Uschilini

Yesterday I had the round about adventure of the opening of a traditional Benarsi wedding. Invited to join by my friend Golu, one of the daughters in the Kakkar family, she insisted I attend at least this part.

I showed up with a big bouquet of flowers, and ready for what I thought was a puja in their home…..After meeting some of the other guests, we were told we’d take a boat, and so we traversed the many steps of Lal Ghat on our way to the Ganga River.

My new aquaintence and walking parter, Reena, is the young wife of a Traditional ‘Kundan’ jewelrer, and the mother of ther 9 year old son, also with us. We started out in Hindi, and made our way into mostly English, which she speaks in a rolling Gujarati accent.

As we cross the Ganga to the other side (not the way I was expecting to go), there is an intimacy between us. We’ve broken through the crunchy outer layer of female relations in Indian society, and I can sense she is going to open up to me in a different way.

After taking the ‘uspar’ beach up, and making our way through the winding streets of the village, we end up in a regal farmhouse bedecked with red lights, and a fruit garden full of red chairs for all to take a seat in. Following introductions to the grooms family-all decked out for the occasion, Reena and I take a seat underneath a guava tree, and watch her sun run back and forth to let off some energy.

She asks me why I don’t have a child, and I say that It hasn’t been my time yet. She starts to tell me the story of her illness one year ago.

Stricken by a case of ‘double typhoid’ and Malaria, she spent several months moving through the different hospitals of Varanasi. She was moved around so much to try to save the child she was carrying. By the time she came full term, they induced her labor to discover that her child had died. And only after this death, did she recover.

I looked into her eyes, and we both try not to cry. She says she hopes to adopt a child, a daughter, but doesn’t know for sure.

This morning I got the news that a dear friends son has died. I gasped at the news on the screen, and think of her, him, and where she must be in her head and heart right now.

Today is ‘Ganesha’ day here. Wednesday. The remover of obstacles invites the devotees to offer special prayers and grasses to him. And begs for some drops of Ganga Pani-Water to cleanse and wash away the what the skandas-sins.

I’m going to take a walk to the burning ghats and make my way past the many Ganesha temples. And tonight, offer some light on the river to dear Brook, wherever he is now.

Circumstances of a Friend

A woman who I won’t name-has shared her story with me.

2 years ago when I first arrived here Sitala (which we’ll call her here for discretion), was a rather tough nut to crack. She looked at me with eyes full of skepticism, judgement, and always seemed to ask the questions that I dreaded hearing; ‘are you married’ ‘why are you not married’ ‘you couldn’t get a husband?’ ‘why don’t you have a child’ ‘why don’t your bangles match’ ‘do you have a sunburn’ ‘what’s wrong with you skin?’.

On my visits to the center I often dreaded her constant griping and her look of disdain-the unmarried westerner with strange skin. In spite of her very village mentality, she speaks great English, nudging me to question this rough exterior more; why she was living in the village where most women can’t read or write?

During my second visit, I decided to ask about her. If she was going to be a hurdle in my path, I felt like I needed to understand her more. My questions revealed a sad and pretty typical story. She was married to a man who actually had run away. Leaving her to care for his parents, and their infant son-there was no telling where her husband was, or if he would return. And in a culture where women depend on the husbands to contribute the income to the home, her circumstances were a cause for huge disappointment and bitterness.

I love a challenge, and upon hearing all this I decided she would become my friend. Not out of pity, but because she was clearly managing it all, and able to continue on the path. This is the kind of resilience I admire so much, and rather then seeing her as my enemy, I’d cautiously develop a friendship.

Approaching her from this new direction had immediate results. There seemed to be a kinship and an intimacy between us. I’d visit the center, and really look at her, see her-she’d extend her hand to me and we’d share some time, and some stories. Even when her questions return to one of my painful topics-I’m able to dismiss the question, and move on.

Yesterday she revealed a big piece of her story to me. I suddenly realized she’d been to University-and what was that about? When I asked her what University she’d attended-she went into the story.

Apparently she has a BA in economics, and was in the second half of her MA in the same subject-her family needed money, and so they married her into what are her now unfortunate circumstances. As she spoke her story, I could see the welling of emotion in her eyes, and also the hardness around her heart to protect from the pain of that it had actually happened.

Interestingly enough, her son is named after the god of Love. I can hear and see that she is pouring all of the energy she has into him, and he will be her accomplishment. I’m looking through my western eyes to where this would be called dysfunctional, and a projection-but this is all that she has, and I am so glad she does.

So I watch her walk the path of the village with her son in his fuzzy orange sweater, and watch as she pulls her sari to cover her face, and shade her intelligent eyes.