Over Chai

New Indo-cool - The Girl with the Henna Tattoo

Last week, I was standing in line at a Shoppers store when the young woman just ahead of me caught my eye.   She was slender and tall, with a pretty fresh face and long soft hair.  Trendy in her cutoff shorts and small tee, she looked like what you would imagine a youthful Seventeen Magazine cover girl model to look like.     

But that is not what got my attention.  Rather, it was her right hand.

From the tips of her fingers to well beyond her wrist, she had the dark stain of an intricate mehndi design.   Or what is commonly known in the West as a henna tattoo.  

Mehndi is traditionally associated with weddings in India, and more particularly with brides.  It is an integral part of the bridal décor, along with the finest jewels and ornate bridal wear.   Pre-wedding functions are often planned around the application of mehndi to the bride’s hands and feet, which takes several hours and then many more to deepen the colour of the stain.  There is usually a great deal of excitement amongst all female relatives and guests who also enjoy having henna designs applied on them. 

So, I couldn’t help myself.  “Excuse me,” I asked, “I couldn’t help but notice the lovely henna on your hand.  Did you attend an Indian wedding?” 

“Oh, thank you,” she replied, smiling as she gazed at her hand.  “No, I had it put on at a street festival in Little Italy!”

I was surprised and not surprised at the same time.

Here was a young woman, wholly unconnected to the Indian culture, who went to the Italian part of town during a street festival and experienced a marriage tradition that traces it roots to a world away.

Since when did things from India become so cool? 

I remember in elementary school, all the kids were gathered to see a film on India.  The predominant focus was on poverty and homelessness, no doubt to increase awareness of how other people live and our relative lives of privilege.  Unfortunately, children don’t always have the sophistication to pick up socially relevant messages.  And given that there was already some taunting about skin colour and names, who needed to be associated with unsavoury images of India?  I was left feeling almost embarrassed to be Indian. 

Then in high school, when everyone desperately wants to fit in and be accepted, it was ultra cool at Centennial Regional High School, Greenfield Park, Quebec, to be Black or Greek or a smoker that hung around the fringes of the school, but to be Indian was to be, well, basically a nerd.  Not cool.

But in the last few decades, there has been a shift, and India has not only become increasingly accepted, it is actually in vogue!

Interestingly, I can almost see this progression when I look in hindsight at the aggregate experience of my husband and his siblings and me and my siblings.   Collectively, our experiences reflect the passage of time and the coming of age of Indians in North America.  My brother-in-law, currently in his late 40s, went to school when there were very few other Indian kids around.  He was harassed for being different and for speaking a different language.  Understandably, he made every effort to assimilate, ultimately marrying a French Canadian woman.  The experience of his younger sister was not that different, and she ended up marrying a British man.  By the time the youngest, my husband, went to school, there were more South Asians than previously, and he was able to form several enduring friendships with them.  He ultimately chose to marry an Indian woman (me!).  

I am two years younger than my husband, and as the oldest sibling of my family, our experience takes off from the point at which theirs leaves off.  By the time me and my sister went to high school, we may not have been able to define the word ‘cool’, but we South Asians were sufficient in number to form our own social networks.  We belonged.  We had the luxury of embracing the traditional cultural and linguistic influences at home.  My youngest sister never knew what it was not to belong.  With a veritable explosion in the Indian youth population, they did redefine what it was to be cool. 

Perhaps this demographic coming of age influenced pop culture as well.  Trendy European nightclubs began to mix in the vibe of Bhangra beats.  Yoga became a fitness craze.  Chai became available on every major street corner.  Young women began applying henna tattoos.  And, of course, it did not hurt to have a pop music icon like Madonna place a bindi on her forehead and influence fashion around the globe.  Whatever it is that started the trend, it appears to be here to stay. 

This is the new Republic of Indo-Cool.

Warrior Boys–This “Dishoom” is No Laughing Matter

I tend to think of South Asians as a successful, motivated group of people, and with good reason. It seems that everyone I know is either a doctor or lawyer, accountant or engineer, businessperson or scientist, rising to great heights within the chosen line of occupation. Even those that follow less conventional routes are still motivated and accomplished in their own right.  But this weekend, as I was out celebrating the milestone birthday of a good friend of mine, I was engaged in conversation with a Crown lawyer who reminded me of another kind of South Asian.

The kind of South Asian who comes from a hard-working working class family that has sacrificed everything in order to provide for a better life for the next generation, but who chooses not to pursue higher education and who fails to realize on that promise of opportunity.  The kind of South Asian who lacks drive and motivation to succeed.  The kind who is disenfranchised and impressionable, falling under the influence of the wrong crowds and their misguided notions. 

It is not that my head was buried in the sand.  Every so often, the news reports on South Asian gang activity and lost youth.  The now-infamous Toronto 18 spring to mind as a quintessential example.  Young Muslim-Canadians who espoused violent ideals that would target the very same secular and egalitarian nation in which they were raised.  Tamil gangs are also often cited for high levels of gang activity in the Greater Toronto Area.  At the Network of Indian Professionals Conference last Fall, I saw a screening of Warrior Boyz, a film directed by Vancouver-based director Baljit Sangra exploring the phenomenon of gang warfare among Punjabi youth out West.  The violence, the staggering loss of life was disheartening, but even more disturbing was the aimlessness of the youth and the futility of it all. The kids just seemed so lost.  More recently, an addictions psychiatrist friend of mine told me of the overlooked impact of gang membership on girls who seek the approval of gang members and end up engaging in a variety of illicit activities, including substance abuse and prostitution.

And so I must ask:  Why??

What are the factors that lead to gang membership?

Is it more prevalent in some communities than others?

Why, given that the South Asian culture places a heavy emphasis on education, are some of our youth falling through the cracks?

Where are the parents who have sacrificed everything - their homeland, their proximity to extended family and culture – in order to re-settle their families here, when their children begin to exhibit questionable behaviours?

Is the nature of the immigrating class, be it a professional or a working class, a factor in the outcomes of our youth?

I don’t pretend to have any of the answers, but these questions have started to concern me.

Perhaps it is because my husband and I came to Toronto after having earned our professional degrees that our circle of friends ended up including mostly doctors and lawyers, and I suppose it was just easier to generalize with broad brushstrokes based on our personal experience.  Denial, after all, is always easier than confronting uncomfortable truths and asking the tough questions.  Thankfully, gang violence has not touched our lives directly, so nothing earth-shattering has happened to alter our perspective.  Unless you count that we are raising our own little South Asian Canadians and have a vested interest in their long-term wellbeing.  

That, in and of itself, is enough to change anyone’s perspective.

 

 

Air India Inquiry & Apology – Too Little Too Late?

October 14, 2007

1 man dead. 

Cause:  Tasered five times by the RCMP at Vancouver International Airport in British Columbia.

Public inquiry commences proceedings on January 19, 2009.

The final report is released on June 18, 2010, less than 3 years after the incident. 

May 2000

7 people dead.

Cause:  Contaminated drinking water in the town of Walkerton, Ontario. 

Public Inquiry is established on June 12, 2000 by the Ontario government.

The final report is released in May 23, 2002, exactly 2 years after the event.

June 23, 1985

329 people dead.

Cause:  Air India flight 182, en route from Toronto and Montreal to India, explodes in midair over the coast of Ireland. 

No public Inquiry is established until 2006.

The final report is released on June 17, 2010, 25 years after the tragedy.

If you find this as unbelievable as I do, then consider also this. 

Robert Dziekanski, the man tasered to death, was not a Canadian.  He was a Polish immigrant who just happened to be dealt a fatal hand on Canadian soil.  The actions of 4 RCMP officers were grossly inappropriate, disproportionate and an abuse of power.  Conducting an investigation into the actions of officers from our national police and intelligence-gathering force was deemed important enough to strike a public inquiry. 

I was one of the staff lawyers on the Commission for the Walkerton Inquiry.  Seven Canadians sadly lost their lives simply because they trusted in the safety of their drinking water.   There were no threats to national security, no acts of terrorism involved.  It was a case of E. coli contaminating the drinking water supply coupled with flaws in the system of oversight that required close examination.  The government took that concern seriously; it took only one month for an inquiry to be struck.  The Commission took that threat seriously.  Commissioner Dennis O’Connor, cognizant of the need to provide answers and redress to the families of the victims, as well as recommendations to prevent future incidents, delivered both of his reports within two years of the tragedy.

Contrast both of these situations with the worst mass murder in Canadian history. Of the 329 people killed, 280 were Canadian nationals.  Surveillance and wiretap intelligence gathered before the incident was extensive and compelling.  This was an act of terrorism.  In the years that followed, the worldwide investigations uncovered various threads of this complex plot.  The body of evidence mounted. 

And then the unthinkable happened.  In one of the most expensive criminal investigations in Canadian history, for which a high security trial room was specifically built, the Crown could not prove its case.  There was insufficient evidence.  Fingers began pointing to the improper handling of the investigation by both intelligence arms of the Canadian government.  The lack of intelligence-sharing between the RCMP and CSIS (Canadian Security Intelligence Services), the now-infamous erasing of crucial wiretap evidence and the shocking inability of intelligence officers to draw conclusions of a credible terrorist threat in advance of the bombing all pointed to one thing:  the need for a public inquiry.  In the intervening years, there were repeated calls for an inquiry but until 2006, there was no political will to establish one.  And until former Supreme Court Justice John Major’s damning report, released just last week on June 17^th, finding a "cascading series of errors" by the Government of Canada, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service that allowed the terrorist attack to take place, there was no vindication for the victims or their families.

This begs the question:  Why??

Why the inaction, inertia, delay and blatantly different treatment from some other notable incidents provoking public inquiries? 

Dare I ask the question on the minds of many Canadians:  Would it have been different if the victims were white?

On June 23, 1985, my sister and I awoke to a surreal tragedy unfolding around us.   Our parents had sent us from Montreal to Toronto by train the day before so that we could attend the sangeet of our cousin, who was to be married the following weekend.  On that fateful morning, we woke up early to the sound of grief, the kind that is profound and echoes with shock.  We were young and away from our parents.  We were not prepared for the magnitude of what we would learn.  In the hours and days that followed, we would come to know of more and more people that we each knew from both the Montreal and Toronto communities that were on board that doomed flight.  A close high school friend of mine, several elementary school friends of my sister’s, many family friends.  It was the same for everybody around us.  Our communities were close-knit – everyone knew someone on that flight.  The Indian communities in Montreal and Toronto would never be the same.  Some of us Canadian by birth, some of us Canadian because this was where we chose to call home.  All of us mourning the loss of 280 Canadian victims.

Twenty years after the downing of Air India Flight 182, families gathered in Ireland to grieve.  The anniversary was declared a national day of mourning.  The then Prime Minister Paul Martin remarked, "Make no mistake: The flight may have been Air India's, it may have taken place off the coast of Ireland, but this is a Canadian tragedy."

Perhaps if that had been the prevailing view from the outset, history would have unfolded differently.

As it is, yesterday, Wednesday, June 23, 2010, on the 25^th anniversary of the Air India disaster, the Canadian government made its first official apology to the victims of the bombing.

While not insignificant, is this just a little too little, a little too late?. . .

Inter-Racial Marriages – A Cultural Erosion?

 

I love weddings.   And good thing, too, since my husband and I have probably attended over a hundred of them since our own.  In fact, during a brief trip to India a few years ago, we attended “Four Weddings and a Mundan”!  (I kid you not.)

The union between any two people who are publicly declaring their love and commitment to one another, whether solemnized in a civil service or in accordance with any religious rites, is quite simply a touching moment to witness.

Indian weddings are especially close to my heart.  The pre-wedding festivities with singing, dancing and mehndi, the splendor of vibrant Indian outfits and dazzling jewels, the mouth-watering savoury Indian cuisine, the opportunity to reunite with family and friends in a festive atmosphere, the Sanskrit prayers and vows rooted in ancient tradition, the stealing of the groom’s shoes and, yes, even dancing to Bollywood and Bhangra tunes, all add to the enchantment of the event. 

But perhaps it is more than that.  Perhaps it is about more than just the couple and their families, but rather about what it represents in terms of the cultural continuity of a community and the survival of a heritage.  Maybe there is a sense of security in sameness and a feeling that we stand a greater chance of passing on language, culture, values and our roots if we marry within the culture.  Perhaps there is an underlying concern that with each successive generation, we lose just a little bit more of our connection to our roots until one day, we become indistinguishable from the dominant culture, so self-preservation becomes a reason to celebrate in and of itself.

If by the mere fact of living in Canada, there is inevitable cultural erosion and a gradual pull towards assimilation, do inter-racial marriages accelerate the loss of cultural identity?

I am of two minds on this one. 

One the one hand, if the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, then all the more so for two people who bring to their union the riches from two distinct cultural roots.  They have the unique opportunity to embrace difference, to learn from other peoples and to broaden their horizons.  Instead of suffering the loss of one culture, they gain another, and maybe create a new cultural identity altogether.  Indeed, each inter-racial marriage I have attended has been enriched by the unique combination of the two cultures and individuals uniting.  For instance, the grand entrance of a Punjabi bride, dressed in her stunning pink lehnga, and her Scottish-Canadian kilt-wearing groom was announced by an electrifying beat of a dhol accompanied by the soulful melody of bagpipes.  So quintessentially Canadian!  In another celebration, a priest in flowing African robes married the couple in accordance with rites from a Western African Christian tradition, following a pundit who united the couple before a fire according to Vedic rites.  And although the two priests were as different in their look, dress, sound and recitations as could be, ultimately they both spoke the same language of love, honour, commitment and respect.  What a promising start.

On the other hand, passing on traditions, a culture, language or values takes a great deal of effort and a firm resolve.  In the best of circumstances this is difficult.  However, the greater the differences, the greater the challenge.  Back in my university days, I had a smart and talented friend who was half Italian and half Korean.  She had the gift of a possibility to be raised in two ‘exotic’ languages and cultures but, sadly, had not been nurtured in either, let alone both.  What a shame.  What a squandered opportunity.

Perhaps inter-generational cultural erosion is inevitable, whether the couple marrying come from the same cultural roots or not.   In some cases, inter-racial marriages may accelerate the process, in some cases not.  I personally know of several mixed couples that pay a great deal of attention to maintaining the connection to the religion, grandparents, rituals and traditions of both parents.  In the end, what may make the biggest difference is the individual motivation. 

And I am motivated.  How about you?

Then and Now (Part 2)

As my faithful readers know, this blog began as a chronicle of my ongoing journey as I work to turn my dream of producing a lifestyle show on all things South Asian into a reality.  For the last many blogs, however, I digressed from the originally conceived format and instead delved into more substantive, issue-oriented topics.  The more I wrote, the more I found to write about.  It turns out there is no shortage of interesting, engaging and compelling issues for us to talk about … and that is great news for the talk show!  So, this blog will continue to serve as a witness to both the challenges and rewards of producing such a show as well as the issues of the day that grab our attention and imagination.

That having been said, today I am picking up the threads from one of my earlier ‘journey’ blogs.  Have you ever had a dream but didn’t quite know how to achieve it?  That was me one year ago and, who are we kidding, even today.  It is like I am on this never-ending learning curve that is so steep, there is no summit in sight.  But I know it is there!  Here, then, is a continuation of my journey.

One year ago:

I was a stay-at-home mom with a BIG dream and absolutely no idea how to get there.  I had no relevant connections, no investment capital, no experience in this field and virtually no spare time.  I had the primary responsibility of raising my children well (something I consider I will always have irrespective of any delegation), of ensuring a smoothly functioning household (debatable at the best of times!), and of fulfilling my responsibilities to the not-for-profit Boards on which I serve.  It was truly daunting to add another ball to all the ones I was already juggling, and that too, one which was just one big, fat question mark.

Today:

My dream is now a well-defined vision, I have a fantastic business partner who shares my drive and passion, an experienced and committed director and production team, a shooting location, market survey results indicating an keen interest in this show, an Investor Package in its final stages of preparation, a website in development, the active help of new and inspiring friends, and the good wishes and support of so many people I have encountered along the way.

So, how did I get from there to here?

Step 1: Serious self-reflection and contemplation

I had to face facts. I was avoiding returning to the legal profession as a government lawyer. Something about drafting legislation and regulations for the rest of my life did not appeal to me. Go figure. So, then, what did appeal to me? What did I enjoy? While changing diapers and singing lots of kiddie songs, staying up nights and preparing nutritious yet fun meals (tall order!), I stole moments here and there to think...to reflect...to feel. And about a year ago, I was finally able to recognize the things that matter most to me, to identify what most inspires and drives me and to acknowledge my strengths and weaknesses. Based on all this, I began to formulate this fantastical idea of celebrating my South Asian pride by producing and hosting a talk show relevant to my generation of South Asians.

Step 2: Sharing the idea

Tentatively at first, and gradually with increasing passion and excitement, I began to share my idea with a select group of people...my family and close friends. I wanted genuine support but also wanted genuine feedback, so I approached those who would have my best interests at heart, and who would be honest with me. After all, if I had to be saved from myself, the earlier the better.

Luckily for me, the idea struck a definite chord, and this did wonders for me. You see, the first person I had to sell the concept to was myself, and I was sold. But would others see it, believe in it? Once I could see that the idea had value in other's eyes, I began to believe. This was a huge confidence boost, and it solidified my determination to give this my all. After all, what did I have to lose?!

Great, okay, so decision made to go for it. But how?? I had no idea how to approach this, what to do or where to go from there.

Step 3: Faith and a Conversation with the Universe

First things first, I had a talk with myself.  That this was going to be a difficult path with hardships and adversity was certain.  What I needed was firm resolve to meet those challenges head on, the strength to persevere in spite of the odds.  In other words, I needed faith.  I believe in myself and I believe in this concept.  This will happen.  The only question is when.

And then I had a talk with the universe.  This sounds a little hokey, I know, but I have to tell you, it worked (so far anyway).  Simply put, I came to peace with my decision and asked the universe for help.  If you believe in fate, destiny, karma or any of those great spiritual notions, this is hardly a stretch.  Of course, this didn’t mean that I put it out there and then sat on my laurels waiting for great things to happen.  Rather, it meant that while I undertook active steps in pursuit of my goal, I remained vigilant and open to possibilities, knowledge and opportunities.

Step 4:  Networking, Networking, Networking

Once I had made the decision, or rather the commitment, to do everything I could to turn this concept into a reality, I made a fundamental realization…I could not do this alone. The task was too big, the unknown variables too daunting.  I needed help to get there.  I needed to find people who were doing or who had done what I was attempting to do.  This meant reaching out to friends, and friends of friends.  This meant attending events that would bring me in close proximity with such people.  This even meant reaching out to people with whom I had no connection at all.

In short, networking, networking, networking!

I cannot overstate how important this has been to my progress, and I would argue, to the success of so many accomplished individuals.  We are humans, and humans are all about connectivity.  It is why we live in clans and feel the need for belongingness.  Why not turn this need into an asset and make it work for you? 

I was already applying the principles of marketing without even realizing it, when I stumbled across a great book, Never Eat Alone by Keith Ferrazzi.  Its intuitive wisdom appealed to me and what’s more, it gave me networking strategies that were effective and do-able.  The thing that struck me the most was one of the cornerstone principles of networking: generosity.  The most effectively networking is the kind that is not motivated solely by personal interest or gain, but one that is done with a spirit of generosity and willingness to help others.  Helping others without an expectation in return is, in many cases, reward enough.  But interestingly, you will find that the more you practice this kind of networking, the more liberally people offer to help you in unexpected and generous ways.  It as the old adage goes…what goes around really does come around!

That’s all for now, stay tuned for more in my upcoming blogs!

Made in India: A Booming Baby Business

If I say “outsource” which country comes first to your mind?  

India, of course! 

The notion of outsourcing, or contracting out business functions to external providers, has become inextricably linked with India over the past few decades.  With an abundance of cheap labour, a growing middle class armed with technical savvy and know-how, and a population hungry for Western-style consumerism, it was inevitable.  While particularly popular in the scientific, technical and service fields, it did not take long for people to discover that - just as goods and services are less expensive in India - so too is health care.  And so the industry known as medical tourism was born. 

It really should have come as no surprise, then, that the creation of life could also be outsourced.  Infertile couples from around the world renting out fertile wombs in India to carry their babies for them.  And yet, somehow, it was. 

Made in India, a documentary screened at the recent HotDocs film festival, explores the business of baby-making as it follows one such couple, Lisa and Brian Switzer, on their personal quest for a biological baby. 

Faced with fertility treatment and surrogacy costs between $70,000 and $100,000 in the USA, contracting out for the same services in India for somewhere around $12,000 was economically-speaking, a much more attractive option.  (I personally think the trips to India are an attractive feature of the whole arrangement, but I digress.)

So Lisa and Brian did what so many couples are now doing, they packed their bags and headed to India to have a baby.  It is now estimated that the value of the international surrogacy market is a whopping $450 million.

This is how it works. 

Lisa and Brian contacted Planet Hospital, a California-based medical travel planning company whose job it is to facilitate the whole trip, including making the arrangements for the necessary doctors and the accommodations.  The parties entered into a detailed contractual agreement setting out the terms of the arrangement, including how much was to be paid to the surrogate, in this case $7000. 

Enter Aasia, a simple Indian woman of limited means living in Mumbai, who wants nothing more than to provide a good education for her three young children.  On her husband’s salary alone, they cannot hope to accomplish their goals, so she signs a contract to provide surrogacy services through the Rotunda Clinic.  She, too, is doing this for the money, hoping to elevate her family’s economic position. 

Overall, it seems like a win-win situation.  One woman giving the gift of life, and the other giving the gift of a better life. 

But international surrogacy is not without its problems or critics.  Currently, there is no legislation setting out the legal rights and obligations of the parties, making the possibility of exploitation in developing countries a real concern and creating confusion in the legal relationships of the parties to the babies.   Moral-ethical questions are also being raised about allowing women to “rent out” their wombs for profit, and for permitting a tiered health care system as between foreigners and the local population, which often has little or no access to the same quality of care.

As for our main characters, Aasia delivered twin baby girls for Lisa and Brian on May 30, 2008*.  While she was well looked after, it did not come without personal cost to her and her family.  Her surrogacy was carried out discreetly for fear of social repercussions; she endured the physical hardships of a pregnancy with twins, as well as a prolonged separation from her own children.  While she had been promised $3000 by the Clinic, in the end she was paid $2500 because of her brief stay towards the end of the pregnancy at the home for surrogates.  Not anywhere close to the $7000 Lisa and Brian expected her to receive.  Aasia was left somewhat disappointed by her compensation.

Lisa and Brian suffered bureaucratic red tape while they waited for the hospital authorities, the Clinic and the US Embassy to determine the legal and biological parentage of the babies, as well as their citizenship, in order to have them released from the hospital.  They also faced the moral challenge of ensuring that they really had made a difference in Aasia’s life, as she had done for their lives.

Ethical and moral questions aside (these will all continue to be debated in the years to come), it is time for the law to catch up to the practice of cross-boundary surrogacy and put into place some clear rules and much-needed safeguards.

…because international baby-making has a life of its own now…and, baby, business is booming.

 

Namrata at HotDocs: A Powerful Inspiring 9-Minutes

It is human nature to be fascinated by other people’s lives.  Curiosity is innate to our species.  Voyeurism, whether of a benign or nefarious nature, is a quintessential example, and the surge in popularity of reality television programs in the last decade is testament to this ongoing appeal.  It is no surprise, then, that Canada’s annual international documentary forum – HotDocs – generates the anticipation and excitement that it does.  After all, local and international filmmakers afford us an intimate insider’s view into the lives of people around the world.  How utterly fascinating.  Over the coming weeks, I will share with you some of lives I have had the privilege of peeking into.

Let me start this week with the shortest film that left the biggest impression. 

Namrata, a 9-minute short film directed by Shazia Javed and produced by the National Film Board of Canada, screened for the first time in Toronto this week.  Namrata Gill, the woman baring her soul for viewers, was also an inspiration behind Deepa Mehta’s movie, Heaven on Earth (See my earlier blog “Life After Marriage: Heaven on Earth?”: http://mybindi.com/lifestyles/ArticleDetailUI.aspx?RefId=1237).  Sometimes, less really is more.

The film opened simply, quietly, with Namrata talking of that day 17 years ago, when she was an innocent young woman in India getting married with all the hope and expectation of a happy married life in Canada.  Dressed in her wedding lehenga, she gazed at a mirror as she spoke, slowly adorning herself with her bridal jewellery.  That day was to be the first day of the rest of her life, her dreams were coming true. 

Reality in Edmonton was not what she expected.  Now dressed in elegant casual wear, she spoke candidly of the early years of her marriage.  Whereas she had hoped to pursue higher education to get a good job, her husband did not permit this, instead requiring her to work grueling long hours at the family-owned convenience store.  (After all, knowledge is power and how could he exert control over her if she became aware of her rights?)  Eventually, she bore a child, a daughter, all the while enduring increasing emotional and verbal abuse.  Inevitably, the abuse became physical for minor transgressions, and sometimes for no reason at all.  As is often the case in domestic violence, his reactions were unpredictable and therefore unpreventable.  She recalled one instance when she was pinned to the floor by her mother-in-law and sister-in-law so that her husband could mete out her punishment more effectively.  Throughout it all, she wanted to escape the marriage, but did not know what to do or how to do it, and she worried about losing her daughter.  So, Namrata remained silent, not confiding in anyone, not seeking out help.  She breathed not a word to her family in India, for fear of causing them anxiety or shame. 

Then one fateful night, everything changed.  Her husband, whose touch she had grown to detest, forced himself upon her and violated her as a woman.  Perhaps she had hit rock-bottom, perhaps she felt she had nothing left to lose, but she finally mustered the courage to share her hardships with her family.  Her father came immediately from India to support her and to help her find the community resources she needed to extricate herself (and her daughter) from her abusive situation.  And as she developed emotional strength, she worked out to develop her physical strength.

[SPOILER ALERT! Do not read what follows if you do not want to know how it ends.]

The last scene was so dramatic, even in its simplicity, that it took my breath away.  We could not see Namrata, but she was clearly getting ready again.  The camera’s close angles focused on a snap here, a button there.  It gradually became apparent that this time, instead of adorning herself as a bride, she was adorning herself with accoutrements of a different nature altogether… and as she pushed a baton into her belt loop, shoved a gun into its holster and placed her police officer’s cap on her head, she reclaimed her power, her independence and her womanhood.

And let me tell you, the audience absolutely loved it.   

 

From Arranged to E-Ranged: Have arranged marriages met their match?

Picture this:  Montreal, the early 1990s.  I was 20.  He was 22.  Our gaze met across a crowded room (no really!) and we knew immediately.  We wanted to … date. 

Nothing unusual in this society, but for the first child born to parents who married in India, dating was not an easy option.  You see, in India, it was neither the custom nor the culture to allow prospective life partners to engage in lengthy courtships.  Rather, marriages were more typically arranged by parents, and facilitated by a vast network of middlemen who would suggest appropriate matches and vouch for the integrity of families being introduced.

The classic scenario:  Someone known to both the girl’s and boy’s families would suggest the pair as a prospective match.  The parents would have an opportunity to review the ‘bio-data’ of the proposed individual and ascertain the soundness of the match.  If both sides were content with the results of the initial screening, a tea party would be arranged at the family home of the prospective bride to give the intended spouses a brief opportunity to meet.  The girl, wearing her best silk sari and adorned in her finest jewels, would make a quiet and regal entrance to serve the tea to the hopeful in-laws and shy groom.  With barely a glance at one another and often no opportunity to talk alone, the girl and the boy would consent (or not) to the match and embark on a lifelong journey together.

This, essentially, was the story of my parents’ matrimony.  And truth be told, they have had a joyous marriage, filled with love, laughter, respect and commitment.  It shines brightly as an example to me and my two younger sisters.  So, in their minds, why do any differently with their daughters?

The simple fact is that I, my sisters, indeed a whole generation of South Asians have been raised in a part of the world where individuality, autonomy and control over one’s own destiny are notions of great value.  While we cherish our traditions and cultural roots, we also imbibe the values of our host (or should I say home) culture.  We are not only Indian, we are not exclusively Canadian; rather, we are a unique cultural hybrid.  For most of us first generation Indo-Canadians, it seems inconceivable that our life-mates should be chosen almost exclusively by our parents. 

And so times have changed.  The Diaspora is adapting to new cultural influences and to technological advances.  Many South Asian youth today enjoy an unprecedented freedom in the selection of an ideal mate.  If this does not occur in the natural course of life, such as meeting a life partner in university or in the workplace, the advent of internet matrimonial sites, speed dating events and social networking sites take on the role of the middlemen to facilitate introductions.  Dating, generally speaking, is not only acceptable, it is actually encouraged. 

It makes you wonder, have arranged marriages finally met their match? 

At first glance, it would appear so.  South Asian youth are finding their own partners, enjoying lengthy relationships, and deciding when and whether to wed.

And yet, this newfound freedom is not unfettered.  It is not as if parents have been completely removed from the equation.  On the contrary, they are very involved, keeping themselves informed on the progress of a relationship, monitoring if it is moving in the ‘right’ direction towards matrimony, and offering unsolicited advice and words of wisdom.  Sometimes parents take on the role of middlemen, actively getting the word out on the eligibility of their offspring.  And where their personal networks yield an insufficient crop of suitable prospects, they have even been known to log on to matrimonial sites themselves!  Indeed, the very notion of family is so central to our cultural life that parents are implicated one way or another in virtually every step leading up to the marriage of a child.

When viewed from this lens, does it not seem as though the custom of arranged marriages has evolved and modernized, but remains essentially what it always was?

“Arranged marriages” is a broad concept that can encompass a multitude of circumstances within its rubric.  On the one end of the spectrum, there are the arranged marriages in the most traditional sense.  These still do occur, albeit less and less frequently.  On the other end of the spectrum, there are facilitated setups with little or no parental intervention initially but that ultimately result in holy matrimony largely due to their direct or indirect influence.  Along that continuum, I have witnessed the gamut.  I have a friend who was on a mission to marry.  Her introduction to men was arranged largely by her parents or family friends.  She took the process seriously and “interviewed” around 40 men before she met her destined spouse.  First they dated, then they married!  I have several other friends who met their mates online or through dating services, but then involved their families early on to complete the vetting process.

As for me, my husband courted me.  But my parents were along for the journey every step of the way.  While it was not an arranged marriage in a conventional sense, our ultimate union was greatly influenced by our culture, families and expectations.  At the time, it was not easy to work out the cross-cultural kinks.  But, looking back, we wouldn’t change a thing.

For the Love of India

I LOVE my Indian heritage, and would like to believe that I share a common culture with my Indo-Canadian husband, our little Indian offspring, and our many friends from within our community.  But it sometimes takes me by surprise when I realize that weeks, even months, slip by without any significant cultural influence in our lives.  I love Bollywood tunes, but CBC radio gets more airtime in our home.  Hindi films are a commitment of time and occasionally patience, both rare luxuries in a household with young kids. We seldom manage to get to the temple.  Indian garments are impractical for daily life.  English is our primary form of communication, with French being a close second (thanks to my husband) and Hindi coming in a distant third (I am not saying who is charged with that responsibility!).  The fact that I manage to serve my family an Indian meal a couple of times a week is, in my mind, a major accomplishment.  And our gatherings with our Indian friends are so culturally neutral that we could swap in people of other backgrounds and no one would ever know the difference.  In fact, we once hosted a traditional Diwali celebration and insisted that everyone wear Indian clothes (even our non-Indian guests) and one of our Indian friends commented that it was a very cool theme for a party!

So, when my parents, who are enjoying their carefree golden years after a lifetime of sacrifice and hard work, breeze into town to visit their grandchildren after their 92-day winter sojourn in India, it is as if a welcome gust of India blows in with them.  As they open up their suitcases to show us all the bright and colourful wares they brought back for us, as the distinct smells of bazaars waft out, and as they regale us with tales of adventures and pleasures, I am instantaneously transported to a world so different than the one I inhabit and I am reminded once again of what a crazy, wonderful and amazing place India truly is.

India amuses and bemuses me, overwhelms and frustrates me, fascinates and inspires me, but in the end, it simply awes me.  In this vast and diverse land, you can find just about anything you seek: urban centres pulsing with energy, congestion, modernity and antiquity; endless fields of fertile farmland; majestic deserts with rolling sand dunes and whimsically adorned camels; swaths of golden sandy beaches; intricate palm tree-lined navigable canals; cooler climate hill-station retreats; vast jungles teeming with wildlife; and majestic snow-capped mountains.  Medieval fortresses and ancient temples stand as testaments to history, tradition and lore, co-existing with the pervasive influence of progress.  There is a rich diversity of religions and languages, rituals and cuisines.  India is at once simple, complex, sparse and plentiful, old and new…it defies definition and is a place of glaring contradictions.  India is an all out assault on your senses and incessantly challenges you, but ultimately, rarely fails to charm.  All of which makes it so undeniably remarkable.

Against this impressive backdrop, I have experienced another, more personal India, one that puts a smile on my face, renews my faith in humanity and welcomes me warmly into its embracing fold.

If you look for it, and sometimes even when you don’t, India constantly entertains.  Apparently, there was nothing out-of-the ordinary when an enormous elephant carrying a big load of hay caused mayhem for cars, scooters, auto rickshaws, bikes and pedestrians which had to shift helter-skelter to accommodate the moving roadblock up a narrow Udaipur road.  And have you ever wondered how many people can fit on a one-seat motorbike?  That burning question now has an answer - a man, his wife, their two children…and a goat!  I once saw a Sardarji driving a car, except that his entire driver side door was missing…I was in fits of laughter as I watched his foot accelerate and break, but no local thought anything of it.  Presumably to warn pedestrians, a car we once hired to drive us around belted out filmi songs every time the driver put the car in reverse.  Shopping for shoes is novel.  I walked into a store with shoes on display much like in stores here, albeit a much smaller sized store.  When I asked for shoes in my size, a man perched in a room above the ceiling would drop them from a small cutout into the store below!  And where else in the world would you find men willing to be draped with sarees for the benefit of shopping women?  Be warned if you ask anyone for directions in India, people are only too happy to oblige, though no one quite knows where anything is located (since street names are less relevant to Indians than landmarks).  And let’s not forget the marvel of the Indian postal system with delivery addresses like “behind the bus stand” or “near the sweet shop, beside the big, yellow house”.

India is also a place that restores your faith in people.  Twice we witnessed the unbelievable generosity of young children deprived of the simplest of pleasures.  In rural Orissa and another time in Varanasi, my husband and I gave away some candy.  Rather than quickly savouring the delight before other children would swarm them, they each deliberately saved to candy so that they could share with siblings and friends.  On the eve of Christmas in Udaipur, I hired a tailor to make me a dress.  I paid the money and asked for the dress to be delivered at the Lake Palace Hotel (only accessible by boat) later that same evening where we were enjoying a Christmas feast.  After the soiree, the market would be closed and I was going to head straight out of town.  In other words, if he simply kept my money and failed to deliver the dress, there was nothing I could do about it.  We decided it would be an interesting experiment in human behaviour, and had already written off the dress when someone tapped my husband on the shoulder and handed us a package…we were humbled by the tailor’s decency and honesty, not to mention his industriousness at tailoring a dress within two hours and finding us amid hundreds of Christmas revelers.

In India, I have experienced hospitality parallel to none.  Where guests are honoured and no effort or expense is spared to host them, it almost goes without saying that our relatives welcome us with love and affection and care for us in ways that leave us wanting for nothing.  My husband and I were also welcomed into the home of virtual strangers for two months simply because of a very distant blood connection.  On this recent trip, my parents were invited into the homes of several new acquaintances – first a round of water was served, then juice, followed by a plate of fresh fruit, then a platter of dried fruit and nuts, then a tray of savoury dry snacks, culminating in hot tea and hot fried snacks.  And this was just ‘tea’! 

Ever since my parents arrived here, our home has been infused with what I have been craving…the sights, sounds, tastes and feel of my Indian culture.  One day, I hope to return to my beautiful, imperfect India with my children so that we can experience all that it has to offer together.  In the meantime, my parents’ visits will do just perfectly.

Desperately Seeking the “True Canadian Neighbourhood”

After the defeat of sovereignty movement in the 1995 referendum in Quebec, the leaders of the day made it clear that Quebec was not an inclusive, welcoming society, but rather one that was primarily meant for “pure laine” or pure French-Canadians.  Speaking in “us” and “them” terms, they overtly blamed the loss on the “money and the ethnic vote”.

Both my husband and I are, by birth, Montréalais, Québecois and Canadians.  Yet it seemed that in spite of our place of birth, our fluency in French and genuine appreciation for the unique brand of multiculturalism of Quebec society, our ethnicity prevented us from being fully embraced.  Unfortunate, indeed.

So, we hit the 401 in search of a place where we could be exactly who we are, with people like us, as well as with people unlike us, where diversity was the norm and the feeling of inclusion pervasive.  In other words, we wanted to hang up our hats in a truly “Canadian neighbourhood”. 

We ended up in Toronto.

No sweat, we thought.  If there is anywhere in Canada, perhaps even in the world, where we could live in a global village, it would be in Toronto.  After all, Toronto is known as the multicultural capital of the world, with almost half its population made up of visible minorities.  In our mind’s eye, we could see it clearly:  South Asians, Chinese, Greeks, Poles, Ukrainians, Vietnamese, Latinos, Blacks, Whites, Browns, everyone living side-by-side across the city.  Surely not impossible to find, right?

Wrong.

It turns out that, by and large, people of different stripes do not cohabit like one big happy family.  Rather, different groups of people tend to set up shop in different areas, attracting more of the same to those areas, resulting in ethnic ghettos.  So, for instance, if you want to find Greek Canadians, you’ll find them in significant numbers clustered on the Danforth.  Similarly, you will find Koreans on Bloor, Portuguese on Dupont and Caribbeans on Eglinton West.  Eastern Europeans predominantly settle in High Park, Italians in Woodbridge, South Asians in Mississauga and Brampton, Tamils in Scarborough and Markham, and Jews in the Bathurst and Lawrence area.  On College Street, you will find the infamous Little Italy, and there are three Little India’s across the GTA.

Our neighbourhood is a lovely little residential pocket in the midtown Toronto area.  We love our neighbours and have made many new lasting friendships.  But it was a bit jarring to realize that, in a sea of homogeneity, we stand out as one of the very few visible minority families in the area. 

This is not to say, of course, that there are no exceptions.  There are.  In fact, it is slowly changing to a certain extent in some communities, but not at the level that, considering Toronto’s great diversity, one would expect.

If it is important to see yourself reflected in politics or the media or in Boardrooms across the country, then is it any less important to see yourself reflected in your neighbourhood, where you go about living your daily life?

Back in the days when we lived in Montreal, we had friends who, like us, chose to be lawyers and doctors.  But we also had friends who chose different career paths – actors, comedians, artists.  Knowing these people added a richness to our lives, to our understanding of people for all their wonderful differences.  Seeking out homogeneity, whether cultural, linguistic, religious, professional or personal, passes up on a rare opportunity for growth that our Canadian diversity offers. 

As we contemplate our next move, we are confounded.  We could relocate to Mississauga, buy a big home for less than what we would spend in town, and be surrounded by people just like us.  There is, after all, a comfort in sameness.  But that is not what we seek.  No, what we really want is to have neighbors who trace their origins to all corners of the globe.  That’s what we really want.

But after 11 years in Toronto, the true Canadian neighbourhood still eludes us.  So do me a favour, next time you are out in your ’hood, take a look around and ask yourself, “Is this a true Canadian neighbourhood?”