Tuesday afternoon we attended a wedding at which I was asked to speak and present gifts. I know a great deal about marriage, having never been married, so I assented readily enough to the request. What struck me even more than the outlandish costumes the penitents were obliged to don, was the absolute lack of anything like joy on the faces of the grooms. They looked rather to be struggling with some opposite emotion—depression, gloom, even fear. I had been attracted to the men out of natural sympathy; I soon noticed a similar gravity on the faces of the females. Maybe they were all gleefully happy. Sometimes when I am really happy, I appear merely serene or even grave, a smile seeming too cheap an expression of what I am feeling. Possibly that was the case here. The likelier explanation is that one or both of the men had been scared to death for weeks and, by the time I saw them, were simply too broken to conceal their emotion. The women had probably wanted to be happy, but had gradually come under the influence of their fiancées' despondency. Incidentally, the after-dinner meal featured a very tasty halva, best I’ve had, and I began to forget about the plight of the couples. I was then whisked away to the Pakistan border (more about that later), and they were left to suffer.Arrived back in Delhi yesterday around noon. Computer time has been elusive. Yesterday evening the young men on our ministry team took me out to dinner for my birthday. Here, birthday cake is served before the meal, a good quantity of it being applied to the face of the victim honoree. The guys dodged my retaliatory fistful of cake—except for Mona, who took a hit and appeased my desire for vengeance. His lack of agility may have proved cumbersome to him in the past, but by it was avoided the full-scale riot I was prepared to instigate, their relationship with the owner notwithstanding.
Sitting in the coffee shop here in Delhi, I'm reminded of the fact that India is a very traditional culture. Open displays displays of sexuality are frowned upon. Foreigners often misunderstand the dynamics here, and in so doing, open themselves up to judgment (judge not, lest ...). For instance, they might, as I, enjoy an espresso at Café Coffee Day—an Indian version of Starbucks—watch Bollywood music video after video on the flatscreen, observe the succession of scantily clad females gyrating like so many hungry vipers in the Well of Souls, and put this down as sexually provocative. Whatever it may be taken to be, it’s not sexual, because India is a very traditional culture, and open displays of sexuality are frowned upon. Bollywood producers understand this. Why don’t we? Again, visitors might listen to the coffee shop radio blare out a song about a girl’s wanting to “spend the night with you,” and think she’s proposing something unseemly. Do not be so foolish, mera dost. Allow any number of explanations—husband and wife romance, an evening out with friends—but do not fly in from your sex-steeped culture and automatically start assuming the worst. Keep your Western paradigms to yourself. India is a very traditional culture.
