Yeah, Think (Think, Think). Let Your Mind Go, Let Yourself Be Free.

It was Larkin who said, “They fuck you up, your parents do”. I disagree. My Grandmother gave her children a gift - their own mind.

Apparently, the reason I'm vocal is because I inherited this trait from my Grandmother. It's a trait that most of the females in the family have and its all thanks to my Bibiji. To be outspoken as a good Hindu girl is not seen as a positive thing but what Bibiji's biggest lesson to all the daughters taught us is that we can be dutiful, do the right things by the family but still have an opinion and express it freely. If we do it in this way we are listened to and, surprisingly, sometimes even respected.

Bibiji was born in a small village in the Punjab, North-West India in 1930, the second child of six, to a Brahmin farming family. She wasn't educated although this wasn't because she didn't want to learn to read and write but it wasn't the done thing in those days. She used to sneakily take lessons in Urdu from her Muslim friend who lived in the same alley as her. As they didn't have pen and paper, they used to use the the dirt of the alley as their canvas. This was stopped when Bibiji was caught practising her latest assignment by her father whose attitude was more or less, “You're never going to use what you're learning so why bother?”. Bibiji was married off at the age of sixteen to a man eight years her senior who she'd never even seen – my Papaji. After they were wed, my Grandparents stayed in the Punjab but moved to be close to Papaji's family in Ludhiana.

Papaji was the eldest of five and his three brothers were, erm, lively characters who relished teasing and irritating their sister-in-law. As the eldest son, Papaji had to provide for his family, the duty becoming even heavier when his father passed away. The younger boys saw this as a green light to do as they pleased as they knew their mother (and they) would always be provided for by their faithful, older brother.

It took Bibiji five years to conceive so, in all that time, she was ridiculed and labelled barren by strangers, friends and family – her brothers-in-law included. She managed to shut them up when she gave birth to her first child of six... a boy! When she was pregnant with their fifth child, Papaji decided to come to England to create a better life for his family. So there was Bibiji, pregnant and having to look after four children under the age of fourteen. Not an easy feat, even for a strong-willed woman like Bibiji. But she accepted it, partly out of duty but mostly because she knew that living in England would be the best thing for her family. Within eighteen months, Papaji had saved enough money to fly Bibiji and the children to the UK and have a roof over their heads in Kent.

Here was a woman in her mid-thirties in a new country where she didn't speak the language. After her sixth child was born, Bibiji went out to work in a packing factory where she stayed as one of the most respected members of staff for seventeen years. It was her employment that gave her the right to have more of a say in the house. Contrary to similar families at the time, Bibiji was an equal decision-maker in the relationship – Papaji being the more rash of the two, she would reason with him before a joint decision was made. Papaji's brothers were still asking for handouts (he was still sending money back to his mother in India) and he was willing to give in to them, compromise his quality of life and pander to their every whim. Bibiji was having none of it! She wanted to keep her earnings for her children. Trying to persuade her otherwise was a fruitless task. She wasn't willing to compromise the quality of her children's lives for her disrespectful brothers-in-law. She took one of them on once – Bibiji had smuggled a gun over to India (apparently, it was allowed in those days) for one of Papaji's brothers and because she refused to give him her passport as well, he pointed a loaded gun at her. Anyone else would have handed it over immediately. Not Bibiji. She called his bluff and was soon on a plane back to Blighty.

Another talent Bibiji had was to acknowledge all her children were very different personalities and she treated them all as individuals, even the girls! She was no soft touch, not when her offspring were still children. She was working long shifts at the factory, looking after six children and going through the menopause. She was tough. But had a fantastic relationship with all of them. If you asked each of the siblings who was the favourite of them, they'd all claim they were... what an achievement?!

Bibiji was still incredibly traditional. She'd married off her two eldest children but when it came to Mum's turn, she made her parents promise they'd let her younger sister go to university before fixing her up. My Aunt was the first in the family to go in to further education – a daughter of the family studying at a red brick establishment in London – they were all so proud! And, the best thing was that going on to university bought my Aunt some further independence as she was allowed to move in to halls (granted, she was married off a couple of years later but it gained her a little time!).

Two of Bibiji's daughters approached her saying they were unhappy in their marriages. My Aunt did struggle to make Papaji and her brothers see her side of things as their point of view was that a woman's place was in the home, that she should tolerate her husband's behaviour and should make it work whatever. It was thanks to Bibiji “wearing the trousers” in the house that my Aunt was allowed to divorce, her mother's concern for her happiness won out over the male, traditional attitudes. When it came to Mum leaving Dad it was slightly different as I was involved. Both Bibiji and Papaji begged Mum to stay for my sake as, in their eyes, a child needed both parents. When they realised that the physical and mental abuse had become too much to tolerate, they supported their child to the end acknowledging how unreasonable my Dad was. They upped-sticks and moved from Kent to London so Mum and I had the perfect support system. Every other female who went through what Mum did was told to put up and shut up by her parents as the shame of divorce in the family was to much to bear, girls being disowned for far less. Thanks to Bibiji, my quality of life was improved – Papaji would have preferred for us to stay with Dad (more pride than anything else) but Bibiji, like a stealth fighter, guaranteed her daughter's and granddaughter's independence. All this was accepted of the girls because they'd never let the family down. They'd always done the right thing. They'd earned their parents' support.

My Aunts and Mum have bigger balls than their brothers. The boys hid behind tradition, using whichever cultural custom was the best defence for whatever actions they'd carried out. The girls respected the culture, were dutiful as good Hindu girls and acknowledged there were boundaries they could break as far as the expectations placed on them were concerned.

Two daughters... One who broke the education barriers, entered in to a career in The Arts, divorced and then married a white man (ooh, I say!). She was, still is, a second mother to me. The one who, when I was eleven, influenced me to forge my career in the Media. And she was so fiercely independent, my Dad labelled her a lesbian (that's the only criteria, apparently!). The other daughter who raised a child alone after divorcing her abusive husband despite everyone's protestations, allows her daughter to do exactly as she pleases so she is not restricted in life by her cultural confines but has been taught to respect her heritage. These two women are remarkable and inspiring. My generation of females in the family are pathetic in comparison, we've never had to break any boundaries as it was all made easy for us (although my Aunt once asked me to marry a Chinese boy, just so we'd be a more diverse family as that's the only ethnicity we haven't yet had marry in to our family. That's the only “boundary” left). They ensured we didn't need to face the hardships they did – every generation does that for the next, don't they? However, they didn't just need to protect us from the usual stuff, they also taught us how to play the cultural game and use it to our advantage.

My Bibiji was formidable, well ahead of her time. She passed away almost nineteen years ago and that void has never been filled. They're big shoes to fill and nobody wants to even try, years later. I never saw the angry, tough side of her. By the time I was born she'd softened as she didn't work anymore (and I was her favourite grandchild). I spent weeks with her when I was a child in my summer holidays, visiting her friends with her so she could show me off to them. She taught me about the Hindu Gods, telling me stories of how they came about. Plaited my hair every day I was with her.

“They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.”

It was thanks to her that I'm bilingual, as she didn't speak English I had to learn Punjabi, making learning other languages easier through school. It was thanks to her that my life has been easy and I'm allowed to live the life of a Western girl. It is thanks to her that I'm the person I am, realising that acknowledging the good in people is more important than criticising the bad. It's thanks to her that I have my own mind and am permitted to express my opinions. And I'm grateful for these flaws I've inherited. x

No, It Didn't Work Out. An Arranged Marriage Is Not So Good.

"We've been told about a boy. He's from a good family." Shit! I didn't think I'd get this hassle today of all days. I'm in the sunny Midlands with my Dad's family, attending a religious housewarming ceremony at my cousin's place. The attention was not supposed to be on me. My cousin and his wife have invited the whole family to their new pad and whilst we're waiting for the pandit (priest) to arrive I feel like I'm in front of a firing squad as my Dad, his three brothers and their wives are giving me my latest lecture on getting married. I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks from the frustration of having to listen whilst biting my tongue, luckily the family put it down to embarrassment as it's a "delicate" matter for an equally as “delicate” girl.

Marriage - the way it works is that you meet somebody, fall in love and get wed, right? In my culture, arranged marriages come in to play so the whole falling in love part gets cut out, quite a crucial stage omitted in the process, I feel. It seems to be deemed, by the Western world, as an out-dated and old-fashioned tradition that has a negative effect on the good Hindu children, especially the females.

Back in the day (my Grandparents' day) it's true that the couple may never have seen each other, let alone met. This seems absurd to us modern folk, eh? Imagine turning up on your wedding day to discover that the person you're legally obliged to spend the rest of your life with is a proper munter?! There was no divorce in those days (still isn't in some of the villages in India) and I don't think "he/she is fugly" is enough of a reason to bring proceedings these days. In my Parents' time it had advanced quite a little and they'd met each other, albeit only a handful of times (ooh, how cutting edge?).

Now, the theory behind arranged marriages is not for the controlling Fathers of the family to set their kids up with the people they deem suitable as some, myself included, would have you believe. (Although some of the Fathers do forget this, including mine.) The purpose behind this custom is that its your family that know you best - They love you unconditionally and have your best interests at heart so they want to ensure the person you spend the rest of your life with is completely suitable. Your family is the unit you turn to during the worst times, the perfect support system, so why shouldn't they fix you up with the person they believe ticks all the boxes and should keep you happy forever more (and has a perfect gene pool to provide grandchildren)?

Over the years the process of arranged marriages has evolved massively to become what it is these days. It has several stages and preparation starts at a young age. The grooming of each gender is different as the expectations on and of boys and girls in the marriage are not the same. When I was in my early teens my Dad told me that I needed to learn to cook, not the dishes Mum had been teaching me for when I moved out to university but good, decent Indian dishes - daals, sabjees and chappatis. (As an act of rebellion I didn't become expert in these until later and enjoyed learning the Western cuisine Mum taught.)

A year or so later, when I started to "ripen", the lectures on family honour started. The "a girl's reputation is all she has in life" line is one of my favourites as it suggests that if a daughter is seen with a member of the opposite sex (not necessarily in a compromising position) not known to the family, she is an embarrassment and the family name is ruined. She has brought shame on the family by this one act, her past behaviour, education and, perhaps most essential, establishing who this guy is are not important. She can be spotted by someone of the family or a family friend (some of whom just love to shit-stir) who will promptly call the parents (and a few friends for gossiping purposes) to rat the girl out. I tell you, every good little Hindu girl should be employed by MI5 - we learn to sneak about unnoticed so we can inconspicuously lose our "honour", avoidance techniques being imperative.

So, fully adult and education finished, the real fun begins. The parents and extended family put word out that they have a daughter who is ripe for the picking and needs to be, erm, picked. And, from nowhere, like some secret underground organisation, family friends that I've never even met are involved in the match-making procedure. They've all done it a thousand times before and relish this stage as it makes them feel important. Whichever family friend sets the couple up gets props forever and extra ladoos at the wedding. Once the community is made aware of the need to keep their ears to the ground for a suitor, the feelers are put out and everyone thinks themselves a rival to Cilla Black as the race is on. Any family that has an unmarried child is told about the new addition to the wedding market. This introduction stage is crucial and there are some fine details that need to be established before the two families are even allowed to meet each other. Factors that must be taken in to consideration include the boy and girl not knowing each other - a passing glimpse at a wedding/party is fine but that's about all the previous contact that's permitted. As parents' friends are treated as siblings to our folks (hence the "Uncleji" and "Auntyji" tags we give them out of respect), the suitor's parents cannot have been bestowed these affectionate names - that's seen as incestuous and therefore wrong. Also, the families cannot come from the same village in India. This is also deemed incestuous as the parents may have met and played together as children, thus bringing about the sibling relationship again.

Once established by Auntyji that the two families have no links whatsoever, she'll let both sides know about the existence of the other. This is when the "he's from a good family" line most gets used. This phrase has my cousins and me in hysterics, mainly because we're not quite sure what it means. We don't know what the definition of a "good" family is as none of us have received our Hindu Marriage Dictionary but we think it means that nothing too major has has harmed the family's name. We have now adapted that phrase so that when one of us uses it, the others know that what we're really trying to say is that a person of the opposite sex is a hottie. (My Aunt, cousins and I were watching tv when Russell Brand came on screen. “He's from a good family”, I told my Aunt whilst my cousins laughed and she bought my description of him, not realising that his well documented past is everything that goes against the Elders' definition.) So, after this is verified, the caste issue is raised. A girl can marry up in caste as once she's married she takes on her husband's name and any children borne of her will be the same caste as the daddy. Boys' families are usually accepting of lower caste girls, as long as they're from "good” families. Girls rarely marry down in caste, they're fathers don't allow it as it would ruin the family name.

Should this part of the process fail for any reason, there are several buffers. One of these "Plan B" options is the wedding websites... yes, they exist, shaadi.com (the matrimonial equivalent of match.com) being a favourite. Have a look, its hilarious. One of my cousins still has his profile on there even though he's been married for five years so he can "see the sad cases that still need fixing up".

The families then meet, usually the boy's family come round to the girl's parent's house to "inspect" them and taste the girl's cooking as a feast is laid on, both sides eager to impress. This can happen with several different boys' families as one side may fail the "inspection", usually for valid reasons but sometimes stupid ones - his dad's tie was funny, her mum walks with a limp, her brother was perving on me and her saag paneer was too salty. The girl's side can sometimes entertain a few families a week. Its intense! If the meeting is successful, the girl and boy exchange numbers so they can text and meet up a couple more times (maybe even unchaperoned!) and then decided if they want to get married. The decision has to be made within a few weeks otherwise the gossip-mill starts, "They met up for two months, you know?! Tut tut". If they do want to go ahead, within weeks a pandit is consulted to ensure that the birth charts are compatible, the engagement takes place and a wedding date is set to within a year of the date they met. It all happens rather quickly which is why the good Hindu boys and girls of the world must be completely sure when they respond positively to the "When are you getting married?" probing. The pressure doesn't ease after the wedding as then the "When are you having children?" demands begin. It's tough being a good Hindu girl, you know?
Don't misunderstand me, I have not responded positively to the marriage pressure, in fact I haven't responded at all but Dad's family are convinced that the incessant badgering will wear me down and eventually I'll give in to their demands, stop the family's name being further tainted (“There's a daughter in that family who's 29 and unmarried. The shame!”) and announce I'm ready to be introduced to a good Brahmin boy who works as a lawyer/accountant/doctor/dentist/in IT. More fool them.

Thankfully, the pandit arrives at my cousin's house, the grown ups being alerted to his presence by his phone ringing - his ring tone is the Hindu equivalent of Ave Maria – and my cousins snigger at the relief on my face as the attention is diverted from me, finally. When I get home Mum asks me how my day was as she knows how awkward spending time with Dad's family is for me. "It was ok. I got the usual questions and lectures."
"How did you respond?"
"I just sat there, pretending to listen whilst I had the song I woke up to on a loop in my head."
"That's my girl." x