Photo Credit: nickgraywfu

If you’ve never checked out the oktrends blog, you’re in for a treat. The company behind the blog, OKCupid, is an online dating site with a fun vibe and an extremely extensive, mostly young, diverse group of users. Like any other dating site, OKCupid is sitting on a virtual treasure trove of social data – but OKCupid isn’t afraid to use it. The blog’s most recent post focuses on some of the biggest cross-cultural questions out there, in fact, and uses some decent statistics to answer ‘em.

In their own words, with the typical tongue-in-cheek humor of the site:

What is it that makes a culture unique? How are whites, blacks, Asians, or whoever different from everybody else? What tastes, interests, and concepts define an ethnic group? And is there any way to make fun of other races in public and get away with it?

The majority of the post focuses on separating out short phrases and words that show up more often in one (self-identified) racial group’s profiles more than in other racial groups’ profiles. So, for example, sushi is pretty much as likely to show up in a white person’s profile as it is in a black person’s profile – but sashimi shows up in Asian people’s profiles much, much more often than it does in any other racial group’s profiles.

My first three thoughts after reading through the whole article were:

1. Man, Aditya is not going to shut up about the Indian profiles’ average writing level any time soon.
2. No wonder I’m attracted to Asian dudes – Calvin & Hobbes is a statistically distinct “like” for them!
3. Why isn’t cricket in an even bigger font for Indian dudes?

That last refers to, of course, the statistically distinct “likes”/phrases in Indian guys’ profiles. You really aren’t going to be surprised by this list, I suspect:

I’m not going to spoil the whole post for you – go over to oktrends to find out what Indian women (or white women), on average, like, or the best way to tell the difference between black men & white men’s likes, or why you should always laugh at a latio’s jokes. And remember, guys, that it’s all meant with a bit of fun.

Photo Credit: A Mother’s Heart Photography

The autumn season is upon us here in Virginia – the leaves have turned bright yellow, orange, red, and cover our yard and front walk in a multicolored carpet.

All I can think is that I’m so glad I don’t live in Germany anymore.

Germans, you see, are expected by their neighbors to clear the fallen leaves from the sidewalk in front of their house. And the gutters. And the front yard. The driveway, if there is one. Daily. Or, at least, that was the expectation in the hamlet I lived at in Northern Germany for the year I was working as an au pair. During that fall, though, I thought of my title as less “Au Pair Extraordinaire” and more as “Girl Chasing After Leaves Every. Freaking. Day. (Extraordinaire)”. I swept up a lot of leaves,  secretly thinking the social rule doof (stupid or daft). Still, it was the custom of the land. The neighbors would have thought it incredibly rude if the family I was working for didn’t keep the area in the front of their house clean of leaves as much as possible – nearly as rude as running the loud lawnmower or vacuum on a Sunday, when neighbors nearby are meant to be relaxing together in quiet harmony, like all German families. The shops close on Sundays, in fact, to enforce this family bonding time (or so I was told).

Social customs regarding what is and isn’t polite behavior is such an odd thing – especially when they aren’t your culture’s customs, eh? Learning about other cultures’ understanding of “correct” social interaction makes one realize just how constructed – and arbitrary – many social rules are.

Animals

Some of the fiercest and most disagreeable animals are highly honoured in India.

The monkey is counted as a god; the consequence is, that the monkeys, finding they are treated with respect, grow very bold, and are continually scrambling upon the roofs of the houses. In one place there is a garden where monkeys riot about at their pleasure, for all in that garden is for them alone, the delicious fruits, the cool fountains, the shady bowers, all are for the worthless, mischievous monkeys.

But if it be strange for men to worship monkeys, is it not stranger still to worship snakes and serpents? Yet there is a temple in India where serpents crawl about at their pleasure, where they are waited upon by priests, and fed with fruits and every dainty. How much delighted must the old serpent be with this worship!

Kites also, those fierce birds, are worshiped. There is meat sold in shops on purpose for them; and it is bought and thrown up in the air to the great greedy creatures.

There are splendid peacocks flying about in the woods, but the Hindoos do not worship them; they shoot and eat them.

Of all the animals in India there is none which terrifies man so much as the tiger. The Bengal tiger is a fine and fierce beast. Woe to the man or woman on whom he springs! What then do you think must become of the man who falls into his den? These dens are generally hid in jungles, which are places covered with trees, and overgrown with shrubs and tall grass.

A gentleman was once walking through a jungle, when he felt himself sinking into the ground, while a cloud of dust blinded his eyes. Soon he heard a low growling noise. He fancied that he had sunk into a den, and so he had. Beside him lay some little tigers, too young indeed to hurt him; but these tigers had a mother, and she could not be far off, though she was not in the den when the stranger fell in. The astonished man felt there was no time to be lost, for the tigress, he knew, would soon return to her cubs. How could he prepare to meet her? He had neither gun nor sword, nor even stick in his hand. But a thought came into his head. Snatching a silk handkerchief from his neck, and taking another from his pocket, he bound them tightly round his arm up to his elbow; and thus prepared to meet his enemy. She soon appeared, crouching on the ground, and then with a spring leaped upon the stranger. At the same moment the brave man thrust his arm between her open jaws, and seizing hold of her rough tongue, twisted it backwards and forwards with all his might. The beast was now unable to close her mouth, and to bite with her sharp fangs; but she could scratch with her sharp claws; and scratch she did, till the clothes were torn off the man’s body, and the flesh from his bones. But the brave man would not loose his hold; and the tigress was tired out first: alarmed,—with a sudden start backward, she jerked her tongue out of the man’s hand, and rushed out of the den and out of the jungle.

How glad was the man to escape from a horrible fate! his body was faint and bleeding; but his life was preserved, and his heart overflowed with gratitude to God for his wonderful deliverance. He who delivered Daniel from the lion’s den delivered him from the tiger’s den. The tiger’s mouth, indeed, had not been shut; but his open mouth had not been suffered to devour the Lord’s servant.

The Thugs

There is a set of people in India more dangerous than wild beasts. They are called Thugs, that is, deceivers; and well do they deserve the name, for their whole employment is to deceive that they may destroy. Yet they are not ashamed of their wickedness; for they worship the goddess Kalee, and they know that she delights in blood. Before they set out on one of their cruel journeys, they bow down before the image of Kalee, and they ask her to bless the shovel and the cloth that they hold in their hands.

What are they for?

The cloth is to strangle poor travelers, and the shovel to dig their graves.

A Hindoo family were once traveling when they overtook three men on the way. These men seemed very civil and obliging; and they soon got acquainted with the family, and accompanied them on their journey. Who were these men? Alas! they were Thugs. It was very foolish of the family to be so ready to go with strangers. At last they came up to three other men, who were sitting under the shade of a tree, eating sugared rice. These men also were Thugs; and they had agreed with the other Thugs to help them in their wicked plans. But the family thought they were kind and friendly men, and consented to sit down with them in the shade, end to partake of their food. They did not know that with the rice was mixed a sort of drug to cause people to fall asleep. The family ate and fell asleep: and when they were asleep, the Thugs strangled them all with their cloths,—the father, the mother, and the five young people,—and then with their shovels they dug their graves. But before they buried them they stripped them of their garments and their jewels; for it was to get their precious spoils they had committed these dreadful murders. The Thugs went afterwards to the priests of Kalee to receive a blessing, and they rewarded the priests by giving them some of their stolen treasures.

But, after all, these wicked men did not escape punishment; for the English governors heard of their crimes, and caught them, and brought them to justice. Then these murderers confessed the wicked deed just related: but this was not their only crime; for it had been the business of their lives to rob and to destroy.

Do not these Thugs resemble him who is always walking about seeking whom he may devour? Only he destroys the soul as well as the body. He is the great Deceiver, and the great Destroyer. None but God can keep us from falling into his power: therefore we pray, ” Deliver us from evil,” or from the evil one.

The Hindoo Women

It is a miserable thing to be a Hindoo lady. While she is a very little girl, she is allowed to play about, but when she comes to be ten or twelve years, she is shut up in the back rooms of the house till she is married; and when she is married she is still shut up. She may indeed walk in the garden at the back of the house, but nowhere else.

Hindoo ladies are not taught even those trifling accomplishments which Chinese ladies learn; they can neither paint, nor play music; much less can they read or write. They amuses themselves by putting on their ornaments, or by making curries and sweetmeats to please their husbands: but most of their time they spend in idleness, sauntering about and chattering nonsense. As rich Hindoos have several wives, the ladies are not alone; and being so much together, they quarrel a great deal.

Some English ladies once visited the house of a rich Hindoo. They were led into the court at the back of the house, and shown into a little chamber. One by one some women came in, all looking very shy and afraid to speak; yet dressed very fine in muslin sarees, worked with gold and silver flowers, and they were adorned with pearls and diamonds. At last they ventured to admire the clothes of their visitors, and even to touch them. Then they asked the English ladies to come and see their jewels; and they took them into a little dark chamber with gratings for windows, and displayed their treasures. They talked very loud, and all together and so foolishly, that the ladies reproved them. The poor creatures replied, “We should like to learn to read and work like the English ladies; but we have nothing to do, and so we are accustomed to be idle, and to talk foolishly. Do come again, and bring us books, and pictures, and dolls.”

You see what useless, wearisome lives the Hindoo ladies lead. Now hear what hard and wretched lives the poor women lead. The wife of a poor man rises from her mat before it is day, and by the light of a lamp spins cotton for the family clothing. Next she feeds the children, and sweeps the house and yard, and cleans the brass and stone vessels. Then she washes the rice, bruises, and boils it. By this time it is ten o’clock, when she goes with some other women to bathe in the river, or if there be no river near, in a great tank of rain-water. While there, she often makes a clay image of her god, and worships it with prayers, and bowings, and offerings of fruit and flowers, for nearly an hour. On her return home she prepares the curry for dinner: her kitchen is a clay furnace in the yard, and there she boils the rice. When dinner is ready, she dares not sit down with her husband to eat it: no, she places it respectfully before his mat, and then retires to the yard. Her little boys eat with their father; but her little girls dine with her upon the food that is left.

It is not the busy life she leads that makes a poor woman unhappy: it is the ill-treatment she endures. A kind word is seldom spoken to her: but a hard blow is often given. Her own boys are encouraged to insult her because she is only a woman. She is taught to worship her husband as a god, however bad he may be. There is a proverb which shows how much women are despised in India. ” How can you place the black rice-pot beside the golden spice-box!” By the rice-box a woman is meant: by the spice-box a man: and the meaning of the proverb is that a wife is unworthy to sit at the same table with her husband.

In this manner a wife is treated: a widow is still more despised. However young she may be, she is not allowed to marry again; but is obliged to live in her father’s house, or (if she has no father) in her brother’s house, to do the hardest work, and never to eat more than one meal a day, and that meal of the coarsest food. Widows used to burn themselves in a great fire with their husbands’ dead bodies; but the English government has forbidden them to do so any more; but their hard-hearted relations make them as miserable as possible.

Gori Rajkumari

You might have run across auroracoda a few times in the comments here – she’s made some really great points, most recently in the comments on the Of Love and Race post. Well, it looks like she’s started her own blog, and her most recent post, Communication is key, is quite insightful:

The very first rule…communication. Just because your love is from another country doesn’t mean that they are from another world. We all want the same thing and really, we all share commonality no matter where we were born. If you were dating someone from the US, you wouldn’t just take a back seat to your relationship and wait for them to tell you what’s going on would you? … If you’re in a secure and mature relationship, you should both feel comfortable enough to talk to each other about potentially uncomfortable topics.

Memoirs of a White Chinese Daughter-in-law

The title – and picture of her lovely family – makes the subject of this blog pretty clear. I’ve really enjoyed going through the archives of this blog, reading the story of Teresa’s life in Taiwan. She moved to the island in 1982 – at the time she only a knew a few words of Mandarin! She actually hasn’t gotten to the point of the story where she meets her now-husband (at least, that’s where I hope the story is goin), but I’ve been learning quite a bit of cool things about old-school Taiwan – and realizing how easy I have it in regards to language. I just needing to learn Hindi and Bengali – she had to learn a tonal language! My favorite post so far is on the low-tech lifestyle she needed to adopt while in Taiwan (the description of the bathrooms there remind me of Indian bathrooms quite a bit):

Finally, we asked one of our English-speaking friends that last night before school started. It was an emergency because we needed clean clothes for school the next day. Boy, did we get an earful. The English speakers all descended on our apartment and all our roommates joined in the show. The whole female population of the student center apartments was going to teach the simple-minded Americans how to wash clothes.

neoIndian

This blog’s snarky tone is a breath of fresh air in the Indian blogosphere – and somehow the third person pronouncements fit just right. The author is an Indian-American recently moved to the homeland. His posts on the good, the bad, and the ugly of India are witty, fun, and quite insightful, especially for those of us considering an eventual move to India. He’s got a great resource post on the nitty-gritty of getting life going in India, but I think the post called The secret healing powers of Bangalore’s traffic gives a better idea of the general writing style:

In the US, Mrs. Neo shook her head knowingly and disapprovingly at every wrong turn, narrowly missed green light or wrong freeway exit. She looked triumphant when the Neo family arrived late after following Neo’s choice of routes (never mind the fact that the Neo family was late because they left late).

In Bangalore, Mrs. Neo has quickly learned that if she keeps gasping and sighing for every near-miss, she will hyperventilate faster than a tragically over-enthusiastic Art of Living newbie. (True story: Neo got thrown out of a Business Art of Living “training program” because he asked the teacher “So how come God created humans with such poor breathing technique?”)

Intercultural Talk

Intercultural Talk is written by a woman in an intercultural relationship, but as a marketing professional in the field of cross-cultural communication, it’s not your typical “relationship” blog.  While I appreciate the marketing-oriented posts, I think my favorite posts are personal stories from her life, especially when she’s writing about her experiences as a mother. Here’s a bit from a good, recent post, entitled Intercultural Bridges: Explaining the Chinese New Year in English to Lithuanians:

I took Dillon and one of his classmates to the Chinese New Year parade in Chicago’s Chinatown yesterday.  You have to love culture in an urban environment:  there were dragons and lion dancers and colorful floats from various Asian-American Chambers of Commerce, but also the Irish Shamrock Rovers and marching bands and drill teams from a few area high schools, comprised of mostly African-American students.  What I enjoyed most about the day as we dined at a Chinese restaurant, was my Brazilian/Jewish 7 year old explaining to the out of town visitor from Lithuania at the table next to us, the significance of his brightly colored shirt (good luck) and the red envelopes (to give gifts of money, in even numbers), to the Chinese New Year.

Bengali Wife

Another blog by a white woman in an intercultural marriage with an Indian man – we’ll soon be overrunning the world! BengaliWife has been a commenter here for a little while, and she’s recently started a blog. She has a great story about her rather unusual wedding, but I don’t want to spoil it, so I’ll highlight a post from her on cross-cultural communication. Rest assured, though, it has a decidedly different take on the issue from auroracoda’s! The video had both Adiya and I cracking up, because, well, we’re immature.

Another glitch is language. He is wired to think in Bengali and then translates it into English so sometimes what I say can get lost in translation. Sometimes I can just look at him and see the wheels turning in his brain while he is translating from Bengali to English. It is quite cute actually.

I found this hilarious example of what happens when communication between two intercultural roommates goes awry. Watch and enjoy.

Communicating with ES2007S friends

Finally, here’s a link that’s a bit of a cheat – not because it isn’t intercultural in nature, but because I’m actually linking to a ring of blogs. From what I’ve been able to gather, there’s an interracial group of Singaporean college students taking a college communication class who have been required by their professor to write about their communication experiences on blogs. Many of the posts relate to intercultural experiences these students have had growing up in a very diverse area where race relations are not always the best ever. I’ve linked to one of my favorite stories by Jing Yang, but I encourage you to check out her blog roll when you have a chance and see what her classmates are saying as well.

I think it is almost impossible to talk about culture without touching on the issue of religion. These two concepts cannot be separated as religious beliefs play a very important part in shaping cultural practices. This naturally brought me to think about Singapore, where we have the unique scene of people from different religious and cultural backgrounds living amicably together. Apart from sharing a fundamentally similar pursuit in life , I feel that this wouldn’t have been possible if Singaporeans were not sensitive to each other’s cultural differences.

I’ll leave off here, though I do have loads more of links to share. If I haven’t mentioned your blog, don’t dispare – feel free to talk it up in the comments, and do know that it wasn’t an intentional snubbing in any way – I just need to get to bed before I get sick again!

I’d also love to hear about any blogs you guys read that are related (peripherally or otherwise) to the sort of things we discuss here. My rss reader is a bit overflowing, but I can always manage to fit in another good blog or two.

We plan, and God laughs. I think it was when the third firetruck passed me, sirens blaring, and traffic ground to a complete standstill that I realized I would not be reaching IKEA at 1300 hours. There I sat, stalled on the highway, surveying the baking asphalt meadows around. To pass the time, I started observing the cooperation of the other drivers in responding to the emergency vehicles and the on-going traffic jam, and thinking about how other car cultures I’m familiar with cooperate in their own ways.

Americans: when the going gets tough, we get out of the way

I’ve driven in pretty much every area of the US – West Coast, Midwest, South, East – and one thing that never fails to amaze me is how good American drivers are at clearing a path for emergency vehicles to get through. The highway I was traveling on yesterday had what looked like a 3 or 4 car pileup – all the lanes but one were completely blocked. Traffic was already moving slow prior to the accident, and the road had more than its fair share of idiots zigzagging to gain a few car-lengths advantage, or refusing to alternate when lanes were merging. Idiots on the road always worry me, but particularly so when I’m driving an unfamiliar van with massive blind spots.

Yet, when the first fire truck came by on the left shoulder the entire left lane cleared out to make room for it – and all the other lanes made room for them. And the same thing happened when the second truck came, the two ambulances, and then the final firetruck. Drivers who wouldn’t allow others an inch in their lanes prior to the alarms did whatever they could to make space. I’m not sure how this norm to get out of the way gets hammered into the admittedly thick heads of American drivers (road rage, anyone?), but somehow it does. In fact, I didn’t even notice it enough to remark upon until I’d traveled to a few developing countries where road rules and norms haven’t quite been established yet – people don’t want to block emergency vehicles, but there’s no agreed upon response to sirens in the distance. But that’s not to say that drivers in developing countries don’t have their own ways of cooperating with each other.

Indians: always aware of where everyone is

Traveling on roads in India can be a worrying – perhaps even terrifying – experience to those who aren’t used to it. I was certainly shocked, even though I intellectually knew what to expect. For those of you who haven’t had the chance to fear for your lives in India, think of the bumper car ride at your county fair except at the last second there’s no bump. Or, try checking out the video below, that perfectly reflects my experiences in Bombay & Calcutta (except with 1/3 as many cars):

Yes, that’s really what it’s like. Except more cars, rickshaws, trucks, and motorcycles & scooters, and occasionally animals.

However, did you notice how aware the drivers were of where the other vehicles were – at least the ones in front of them? I wouldn’t last a day driving in an Indian city without getting into at least one accident! That’s not because I’m a bad driver – really – but because I’m just not used to needing to be on top of the situation like that at every moment. I bet most Americans would have trouble surviving on India’s roads – they aren’t used to the give and take of Indian traffic patterns. Or the lack of, you know, people following lanes and traffic lights and stuff. Despite these things, Indians have a system of cooperation on their roads that works for them. I don’t think it’s the most efficient system – did you see how slow all of the vehicles were traveling in the video? – so I think it’d be a good idea for India to eventually adopt road rules & norms that are more similar to the Western world’s to ease congestion.

Of course, sometimes the complete disregard Indians show towards rules, such as lane lines in the cities is a good thing, given Indian road design. A few blocks away from the house of Didi, my sister-in-law, was this gem – possibly my favorite road scene in Bombay:

Yes, yes, I know, I can work wonders in Microsoft Paint. If you write me very nicely I might be willing to send you a signed copy of my masterpiece, Bombay Road. In case you can’t get the details from the impressionistic work (inspired by the blurry photos I took), the blobs with four black dots are cars, three are rickshaws, and two are scooters/motorcycles. Vehicle volume suggests a mid-afternoon setting. There’s a divider in the middle, which had some lovely bushes and a massive tree (the green blob dead center). The lane lines, which were quite fresh, didn’t account for the tree. Let’s hope the red rickshaw and green car don’t care too much about sticking in their current lane.

Surprisingly, the other major culture I know about is occacsionally willing to disregard lanes…

Germans: the best drivers I’ve seen

Of the nine months I lived in the country, I can’t recall one time I saw what I would characterize as “bad driving.” Now, that could just be a selection bias – I spent most of my time in a small town and rural area, where the traffic was light. But I imagine that the strict requirements for getting a license in Germany – long hours behind the wheel with a professional instructor, difficult written exam, stringent driving exam, heavy fees – results in better-than-the-American-average drivers. Maybe not by a lot, but probably some.

These requirements, I think, end up producing drivers that are a good combination of American & Indian drivers – they’re good at following the rules of the road (in my experience much better than Americans), but have the awareness of their surroundings similar to the Indian drivers I’ve seen. This combination, though, leads to some driving behaviors that I think would be suicide in other countries. Witness the next amazing Gori masterpiece, inspired by the classic arcade game Frogger: German Road.

If there exists a straight stretch of a road with only one lane in each direction – and decent shoulders – German drivers will spontaneously work together to create a middle lane for either side to use as a passing lane. The first time I was in a car & saw this behavior – on a highway traveling at 90 km, no less – I freaked. With both sides on the shoulder as far as they could go, there were still only inches between them and the cars passing in the middle. If the drivers in the middle weren’t careful, of course, they could have a head-on collision when two cars traveling in opposite directions tried to pass simultaneous. One mistake by any of the cars, and an accident was almost certain.

And yet, I lived to tell the tale. And Germans continue to cooperate to create dangerous situations just so they can pass each other and go a bit faster. As do Americans, with their weaving in and out of traffic. And Indians with their “whatever works” rules. *grin* I suppose the lesson we can all draw from this is that, really, people, the world over, like to get where they’re going.

I eventually got where I was going too, and pulled up to IKEA only a couple of hours behind schedule. And we finally have our bed. (And another bed for the guest room. And a dining table. And chairs. And other stuff. Let’s not discuss my IKEA addiction, please.)

Igniting the fear and fascination of city dwellers, a cougar recently turned up roaming around my highly metropolitan area. The cat was a fairly big dude, about 5 feet in length 150lbs, and eventually made its way into the tiny backyard of a resident who described seeing the animal roam by his window as “surreal.” When the police came they tried to contain the beast, but when it lunged at a policeman it was shot and killed. Turns out, shooting the cougar was really the only option given how ill fitted the city is for large, wild animals. The cougar could have killed someone, and there was no easy access to vets or tranquilizers to entertain any other safe idea. This is an example of an ecotone: when two different ecosystems collide and cause tension. The cougar and the city dwellers were just doing what they knew to survive, unfortunately both could not survive together.

Fortunately, I made it out of my first Indian wedding alive, and though my experience isn’t as dramatic as the poor cougar’s fate, I certainly felt out of my element. After having traveled plenty of strange places, visiting Buddhist Mongolian homes, sleeping in $3 hostels, and not to mention my general love for Indian culture, one would think I could handle any kind of situation, any kind of pressure… right? In almost any other contexts and as a seasoned, brave explorer, I think I would have found The Indian Wedding a smörgåsbord of fascination and wonder. However, let me tell you, The Indian Wedding is a much different experience when you are dating one of their own.

Hey, this is a little bit… different!

First of all, I learned that people don’t typically bring dates to Indian wedding unless they are engaged or married to them. It’s just the way it is. Of course, I learned this after the fact and wondered if I was sort of scandalous or irreverent in some way by being R’s date. As I’m sure many of you know, dating is beyond the Traditional Indian periphery, and can be acknowledged as frivolous and even sometimes disrespectful towards the community. Even so, R was bold enough to bring me and really showed a lot of bravery and respect towards our relationship in doing so. Nonetheless, my R was not used to having a “date.” That’s number one.

Number two, it is typical for the ladies and the men to sort of have separate shin-digs throughout the ceremony/reception. So it was typical when R left to go hang out with the guys for 30-45 minutes and me in the company of the Indian gals (who I hardly knew). I couldn’t really understand why he was doing this because as a “date” at weddings I was under the impression that you…hang out with your “date.” So this dynamic, more specific to Indian weddings, sort of left me scratching my head a few times when R disappeared again. I finally told him, mildly exasperated, “Hey! If you’re going to bring me to these things, you have to hang out with me!”

I think this point kind of hints at differences typical of individualist versus collectivist mindsets. At “American” weddings you and your date, fiancé, or spouse usually kind of hang out together throughout the event. There might be times when you and your date go off and talk to others, but it’s usually not for the entire evening. Even though R left on and off at the Indian Wedding/Reception, he was probably the most attentive of the Indian guys to their “dates.” Indian weddings seem to be all about the community, the culture as a whole, and not so much coupling. At the reception, R even picked up a little wandering Indian kid who he didn’t know. When the family saw, they didn’t bat an eyelash and in fact, giggled. R of course eventually brought the little guy back. From the American weddings I’ve been at, most people are pretty vigilant about sticking their kids with who they know. An American might say, “Oh it’s dangerous and unsafe to let your kids wander!” But an Indian might roll their eyes and say, “Please, there is no harm, the kid is having fun, and we all take care of each other here.” It took me a bit to wrap my more individualist prone mind around these concepts.

As far as the sari I wore, the food I ate, and the incredible ceremonial aspects of the wedding itself, I was very comfortable throughout and immensely enjoyed myself. The length of the wedding (about 3.5 hours), all the getting ready, changing outfits for the reception, and the length of the reception rituals did get a little daunting and overwhelming at times. However, I was able to roll pretty well in my typical laid-back form through all those things.

The challenge of being out of my element

The part that puzzled and sort of challenged me most about The Indian Wedding is feeling disconnected from R and experiencing him in a dramatically different way than what I have grown used to. I was able to understand some of this because I knew he was nervous to bring a “date” (his first to an Indian wedding!), anxious about a family member meeting me, and I later realized how the Indian boy/girl camps work at these things. But I wasn’t used to him being so serious, running around and fulfilling needs of The Village as they arose (and inevitably will). It’s not that I was necessarily upset about seeing R as this different, distant person I usually know so intimately and well, I just felt ruffled, perplexed, and a bit out of my element with the whole production…just like the cougar in the backyard.

I didn’t realize these things until a day or two after the wedding…I knew it felt intense, new, and very different to me but I couldn’t pinpoint why right away. Usually I roll with ease in new and challenging situations, and often thrive in them, but it felt very different, and even a little anxiety provoking, to really be on the inside of it. Apart from a few quizzical comments, I didn’t get huffy or upset with R throughout the ceremonies. I tried to let my thoughts marinate and was able to revisit these issues with him a few days later.

R said he never wants me to feel disconnected from him, but stressed there are certain protocols at Indian weddings. Interestingly, he commented that he feels out of place at “American” weddings often being the odd man out…I suppose I got somewhat of a dose of my culture’s own medicine the day of the wedding, too. R and I wonder if maybe when we live in the same city (finally after a year and a half!) and can spend lots of time together, Indian community shin-digs won’t be so intrusive on our time together. I know this was just one instance, one event but I can’t help but wonder if R will always turn into this person I don’t know at the Indian gatherings, someone whose Indianness actually feels like a barrier rather than a source of admiration and intrigue.

Compromises and needs

The way I went about working through these fears is sharing my concerns with R and making a few of my Western needs clear. First, is that eventually (maybe it won’t happen until we are “official” in his parents eyes—I’m willing to wait) he can hold my hand and put his arm around me in public—at least when we are at functions in the States. Second, like I said to him at the reception, he’s going to have to continue to try and be more of a “date” even at Indian weddings and events—even if he’s around family. And I lastly, because of our occasionally different East/West mindsets, we’re really going to have to continue to work out these sorts of ongoing differences in terms of hanging out mostly with his family and friends. Sometimes I feel a little scared about it, like the misplaced cougar delving deep into something she doesn’t know, but when I think about what I have with R, and how receptive he is to my concerns, the risks really do seem worth it.

Take home lesson: Learn the framework—fight the urge to judge, get upset and say fiery things. If you’re new to Indian culture it’s going to take a while to learn the structure of ceremonies and the roles that are expected of people. Fight to take these things personally. Ask your partner to explain things, like Dr. Evil says, “Need the info!” After you have the info and understand the frameworks as they are (without judging them—cause you sure aint gonna change ‘em!), think about how you can fit into it in a way that is satisfactory to you. So think about your needs, think about what you can sacrifice and what you simply cannot. Communicate these things to your partner . . . and well . . . keep plugging along. You’re not alone.

Please excuse the blurriness of the above video – Aditya was filming me on the sly, pretending to take pictures of the massive Hindu temple we were visiting. He kept telling me to wave at the children, but at the time I was worried about their little arms falling off – they’d been waving at me nonstop for the past five minutes! Their teachers were a bit frantic, too, as my appearance had messed up the class picture.

If you’re white and traveling through India, you might occasionally cause this kind of commotion. Why? Because in India being white means you’re automatically a rock star, particularly in the more rural areas. A white person with long blond hair? A rock legend. Prepare to be mobbed.

It’s all meant in a good way, though***. Most of the time people are just excited to see a real, live white person, and maybe try out their English. Combine this unabashedly friendly attitude with a culture where it’s not considered rude to stare, and you get a trip where you’re the center of attention all day long. Immediately prior to the schoolchildren excitement, for example, I had posed in two pictures with a South Indian family – one with the kids, one with all the ladies of the family. I still wonder what the photo captions say in their family album.

Of course, it’s not just Indians who act this way around people who look differently. Somewhere there exists a white family with an album of their family trip to Niagara Falls. And in that album is a photograph of the family posing with a very lovely woman in a brightly colored sari. My mother-in-law is a rock star too. That’s just how we roll in this family.

***By “it all”, I’m referring to the attention you get from everyday people, not the attention you get from beggars, scammers, shop owners, and all the other people trying to get money from a white (aka rich) person. For more information about avoiding this sort of problem, try checking out the very helpful travel wiki on India. Don’t let the scammers keep you from meeting all the people who are just genuinely curious about you, though!

While a number of problems can arise from having two or more cultures operating in the same house, today’s focus is on the unadulterated good things that come from sharing a culture. The things that will remain perfect in my mind forever. Even if Aditya were to run off the squirrel that hangs out near the bedroom window (they were eying each other this morning) and break my heart, or declare a hatred for IKEA (and break my heart), I will appreciate our time together because of these three things:

Thums Up, as you can tell from the picture, is a cola. But it is not any cola – no, it is the pinnacle of colas. On first sip, a Coca-Cola drinker will just notice a slightly “off” taste – sort of like store-brand coke. But then the spiciness hits. Not spicy in terms of hotness, but zing, pizzazz, oomph. As the brand’s slogan goes, “thums up… taste the thunder!” It’s utterly addictive, particularly when consumed with food that has its own pizzazz. Or, you know, delicious rum – or so I’m told. Thums Up can be found in some South Asian groceries, although we still haven’t located a place in the DC area that sells it. (It’s been a sad, fruitless search – cue the world’s smallest violin.) There are plenty of Indian groceries in California that carry it, and some in New York as well.

Maggi is actually a brand name, not a particular product. But in our household “Maggi” always refers to the delicious, ramen-esque noodles that is a healthy (or so the packet says) meal any time of the day. It’s the seasoning packets that really take it beyond any other bag of noodles – the best flavors are curry and masala. Preparation also matters – so much so, in fact, that I’ll be posting on how to properly make Maggi in a day or two. (Also, most packets you can find in the US only have directions in Hindi or Bengali.) Luckily for Americans nation-wide, it seems every South Asian grocery carries an endless stock of Maggi. True, they completely rip you off – $1 or more per packet, when it costs maybe ten cents in India. It’s still a small price to pay for true love.

Lastly, we have Coffy Bite. Ah, Coffy Bite – a piece of candy combining the tastes of coffee and toffee into a wondrous whole. Everyone I’ve shared this treat with has loved it, yet the candy remains so unknown in the Western world that there is no wikipedia entry for it. This is a tragedy. Also tragic: we are down to two coffy bites in the house. TWO! We started with a 500g bag in January, and have been rationing carefully since, only offering it to true bosom friends. Aditya’s parents will resupply us when they visit the US this summer, but May is a long way off, and you just can’t find Coffy Bite in the US. I’ve tried. A lot.

I love this candy so much that when Aditya proposed to me he gave me a ring and a bag of Coffy Bite that he had kept hidden as a package deal – if I wanted one, I had to accept the other. I believe this was his way of insuring against a rejected suit. He’s a smart boy like that.

Last Christmas, exactly a year and four days after our civil ceremony in the US, Aditya and I had our Hindu wedding in India. The date was picked for a combination of reasons: it was auspicious according to the astrologer Maa (Aditya’s mother) consulted; the weather in Calcutta would be near perfect for anyone not from Calcutta; and, most importantly, the groom and I could get time off of our jobs in D.C. to fly halfway around the world.

Of course, the timing also meant that I couldn’t spend the holidays with my culturally-Christian family in California, exchanging gift cards (Best Buy for Aditya, Borders for me), and watching various younger cousins, nieces, and nephews play with the cardboard boxes their toys came in. Still, I consented to go to India. We get out to the West Coast every season anyways, and I was told there’d be presents for me in India. (Sure, it also meant I could finally meet Aditya’s sister and his extended family, perform important Hindu marriage rites, see his homeland, etc, etc, whatever – today’s focus is on presents.)

Shall I start with the reasons why Indian wedding gifts are excellent?

Number One:

Indian weddings can last several days and have over a thousand guests – tiring, yes, but it also means days getting gifts. Maa and Baba (Aditya’s father) took pity on their shy daughter-in-law, and chose a ceremony that would only require me to be on center stage for a couple of hours with a few hundred guests looking on. The day after the wedding – Boxing Day for those keeping count – we had a modest reception, at least by Indian standards. We ended up receiving gifts for about four days in a row: wedding items in the days before the ceremony from family members, then gifts from guests after the wedding ceremony and during the entire reception. And our wedding was on the short side!

Number Two:

The guests actually give the gifts. Instead of placing all of the presents on a table off to the side, as is common in American weddings, Indians walk up to the bride and groom to hand them their gift. For better crowd control, there is typically a designated area where the bride and groom will be waiting to meet their wedding guests. For instance, Aditya and I had proper thrones:

While I was not thrilled to remain the complete center of attention for so many more hours after the wedding ceremony (see how my eyes are glazing over in fear and jetlag in the photo?), I do think that the throne idea is a good one. We were able to meet everyone at the wedding, exchange at least few words, and get a quick picture in. And because guests came up to us in small groups I could be briefed on who they were and how to greet them by Maa or Aditya.

Number Three:

Money is a seen as a perfectly acceptable gift. In fact, you can even explicitly tell guests ahead of time that money is preferable, as Maa did for us since luggage space is always tight. So practical! As an economist I can also appreciate that giving money tends to decrease the deadweight loss that results from getting a present that cost more than you value it at. (Of course, the story on deadweight loss is more complicated than the rediff article makes it out to be). Money gifts in India are typically given in envelopes made for occasion. A few we kept are pictured above. Many envelopes, although none shown above, come with a place on the front to glue a one Rupee coin, since it’s considered inauspicious to give money in even denominations.

Number Four:

Here’s the one that sends Indian gift-giving out of the ballpark (a right proper sixer for all you cricket fans): thank you cards are not required or expected in any way! Since the guests actually handed the gifts to us (mainly to me, actually), we were able to thank them on the spot. And, really, that’s much more personal than a barely-legible card produced in a marathon afternoon of note writing.

Lastly, Number Five:

Indians just pick really good gifts – at least for me! Except for a few culturally ill-informed pieces, which I’ll discuss in a future post, all of the (non-money) gifts we received were either beautiful pieces of artwork for the house, or lovely saris, shawls, or jewelry for me. Gorgeous, gorgeous stuff, that I’m still ooohing over – especially since we’ve finally got everything unpacked and arranged around the house.

It was actually Aditya who got the bad hand as far as presents go – he missed out on the Christmas gift card craziness with my family, but was given only one gift – a very nice watch – meant for him at the wedding. Well, he also received a money envelope from one Uncle who was a close friend of Aditya’s father. Uncle’s years had brought him plenty of wedding experience, and perhaps a little clairvoyance: “This envelope is for you, Aditya, since all the other things will be for Gori… from now on.” Truer words were never spoken – being a daughter-in-law in Aditya’s family is a pretty sweet deal.

…of course, what Uncle didn’t know that there’s a Best Buy quite close to our house, and a lack of Christmas gift cards didn’t keep Aditya from purchasing a “wedding gift” or two for himself. So I guess we’re all winners in the end, at least as far as presents go. Except for those poor suckers American newlyweds writing thank you notes. Next time have an Indian wedding!