Lunch in Mumbai

My friend Gunjan and I have a lot in common these days. True, she had 1,200 guests at her arranged-marriage wedding while we had under 40, and her English has become more heavily accented since we worked together at the Boston advertising firm Arnold Worldwide. But we found more similarities than differences. Over traditional Gujarati lunchtime thalis (all-you-can-eat vegetarian meals) at a wonderful restaurant in Mumbai we compared our experience of newly married life.

I asked Gunjan if she had wanted an arranged marriage, as it's a topic that people from the West still have trouble comprehending. She shrugged casually and said, "It really didn't matter at all, I didn't care. My parents wouldn't have minded if I met someone. All my mother insisted on was that I get married by a certain age, so when I got to be that age, she started looking for a match. All I was looking for was a good family - it's the parents that mattered since I have to live with them."

In the context of India, I can more easily understand why an arranged marriage makes sense. It's still somewhat taboo for the sexes to mix too much before marriage, and it defnitely doesn't seem safe to wander about as a lone woman. It could be much more difficult to meet a partner here. Arranged marriages seem to work much of the time, and I have seen many more couples who appear genuinely happy together than I do in America, where I'm constantly next to an arguing couple on the subway or hear of yet another break-up or divorce among my acquaintances. There may be something to the theory that love is fleeting and finite, whereas devotion to a partner in marriage is a concept of its own.

Nick and I did not know each other well before we started dating. It all happened quickly and felt natural so we pursued it. But it is not possible to love someone very deeply until you know them intimately, and I believe this is something we have grown and worked on together and equally from the start. Marriage was but one step along the long path of growing, caring for, and guarding a love that we are forging together. Would it really have been different had our parents set us up? The realities of being an American aside, I think not. We have the willingness to commit, common interests and experiences, and good chemistry. Passion grows out of that foundation.

Gunjan is a very modern Indian woman. She wears modest Western-style clothes, sports an Apple iPhone and does not bother with the traditional marks of a married girl, such as a bindi, nose piercing, or red powder at the hair part. She hassles with a sari only for very formal events (it's just 9 meters of fabric wrapped around and around you! she exclaimed) and prefers a kurta (a long, loose tunic-style blouse) over jeans or churidar (loose drawstring pants). She is not only allowed to work by her husband and in-laws, but, like myself, is currently the breadwinner! Gunjan and I joked about our husbands being out of work, and more soberly commented on how strange it is to be making salaries far exceeding our parents. Turnover at Indian advertising agencies is even higher than in the U.S. because there are new and better opportunities burgeoning all over the country, which means educated and savvy workers can demand high salaries in the big cities. This causes some social difficulties in a society where elders are still the patriarchs and matriarchs of the family.

Gunjan had only one complaint to make about living with her in-laws: they make her pick fresh flowers every day from the garden to offer to the household Hindi shrine, a much-despised chore.

"Noooo!" Gunjan replied when I asked if she was at all religious. "My mother-in-law is though, and she has a huge shrine in the house, and I have to dust and clean all of the statues every single day! And she doesn't just have one or two, she has nine statues, each two feet high!" Gunjan believes all the religious stuff to be mumbo-jumbo and hates the chores because she doesn't really find any value in it. But, she does it and will continue to do so to harmlessly satisfy her mother-in-law.

After lunch Gunjan excitedly took us around the corner to one of her favorite clothing shops, where she helped me navigate to the kurtas, churidars, and dupatta, a scarf or shawl similar to a pashmina worn backwards around the neck to cover the chest. The clothes came in lovely fabric of every hue of reds, blues, greens and yellows possible. It was fun to pick out a few samples to purchase and I'm more comfortable blending in a bit than playing the part of the gaudy tourist (if that's at all possible given there's always an enormous camera around my neck). For about $40 USD: an entire kurta/churidar/dupatta outfit with an extra kurta, plus a kurta-type loose shirt for Nick.

Gunjan returned to work after showing us the store. We missed meeting up with her and Akshay, her husband, later that evening. Nick was feeling sick from a lingering head cold and it was getting late, and it wouldn't have been safe for us women to meet on our own. But raincheck please: I would love to see a Bollywood movie in Mumbai, the capital of Indian film, or try a trendy bar with local friends. Hopefully we'll get the chance when we return to the city in January.