Retired IG of police Krishnamurthy walked home after his session at the Gymnasium.
The temple bell rang, indicating the morning Deep Aradhana time. His spacious apartment in a skyrise was opposite one of the famous temples in a South-Indian-dominated locality in the heart of Mumbai city.
Krishnamurthy entered the house, feeling the heavy weight of the impending emotional storm. He braced himself for the drama that was sure to unfold.
As anticipated, the kitchen did not reverberate with the constant chat between his octogenarian mother, whom people addressed as Kamakshi Paati, and his wife, Hemavathi.
Krishnamurthy considered himself lucky that his mother and his wife got along very well for the past thirty-four years, defying the commonly accepted myth that mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law never get along.
However, he felt that his wife could have acted with prudence to handle a matter as delicate as the one the household was going to face today. Krishnamurthy felt Hemavathi could have judicially defied his mother at least once for peace to reign in the house.
Kamakshi Paati was a lady of old-school thoughts. Krishnamurthy was disturbed that Hemavathi also got along with her mother-in-law to play spoiled sport today. He had expected his wife to come out of grumpiness, but she staunchly decided to follow her mother-in-law’s views.
Mr. Krishnamurthy peeked into the kitchen. His elder daughter-in-law, Veena, was tempering the chutney while the idlis steamed in the cooker, releasing an aroma.
“The duo still upset?” Krishnamurthy quipped, eliciting a worried look on Veena’s face.
“They both are in Paati’s room, refusing to come out. The flight will land anytime now. Mahesh has gone to the airport to pick up Mohan and Alisha. Please coax Paati and Amma to let go of their stubbornness and be cordial,” Krishnamurthy’s elder daughter-in-law implored, the tension in her voice palpable.
“And where are Kirtana and Shruti?” The retired IG looked around for his two daughters.
“Kirtana was here helping me make the sambhar. She went to get dressed, and Shruti is cleaning the room for the newlywed couple.”
Krishnamurthy nodded and walked towards his mother’s room.
“Let me try talking to Hemavathi first. I’ll have to deal diplomatically with Amma,” Krishnamurthy murmured as he entered the room.
“What is this, Hemu?” Krishnamurthy asked his wife, sitting sullenly on the reclining chair while his mother closed her eyes and chanted something.
“I fail to understand why you are already looking at the new bride as an enemy. Remember, she is our daughter-in-law like Veena and deserves to get treated like our daughter.”
Hemavathi sprang from her chair and thundered, and Kamakshi Paati opened her eyes wide.
“Please do not equate her with Veena. I would have warmly accepted Mohan’s wife, too, but she is not one of us but a foreigner following Christianity. Born to European parents, she would know only their culture and wouldn’t even have a whiff of what we follow.”
“What difference does it make regarding the ancestry of Alisha’s parents? Our son has selected her as his better half. Isn’t that reason enough for us to embrace her with warmth?” Krishnamurthy tried convincing his wife, but she was adamant.
“Kitchu, you better not try brainwashing her,” Krishnamurthy’s mother, who always addressed her son thus, stopped chanting and brandished her pointer, lending moral support to her daughter-in-law.
“How can we embrace that girl and accept her as one among us? Would she know anything about our culture?” Kamakshi Paati blew her nose with the edge of her pallu.
‘Drama queen!’ Muttered Krishnamurthy.
“And her name, Alisha? I wouldn’t say I like that very name,” she thundered. “It sounds perfectly non-Indian.”
“Amma, you are mistaken,” Krishnamurthy tried to elucidate. “The name is considered to have Sanskrit and Spanish origins. It means “protected by God” or “the noble kind.” He gave a triumphant smile but was disappointed to have been unsuccessful in bringing a pleasant change in either of their dispositions.
He realized that things would work only if he adopted his authoritarian tone.
“Get ready to usher the couple in. Have you prepared the aarti plate to welcome Mohan and Alisha at the threshold? “Krishnamurthy looked sternly at his wife and his mother. Though Kamakshi Paati seemed invulnerable, Hemavathi fidgeted from her seat to get up. Her eyes met the disapproving look on her mother-in-law’s face, and she slumped onto the chair again.
“Look, Hemu, I have never tried to impose my views on you in these thirty-four years of our marriage, but I was hoping you could comply with my wish and go to welcome them with a smile on your face. Please do away with this sulkiness; it doesn’t suit you.”
Mr. Krishnamurthy turned to his mother, “Amma, please wrap up all your age-old convictions. People have come out of them long before; you seem to hold an unnecessary grudge against Alisha. I expect you to welcome her like a granddaughter.”
Kamakshi Paati pouted her lips in exasperation.
She gestured to Hemavathi to get going to welcome the newlywed couple. Hemavathi reluctantly pushed herself towards the foyer. She felt it wasn’t fair on her husband’s part to coerce her into doing something she did not want, and she would only end up doing it begrudgingly.
How cheated she had felt on the day, nearly a month ago, when her second son, Mohan, announced his wedding to the family.
They had been conversing over the phone almost daily, and she repeatedly reminded him that she would appreciate it if he could give the nod for his wedding so that she could find a suitable bride. Since the family had already fixed Kirtana’s wedding, Hemavathi wished to conduct both marriages together if Mohan could consent.
However, Mohan did not hint at his relationship with Alisha; he just bought time, saying he had some critical project in the office and that marriage was not on his mind. Then, one day, he suddenly announced that he was married to a colleague, a girl with a European upbringing, and would attend Kirtana’s wedding with his wife.
There was a thorough commotion in the household that day.
“Shiva, Shiva, what has happened in this house?” Kamakshi Paati asked. “Our family follows strict cultures, and here, we will have a daughter-in-law who knows nothing about the importance of our traditions and culture.”
“Kirtana’s wedding is on the card; I am worried her in-laws might object to it now,” Hemavathi spoke in a quivering voice.
“Ma, which era are you living in?” Kirtana accosted her. “What if Mohan’s wife is a European? If this will be a deterrent to my marriage, then I think we should not go ahead with the proposal. There is no point in marrying into a family with narrow-minded people.” Kirtana’s argument was considered blasphemy by Hemavathi and Kamakshi Paati. Mr. Krishnamurthy’s heart swelled with pride at his daughter’s point of view.
There was a heated debate. Veena remained quiet throughout the conversation while her husband Mahesh, the elder son of Mr. Krishnamurthy and Hemavathi, sided with his father and sisters, speaking in favor of the wedding. Only Hemavathi and Kamakshi Paati would hear none of this.
In the following days, the house had a hostile atmosphere, with two different schools of thought, and today was the day Mohan was to arrive with his wife, Alisha.
With her heart still hurting, Hemavathi arranged the aarti plate.
In an hour, the newlywed couple arrived.
Everyone had expected to see a girl in pants and shirts or some Western outfit, but the beautiful girl who stood before them wore a simple salwar kameez. She did look graceful. Hemavathi was surprised to see the red bindi on the girl’s forehead. Even Kirtana and Shruti had to be reminded of and to apply the bindi. They always roamed around with a bare forehead that Kamakshi Paati never approved of.
After a brief introduction session, Veena got some hot coffee.
The elderly ladies were pleasantly surprised when Alisha did not accept the coffee and instead wished to first bathe after the journey. More surprise awaited them when Alisha came out of the bath in a cotton sari and walked into the kitchen as if she had known the place for ages.
“Can I be of some help?” she volunteered.
“What do you know about our cuisine and our culture?” Kamakshi Paati’s question sounded as blunt as a hammer.
As Shruti intervened to salvage the unpleasant situation, Alisha looked at Kamakshi Paati unperturbed. “Paati, I may not be well-versed in all your traditions and culture, but I have sincerely tried to learn and understand them. Mohan has been of great help.” She smiled.
Kamakshi Paati was surprised at being addressed thus.
“We visit the temple every morning and evening for Deep Aradhana. Do you know what that is?” Hemavathi added the much-needed spice to her mother-in-law’s first query.
“I know,” Alisha beamed. “The temple priest performs the traditional aarti to God and offers prasad to devotees. Am I right?”
The ladies gaped open-mouthed. A smirk passed Mr. Krishnamurthy’s lips.
“Mohan has taken me to the temple many times. We visited it very recently when we celebrated Dusshera.” The girl spoke with utmost clarity.
“Amma,” she said, looking at Hemavathi, “I do not deny that I have been born and nurtured in an environment different from yours. We visit the Church, and you visit the temple. You celebrate festivals like Diwali, Dusshera, Kaarti Deepam, and Pongal.” She smiled and continued after a brief pause, “We celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, a traditional festival called Fiesta de San Isidro, San Germines festival characterized by bullfights. And cultural festivals like Zagreb Folk Fest.” She showed them some pictures of the festivities.
“Diwali is approaching, right?” Alisha asked. “I know it is one of your biggest festivals, which is still alive in the European tradition in a different form. The ritual for celebrating Diwali and its cultural significance closely resembles Samhain in Europe and India.” This revelation took everyone by surprise.
“Now, analyzing the European festival Samhain, it has been found that it matches the purpose and beliefs of Diwali. Diwali is known as Samhain in Europe.” Alisha shared some more pics.
“Yummy preparations and offerings to God are the main features of your festivals, and similar things happen during our festivals, too,” Alisha explained, fluttering her brown eyelids.
Shruti announced breakfast, and the discussion ended abruptly. Alisha relished the idlis with chutney and sambhar. Veena and Kirtana had not made the sambhar overly spicy, for Mohan had informed them that Alisha eats non-spicy food.
“Will you train me properly to make some South Indian cuisines?” Alisha looked at Veena.
“Of course, I will, but in return, will you explain to me in detail during your stay here about all your festivals, cultures, and traditions?” Veena said much to the vexation of the two older women.
“Why would you want to learn their culture and tradition?” Kamakshi Paati interrupted. “We will help her learn ours because she is now the daughter-in-law of a core South Indian family.”
Veena, who was always shy and taciturn, confronted Kamakshi Paati probably for the first time after her three-years-old marriage.
“Paati, what is the harm in learning and understanding their cultures? Only if we learn to respect others’ traditions will we get admirers for ours. Alisha seems ready to learn everything. She is only too eager to fit into our household.”
Even as Kamakshi Paati muttered something under her breath, others in the family, including Hemavathi, nodded in acquiescence.
“Since we just had Dusshera, first, you explain to me the story behind celebrating this festival,” Alisha said, sitting next to Veena. “I will then explain one of our cultural festivals today.”
“Dusshera is celebrated on the tenth day of what starts as Navratri. It marks the triumph of Lord Rama’s victory over the ten-headed demon Ravana, who had abducted Lord Rama’s wife, Sita.” Veena paused for a bit, not sure if Alisha knew any of the characters she spoke about just then. However, all of them were extremely surprised to learn that Alisha had read about Lord Rama.
“You seem to be knowing our epic, and we do not know anything about the festivals you referred to before some time. Can you tell us about the cultural festival you talked about?” Kirtana asked with her eyes widened.
“Zagreb Folk Fest is an International Folklore Festival in Croatia. It allows amateur folklore groups to perform. The audience appreciates the groups dedicated to preserving and presenting local heritage. The event has been in Zagreb since 1966, continuing the Festival of Croatian Village Culture tradition, which took birth somewhere in the early 20th century. The International Folklore Festival aims to present and promote the traditional values of all nations and cultures, contributing to preserving cultural diversities in the globalized world. This is our chief cultural festival.”
“It sounds interesting and seems a lot of fun, too.” Shruti rolled her eyes in awe. “Please let us hear more about other festivals after you have rested for a while,” she implored Alisha.
The girl nodded with a beguiling smile on her face.
For a while, Hemavathi was quiet. Her husband knew that this pensive mood meant she had some query bothering her.
Krishnamurthy raised his eyebrows, looking towards his wife. She cleared her throat, “Alisha, you would expect Mohan to know your culture and follow certain traditions specific to your religion, I suppose.”
“Well, if you expect her to know and grasp our traditions and culture, then why can’t the same apply to me also?” Mohan looked at his mother with determination written large on his face.
“The journey to a happy married life is possible only if we respect each other’s culture and learn to accept each other’s traditions.”
“Rightly said, Anna,” cheered Kirtana. Shruti followed suit.
Both Kamakshi Paati and Hemavathi had nothing to debate. They realized it would be best for them to flow along with the wave. Krishnamurthy understood the cryptic language his wife and mother spoke.
“Shall we go to the temple in the evening for Deep Aradhana?” Hemavathi looked at her new daughter-in-law and asked.
“Yes, amma, I will come,” chirped the girl.
“There is plenty of time to learn the cultures and traditions. It may not happen during your short stay now, and that too when there is a wedding in the house. You can learn it over….” Kamakshi Paati dragged, forgetting the exact word.
“Internet chatting….” Kirtana cooed, and her grandmother nodded. Everyone applauded, calling Kamakshi Paati tech-savvy.
Krishnamurthy’s household reverberated with happy conversations among its members.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
ALL INFORMATION REGARDING THE CELEBRATIONS OF FESTIVALS HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM THE INTERNET.
ALL CHARACTERS IN THE STORY ARE FICTITIOUS, ANY RESEMBLANCES TO PEOPLE LIVING OR DEAD IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL, AND UNINTENTIONAL.