also heard Ramesh laugh - it was nervous, embarrassed laughter, but it alleviated some of my alarm. After some time, the acidity ebbed out of their voices and the anger seemingly dwindled, and so I stuck my head round the door. In true English fashion, I was going to pretend nothing had happened and scarper. But it wasn't to be.
To my astonishment, Ramesh wanted to explain the source of the conflict to me and seek my opinion! I tried to duck out, make excuses, but there was no escaping it. I wish I could divulge the details here, but given that this is the private business of real people, I feel it would be disrespectful and unfair. Suffice to say that Seema's anger was derived from some of the comments/attitudes to women that I had observed in Ramesh and also related to his friendship with Alison.
As a social worker I am used to being up to my neck in the emotions and personal matters of strangers, but I have to say that this was truly unique. I felt unhappy that, yet again, Ramesh was sharing his marital issues with me, without consulting Seema and in a language she couldn't understand. I sought Seema's eyes and tried to convey something - warmth, apologies, solidarity, I don't know what.
I don't want anyone reading this to be left with the impression that I had an awful time with Ramesh and Seema, or that Ramesh is an unpleasant or untrustworthy character. That would be too simple. I never felt threatened, or unhappy in his company, just awkward and unsure of myself. Their generosity and hospitality towards me was genuine. There was just a lot going on that I couldn't hope to understand - both in terms of cultural differences and in their personal lives.
I suspect that Ramesh, Seema, Maneck, and people like them, are having to deal with the clash between traditional and modern, rural and urban India. Its impact is perhaps more than one generation can hope to assimilate. I had the sense that the issues affecting the whole country on a macro level - education, choice, gender and caste discrimination, westernisation, urbanisation - were being enacted on a micro level in the lives of these individuals.
Anyway, after all that, we then sat down for a cup of chai (it is not only in Britain that the 'cup of tea' is a cure-all for any emotionally charged situation). After a respectable amount of time, I thanked them whole-heartedly and left. Later I phoned Alison and learned that the situation had escalated again when she returned that evening. Once more I don't feel permitted to disclose details. Alison too, had decided to leave. She explained some recent events that had lead her to re-think the perimeters of her friendship with the family. She also provided insights which mitigated my harsher judgements, and revealed the complexity of the situation.
I had stayed just five days with Ramesh, Seema and Anil, but left with enough experiences, reflections and drama to fill three blogs (and I haven't even told the half of it). I learned a lot about India, its people and myself. And despite all the strange and awkward moments, my over-riding memory is of the warm welcome and kindness that the family showed me.
I have only heard from Ramesh once since then. On Christmas Day, when I was feeling far from family and friends, he rang to wish me Happy Christmas.
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