WHEN HONOUR OF THE FAMILY WAS AT STAKE

 This was my first article published as middle in The Tribune in 2014. That time I was posted to Chandimandir Cantt which is next to Chandigarh. 


When ‘honour’ of the family was at stake

BS Yadav

AN overdose of news about honour killings, conflicts over gotras and castes remind me of my tryst with these during my marriage 23 years ago. The “bahu” had all the desirable qualities: a national-level sportsperson, a first-class postgraduate in maths, BEd, a good government job, tall and beautiful. It was just coincident that both families were from the same background, same area, caste etc but having different gotras (though none of these ever had any influence on the selection).

However, the unexpected coincident put an irresistible temptation in me to cash upon it and emerge as a hero like Shahrukh Khan in DDLJ (I know this film had not been made till then, but believe me I had similar thoughts) by following all the traditional “naach, gaana” and keeping everybody, Chacha, Chachi, Tau, Tai, Mama, Mami, happy by making them part of the grand Indian marriage.

Things were going pretty well for all. But I was fed up with never-ending and sapping ceremonies, which had turned me into a clown, till just about seven days before the marriage when my uncle made a hurricane visit and decreed that the gotra of my great grandmother and the grandmother of the bride-to-be was the same, making this a forbidden marriage.

My mother was worried and said that it would be very tricky to unsettle the entire thing at this stage. But my uncle insisted that the “honour” of the family was at stake. Fortunately, I was around and got an opportunity to vent my frustration over this self-inflicted injury. The belated discovery blew the lid off my head. Castes and gotras were the last things on my mind. Both being of the first generation which grew up away from the village with excellent education, we somehow felt obliged to be connected with our relatives and our traditions, but that should not make us to be taken for granted. No way this stupid discovery was to make any difference to me and I let my uncle have it known in no uncertain terms. To his tantrum that he would boycott the marriage, I was curt enough to tell him that he could do as he liked.

The time for departure of the “baraat” came and my uncle was missing. He sent a message that he was waiting in our neighbour's house and needed to be cajoled and persuaded, (another abominable ritual where the relatives “rooth jaate hain and unko manana padata hai”) that too by none other than the groom. An Indian marriage puts a lot of stress on a groom and I had had enough of it and told the messenger that I had better things to do. The bus started and we saw the uncle running desperately to catch the bus. Well, he boarded the bus finally and things went on well. And just last week when I met him he was all praise for my wife, who has been looking after my parents staying with us in an exceptional manner. He was sad that his own “bahu” was so indifferent towards him.

 

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