I didn’t want to put any more description in my title, so as not to ruin the surprise and shock I felt!
So at 8:30 last night the doorbell rings. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I go out on the balcony, which overlooks the door. I call out, and this is the conversation that ensues:
Me: “Hello, can I help you?” (thinking he’s ringing the wrong bell. Out steps an East Indian man, maybe 50 or so).
Him: “Yes, I am looking for addresses in India.”
Me: “Addresses? What for?”
Him: “Well, I have to go to India, and I have to get a visa, and I need addresses of your relatives so I can write them letters.”
Me: :eek: “! You want the addresses of my family so you can write them letters? Why do you think I would give them out to a stranger?”
Him: Mumbles something indistinct
Me: ( :mad: ) “I’m sorry, I would never give my family’s addresses to a stranger. And please dont’ ring my doorbell anymore, it’s very rude.”
Him: (As he;s walking away. “Sorry.”
Wow. That one blew my mind yesterday. For a little background, I have been pestered all my life by well-meaning friends of the family. East Indians are so nosy that this could be a Pit thread! Well, the older generation. The young American-raised ones are mostly like me. I have no idea why he needed the addresses, for all I know, he could have wanted to write them and tell them I was living with a Chinese boy and not married! (I speak from experience. Strange Indians have called up my family to report on what I was doing.) And he wasn’t hitting all the Indians, cause there’s an Indian family directly beneath us and he didn’t knock on their door. Maybe he meant theirs in the first place? WHo knows?
No, I’m 28 now, and she’s convinced I’m living an immoral life anyway. She prays for me, I try not to roll my eyes. I’ve tried to tell her I’m not a druggie or living on the streets, Mom. There’s food on my table, my boyfriend doesn’t beat me or trivialize me, we’re equals, blah, blah, blah.
She hears it all as “I want to have sex, SEX, SEX! With no repercussions!* I am immoral! And EvEl!”
That’s really weird. My husband has been approached by random Indians asking him to join Amway, but they haven’t come looking for his family’s addresses.
So, what’d you get on your SATs? It’s not really fair that a bunch of strangers in India know but a bunch of strangers here don’t.
This thread reminds me of Bend it like Beckham. My wife, who is Thai (similar cultural attitudes) was in tears at some of the stuff going on in the film because she’s lived it. As the farang who would besmirch their daughter’s honor I have a slightly different perspective, although I can usually laugh at it now.
I won’t watch it, for exactly that reason. It hits too closely to home. Me and my SO cringed through all of ‘Meet the Parents’ cause that was too darn close to home, too.
My SATs were nothing to scream about. Just so no one thinks I am hiding them out of shame or something, my math was 570 or something like that, and my verbal was 790. Languages have always been my forte.
Zebra: You wouldn’t get past the word ‘sex’ before she’d start screaming. My mother is not the quiet, retiring type.
I dunno, it’s pretty damned funny and the ending is nice, so you might survive it. If not now try again in a few years. It’s easier to laugh than cry about it sometimes.
Chutney Popcorn is an interesting look at the difference between the New York sensibilities of Reena and her traditional Indian family. It’s bad enough that Reena is dating a non-Indian; but she’s also a motorcycle riding lesbian. When it’s found that the favorite sister, Sarita, can’t have children, Reena offers to be a surrogate mother in a sense of duty and as a way to win favor with their mother, giving rise to stress between her lover and a chance to reconcile with the family.
This is an excellent idea, only all of us sending post cards from all over the globe saying what a great time we had on vacation with her and the sex was fabulous.
Yeah.
Good times.
“Addresses? What for?”
