Julie & Kishore (14 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

The
Hindi word for princess is raajkumaari.

On
a warm day in mid-December, with their suitcases packed, they arrived at the
hub of Auckland Airport. As they stood waiting in line to check-in, Kishore had
their passports and tickets clutched in his hand. He reflected on how much his
life had changed since he had last been at the airport. He had arrived in New
Zealand a single man with just twenty dollars in his wallet, looking forward to
a new beginning and wondering what lay in store for him. Now, he smiled to
himself, he had his lovely red
headed fiancé at
his side, ready for another chapter in his life to begin.

Glancing
at Julie
he saw
her take a tissue out of her handbag and
wipe her eyes. She tried her best to smile at him although the tears were
flowing - taking her hand he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

 
Her family were waiting to say good-bye. He
looked over at them and as he did he recalled the conversation he’d had with
his future Mother-in-law a few days back.

He
had been visiting Julie at her house when Helen called him from the kitchen to
help make tea. This had never happened before and he wondered what the problem
was. While pouring hot water into cups she said, “Kishore, we have grown to
love you as part of our family."

He
let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, this is not so bad he
thought, it all seemed okay.

Helen
continued, “You’re taking my daughter away, further than anyone in my family
has ever been.”

Kishore
tried to speak, “Yes, I know, I can assure…”

Helen
glanced up from the cups and held out her hand to stop him, staring straight in
to
his eye
s
she spoke
quickly, “You had better look after Julie and bring her back to us safely.” She
quickly turned her face away holding back tears that threatened as she put down
the jug. Turning back to
him
she said, “We
have never had a Christmas without her, she is my baby Kishore and I trust you
with her.”

Kishore
knew he had been warned. He assured Helen he loved Julie more than his own life
and
that
he would bring her back safe and sound. He consoled
her, telling her Julie was in good hands.

Following
long and tearful goodbyes at the airport Kishore and Julie boarded the plane
for their long flight to India.

                                                
*

After
a marathon journey, we eventually arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport, New Delhi,
India. Walking through the terminal with wrinkled clothes and feeling
bewildered from the long trip, we were already an attraction. I felt completely
overwhelmed. The amount of people looking at us as we strode towards
immigration
was just, well weird. My fingers
clutched firmly onto the back of Kishore’s jacket, there was no way I was going
to lose him. My first surprise, which would be one of many throughout this
entire journey, was the security officers with their commanding stance and
threatening looks. Across the front of their bodies, clutched in their hands,
was a rifle. I had never in my life seen a person holding a real gun before, a
weapon that could literally kill a person. I wasn’t in the peaceful haven of
New Zealand now - this country was the complete opposite.

We
reached the immigration officer but before Kishore could hand over our
passports the officer glared at Kishore, then at me, then back to Kishore.

“Who
is she?” he asked, jabbing his pen in my direction.

“My
fiancé,” Kishore proudly announced.

The
officer snorted then chuckled, “What is wrong with the girls in this country,
couldn’t you find one here?”

Kishore
smiled
,
“No,” he replied
,
then turned his head to look into my eyes, “No, there is nothing wrong with the
girls in this country but none of them are my Julie.”

The
officer gave us the once over again then took our passports and scrutinised
them thoroughly, finally bringing down the rubber stamp on the page with a
thud. After retrieving our luggage we ventured outside. I rubbed my eyes - I
couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The winter air was hazy and dusty, the
street was filled with masses of people and the noise!
 
Taxis were everywhere in a disorderly
fashion, it seemed to me there was no division between the right and left side
of the road. Cars were all moving together at once here, there and everywhere
,
with no order. People were walking all over the road
while cars drove around them. I had heard of the term ‘culture shock,’
I
was amazed
and
shocked.

Four
taxi drivers rushed towards us, “Sir, Madam this way,” they chorused. Like vultures,
they all wanted a piece of the action. Kishore brushed them aside and headed
straight towards a taxi of his choosing. He asked the driver the cost to Sundar
Garden, Block B, his parents address. Communities in Delhi are broken up into
sections with each section divided into areas, which made it a lot easier,
geographically, to find your way around. I soon learnt it was best to decide
the tariff with the driver before starting on a journey. Once Kishore and the
driver decided on the fare and our luggage was loaded into the boot, we
both sat in the back and the
one-hour trip
to Kishore’s family home
began
.

I
stared wide-eyed out of the taxi window at the huge population of people
flocking the streets, poverty was clearly evident and pollution was apparent.
Even here on the open road traffic had no order. Cars drove madly in front and
around each other. Drivers continuously had their hand on their car horns
sending out their impatient message, 'let me through.’ What was the point of
all that tooting? It wasn’t going to make the car get through the traffic any
faster.

My
jaw dropped as I saw tan-biscuit coloured cows roaming along the road amongst
the traffic, they even sat on the road but surprisingly they were never hit.
They were not the plump black and white cows we had back in New Zealand but
were abundantly skinny with their shoulder bones sticking out.

Through
the neglect and disrepair I saw the rich history of India from the ornate
architectural designs of the buildings. After all, I had been told India was
once the wealthiest country in the world, teeming with magnificent gold and
jewels.

Our
taxi mingled and danced with the traffic manoeuvring amongst the bicycles,
motorbikes, trucks, auto-rickshaws and bicycle-rickshaws. My eyes nearly popped
out of my head when I saw a whole family – a man, a child and a woman holding a
baby, on one motorbike. The whole family! I didn’t see this once or twice
,
I saw it many times. Even with its big load the
motorbike still managed to weave in and out and dart around the other traffic.
It scared me in case the people fell off as none of them wore helmets but
somehow the whole family held on swaying with the bike as it weaved.

As
the taxi stopped at traffic lights, I felt many eyes upon me.

The
people sitting in the neighbouring cars and auto-rickshaws were openly staring
straight at me as was the crowd gathered on the footpath waiting to cross the
road.

Rarely
do people in India stand alone, they always gather in groups and due to the
countries huge population crowds are
generally
in a cluster of ten or more.

They
were looking intently through our taxi window. I tried to ignore them and keep
my eyes forward - it was so foreign to me.
   
I was now the odd one out, not
Kishore. Now I was the minority not the majority, I was in Kishore’s domain.
Some of the people had possibly never seen an English woman before
and it was most unlikely they had never seen
an English woman
with flaming red hair and freckles. Even
more strange
was an English woman with red hair and freckles
sitting next to
an
Indian man
. This phenomenon
was probably
as rare as
a bolt of lightning
hitting the same place
twice
.

As
the lights changed to green, I wondered if Kishore’s family and friends would
ask the same questions I had been asked.
 
Would they think I was not genuine, that I had some devious reason to be
with Kishore? Maybe, I pondered,
would
Kishore’s family
say to him, ‘An English girl? You are going to marry an English girl?’

Would
his friends declare, ‘
Be
careful, Kishore, Julie might
claim you kidnapped her and try to extort money from your family.’ But, I was
sure the two key questions would be, ‘Do you want to marry her to get residency
in New Zealand?’ and the age old, ‘Is she pregnant?’

The
same questions regarding the validity of our love that I had experienced would
possibly be the same questions Kishore would be asked. I hadn’t looked at it in
that light before.

Why
did there have to be an ulterior motive, why was the difference in our race
such a big deal? Didn’t anyone believe in true love anymore?

I
knew Kishore loved me dearly but really me? Indian women were so attractive
with their long silky black hair, dark features and stunning eyes. I knew I
certainly wasn’t beautiful. Over the time we had been together I
had
asked Kishore if he was sure he wanted to be with
me. He had replied, I was just being silly, he loved me because to him I was
different, really different to the women he was surrounded by
while
growing up. He insisted he only wanted to be with me and only me forever. He
persisted in saying I was beautiful to him and that he was not interested in
any other woman. In fact, he had gone so far as to say that if anything ever
happened to me he would remain alone for the rest of his life. He said he had
given his heart to me and would not give it to another.

While
I was deep in my thoughts Kishore had slipped easily back to his native tongue
and was chatting to the driver in Hindi. I realised, as I adjusted myself in my
seat that these endearing statements
of love
Kishore had
made scared me. To be put on a pedestal like that, would I live up to his
expectations? My whole life stretched before me, could I really spend it
all
with this man? True, I loved him
just as
dearly but, a lifetime?
 
Adjusting to his culture and his ways had so
far been a challenge and now I was here in India I knew I was to face many more
challenges.

Sure,
we were ultimately going to live in New Zealand but still could I
possibly have children with him and maybe
spend the next
fifty or sixty years
of my life
with him? At
unguarded moments like this, these thoughts churned through my mind. I forced
myself to wipe them away with an imaginary hand otherwise I believed I’d go
mad.

Now as
I listened to him chatting to the
driver,
I could hear
he was happy
, the tone of his voice was one of excitement, he was gushing with
delight.
My doubtful thoughts began to disappear.
      
I felt that same
quick bubble of love in my heart I always felt when I truly let myself
surrender to my own feelings
.
Staring at the side of his head,
I tried to cast
my fears aside as
I realised
my love for him
was possibly even deeper now as I was beginning to see Kishore, as Kishore,
here in his own country. At that moment he must have felt my eyes upon him, he
glanced at me and smiled. An excited smile, after all he was nearly home. He
was about to see his Mother and Father, his family. He had missed them so much
and eagerly urged the driver to go faster.