Chandigarh
To continue a previous theme of peeking into the Indian social structure, let me paint you a vignette of one family’s current problems and how they may relate to Indian society.
I spent the past four days with Sonia, the woman I met on the plane and Sunny, her husband. For those of you who are reading all of these entries (100 points for you!) you’ll recall that Sonia lives six months in Canada and six in India working towards her family’s immigration papers. Sonia has a 14 month old boy, Prince, who she left in India with her mother-in-law seven months ago.
When Sonia ran up to me with a big smile and looking stunning in Indian dress and gold jewellery I had no idea what was in store for me in Chandigarh or my time with her. The first thing I asked was, “How’s Prince?” Her face clouded, then brightened as she said fine and ushered me to Sunny and the car. We drove to Sunny’s aunt’s house and as Sunny went upstairs to knock on the door, Sonia’s story gushed out. Back for almost five weeks, like me, Sonia’s mother-in-law won’t let her have her son. In the Indian tradition, their family lives all together – Sonia, Sunny and Prince, as well as Sunny’s family. Since Sonia had been away for so long Prince only knows his grandma as his mother. Upsetting enough as that is, grandma won’t let Sonia slowly take over the duties of a mother, in preparation for taking Prince back to Canada.
Sonia cries daily, has talked to her mother-in-law, Sunny and the entire family. The whole family thinks Sunny’s mom is in the wrong, but they only talk, they do nothing. As Sonia’s tears couple with her words, telling me that Prince doesn’t feel like her son, she relates how everyone tells her to wait, that soon she’ll be going with him to Canada. But she has waited eight months to be with her son and the prospect of four more is more than just daunting, it’s killing her.
I tell Sonia to talk with Sunny, sure he’ll understand. But I forget that I’ve only known them for two days, and I don’t know how they work.
Sunny fights with his mother constantly now, his loyalties are pulling him in opposite directions. I was not welcome at his troubled home, or at least Sunny and Sonia didn’t want to subject me to his mother, who would likely be polite and then say nasty things later. Instead, we drove up to Shimla and retreated into the serenity of an old British hill station.
Drinking tea and chatting with Sonia gazing at the early morning light and the Himalaya in the distance, I found I couldn’t just enjoy the peace of the mountains as Sonia shared more of her story. Sunny, she said, is now upset because Sonia has made him hate his mother, and he is impotent to do anything; obviously loving Sonia, but still tied to his mother. Sonia believes her mother-in-law sees Sunny as she raises Prince, and Sonia undesrtands her loneliness and need for the control of child rearing. To make it worse on Sonia, her mother-in-law takes good care of Prince, so she feels like she has less of a case for taking him away. (But he’s your son! I say)
Sonia waits and with passive aggressive approaches to Sunny she tries to talk to him. In the Indian family the son is king and while Sunny’s mom had no interest in Sonia’s pregnancy, once a son was born, Prince was suddenly treated as, well, a prince.
At dinner on our way back from Shimla, this time with views of the Shiwalik Hills, Sunny and Sonia drank copious amounts of liquor and Sunny turned soft and shared how he feels that Sonia takes great care of him. Like a good Indian wife she always puts herself second, does duties above and beyond anything I could imagine doing without rebelling or demanding a salary commensurate with the number of calluses acquired, sweat lost and hours spent. As Sunny related how Sonia folds his clothes and puts them out whenever he showers, I retched inside. I could imagine doing something like that on a whim, out of love, but never, ever with any kind of regularity….
As we strolled along the lake and in the rock garden at Chandigarh, back from Shimla and staying at Sonia’s family’s house while Sunny stayed at his, Sonia told me that here, if a woman says she doesn’t like something, a man can divorce her and it’s her fault. If a man
doesn’t like something, the woman changes. Or, in Sonia’s case, waits, as her cowardly husband fails daily to restore his son to his proper mother.
Sonia’s story has affected me more than anything. Already in a fateful eloped marriage of Romeo and Juliet (Sikh and Christian), Sunny and Sonia live in limbo, trapped by loyalties and decorum. Furious, I want her to rebel, kick, scream, fight, and encourage her to take Prince away. Sadly she tells me she has tried, but Sunny couldn’t handle Prince’s crying. In India families are so close and everyone relies on everyone else. So many people are stunned when I reveal I am travelling alone as a woman and that even back home I don’t live with my parents. Children are encouraged in the West to become independent. Forced to fend for themselves, many become jaded and guarded early, where in India children are taught the necessity of relying on family. In Sonia and Sunny’s case, however, they swim spinelessly in a sea of Jello, all movements an effort with no clear way out.
I have stayed now with three families in India – one in the south, one in Bombay and with Sonia and Sunny in Chandigarh. All three have been infuriating experiences for different reasons, but they all share one aspect that most infuriate me – the status and roles of women I’ve seen. I know that there are ‘liberated’ women here, but then I think of the marriage ads, where female software engineers are listed with their skin tone and caste first and occupation later. I don’t know if we truly are what we do, but at least in Sonia’s case, we are also what we do not do.
I must end with a childish, helpless sentence, because that’s how I feel about the whole thing. It all just makes me so mad.
