Gossip, Weddings, and Manipulation

Chapter 1 - My Cousin's Engagement

I flew into Toronto for my cousin’s engagement.  I knew I was going to get a lot of slack because I missed the temple ceremony in the morning, but I was going to be there in time to make the evening reception and festivities.  I hated going to these things and I would have found an excuse if it hadn’t been my own cousins wedding.  I was twenty-nine and “still not married” which is like a sin in the Indian community.  I knew what the evening would entail, lots of aunties introducing me to their eligible daughters.  I hated being paraded around and being asked the question, “When are you going to give us some good news?” The good news being that I was getting married.

I grew up in New Jersey, a huge hub for the Indian community in the U.S., and I left as soon as I got a chance.  I now lived in Boston, thank god; otherwise my own parents would have tried to drag me to every social event known to the Indian community in the hopes of me finding a wife.  Well, more so my mother would be dragging me.  Luckily, I knew how to work my dad.  All I had to say is that I had something work related and it was important to my career that I not miss work or attend some meeting and he’d be yelling at my mom in about five seconds flat to get off my case and that she should leave me alone so I could focus on my career.  If there were two things that Indian parents fell for every time it was education and career.  Nothing should interfere with those things.  And being the child of Indian parents you quickly learn how to manipulate your parents and find their Achilles heel.  And then you give them the guilt trip about how you really need to study or how you really need to be there for your job.  Because guilt trips are something Indian parents are great at.  So the only way to survive them is to give them back.  I know it’s not nice, but the apple doesn’t fall from the tree.

I got to the hotel and checked into my room and quickly got dressed.  The evening reception was going to be at the hotel so I had a little time to shower and freshen up before the event.  I took a shower got into my Indian clothes for the event and went to the bar first for a straight up scotch to help take the edge off before meeting my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and half of the Toronto Indian community.  My uncle knew almost every Indian family in Toronto, okay maybe I’m exaggerating, but he knew a lot of people.  My uncle was my dad’s brother and so it means like he was a second father to me so he was not going to be happy that I missed this morning’s ceremony.  His son, Armaan, my cousin, was the one who was getting engaged to his childhood friend Tara.  Apparently, Tara and Armaan had known each other since they were kids and had grown up together.  Their parents were good friends and it all made for such a lovely story.  Everyone was talking about how cute it was they got together and they were getting married.  It was like a Bollywood film coming to life.  Which sucked, because now everyone would be asking about him about his social life.  Armaan and he were the same age.  This evening really was going to suck.  I’m really hoping that they have the top shelf booze tonight because I’m not going to be able to handle this evening on the cheap stuff.

I paid my tab at the bar and made my way into the hall the reception was being held in.  I walked in and immediately spotted my mom and walked over to her.  “Hi mom.  How are you? You look lovely in that sari.”

“Vivek when did you get here? What took you so long? I’m so glad you’re wearing the Indian outfit I bought for you,” my mom said.

I lied and said, “Oh you know the airlines they can never land a plane on time.  Where’s dad?”

“With your uncle.  They are over by the bar.  Go and say hello and do apologize for being so late,” my mom stated sternly.

I walked over to my dad and uncle.  As soon as I approached them, I bent down to touch my uncle’s feet for his blessings and then I said, “Hi cha cha. Congratulations! I’m so happy for all of you!” I was hoping that touching his feet and asking for blessings would score me some brownie points.  It’s traditional in Indian culture to touch your elders’ feet for blessings.  It has served me well and gotten me out of lot of situations because so many of cousins and friends my age don’t do it.  The elders always love when you do something so traditional and automatically it puts you in a good light.  My uncle immediately hugged me and beamed, “I’m so glad you made it.  You’ve always been my favorite nephew.  Tonight is a great night for Armaan and it’s going to be a good night for you too.  You need a Canadian Indian girl and I’m sure we’ll find one for you tonight.”  The good news is that I didn’t get yelled at for being late – the blessing thing worked every time.  The bad news is that now even my uncle was on the marriage bandwagon.  I guess I shouldn’t complain I at least got out of one thing.  “Thanks cha cha.  I’m going to get a drink and start checking out those Canadian Indian women,” I winked as I walked away before my dad started in on it too.