The Bride from India

By Kulbir Padda

The Bride from India is a story of the ambitions and confl icts of the people
from different cultures as they melt in the US pot. Manjit and Raj Pandher
are Indian immigrants living in Houston, Texas. They succeed in marrying
their son, Paul to Simmi from Punjab, after an elaborate Indian arranged
matrimonial process, completely oblivious to the surprise awaiting them.
On the other hand, the concept of the life in America that Simmi had
developed in her mind from TV and internet is not what she encounters
when she lands in the US. She renews her contact with her old lover in
India..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465363220

Kulbir Padda

Kulbir Padda is a Punjabi poet. He is a computer systems engineer by profession. He has been very active in Indian community in Houston for decades. His writings reflect his rich experience and observations of multicultural America.

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Copyright © 2011 by Kulbir Padda.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011916054

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-6321-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-6320-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-6322-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Glossary

Thanks to my wife, for all the support,

and to Harbeer Sandhu and Sukhdev Purewal, for their review and

valuable feedback.

CHAPTER 1

MANJIT AND RAJ Pandher were so excited these days that they were having trouble going to sleep. They could wait no more to show off their daughter-in-law to the community. They fixed the reception date as soon as the travel arrangements for Simmi, their son’s bride from India, were confirmed. It had to be soon after her arrival so as to hold off people from coming to meet the bride at home. After discussing it with the out-of-town relatives, they fixed it for the Saturday, the second of May. That would give enough time for Simmi to get situated. Becky, Pandher’s daughter, who is going to school at University of Texas (UT) in Austin, made several trips home during these days to see Simmi and also to help her mom in making the preparations. Cards were mailed even before Simmi arrived. The hall, the vendors, and the performers had been contracted. The most tedious decisions left to be made seemed to be the saris, suits, and the jewelry that ladies would wear. Simmi was following Raj’s guidance on these but was occasionally overruled by Becky partly because they were of the same age and partly because of the similarity in their personalities. Simmi and Becky clicked ever since they met.

According to the invitation card, the party was to start at 7:00 PM with cocktail time lasting through 8:30 PM. Guests would be ushered in and seated at that time. Everyone knew though that the guests would not arrive till 7:30 PM or so, except for a few punctual ones and the Westerners. Therefore the Pandhers reached the Intercontinental Hotel, the venue for the party, at around 7:30 PM. Before leaving the house, they instructed Paul to get there along with Simmi and Becky by 8:30 PM. They also told the guests staying at their house to be ready by 7:00 PM to be picked up for a ride to the hall, which was thirty minutes away. They advised the guests to get up real early and start using the washrooms so that there are no queues.

As expected, only a few people trickled in on time. But around 7:30 PM, they started pouring in droves. There were four hundred invitees. In addition to the friends and relatives, Punjabi community, at large, was invited too. As the valet parking was not complimentary, most of the guests were driving straight to the garage to self-park and save $18.00. As they got into the lobby, men and women split into two groups. And then after getting their drinks, they would start gravitating into smaller groups of similar interest or similar trade. The cocktail hour provided an opportunity to socialize as well as to review and update each other on the happenings in the area of their interest. Huddled in the farthest corner of the lobby was a group of physicians. Listening to their conversation, one would think that they were the most unfortunate people in this world.

I am so tired of these insurance people that I am thinking of closing my practice, one of them complained to the nods of others.

I tell you, I would never advise anyone to go into this thankless profession, announced another whose son was going to a medical school in India. After spitting venom at the insurance companies, they turned to fellow physicians who were too selfish and uncooperative.

Let me tell you about Dr. Mittal. I let him cover for me for a couple of days when I was out on vacation. The rascal stole my patients! The complainant was loud and burning with rage.

Not too far from this group was another, a bit larger, group, gulping doubles of scotch and lamenting on their unexploited potential. These were a group of engineers.

You know I was posted as SDO irrigation at Jandiala. I had a large bungalow on the canal. Had peons and servants. Local politicians and notables sought me for favors. Made a huge mistake to come here, one of them said.

"I had a similar situation in electricity board. My classmates are now chief engineers, each controlling a whole district and lording over three to four hundred employees. Living in large kothies," lamented another one. These guys seemed to be having a difficult time to accept that engineering was not much of a profession in United States. Their biggest problem was that they compared their lot with doctors. Back home, both programs were equally hard to get in and to go through. Actually, the engineers did get prestigious jobs right out of engineering colleges. Taking some pity on one’s self was probably in order but not every time you take a drink.

Closer to the bar was another group that seemed to be having most fun. They were taking turns to guzzle down the tequila shots. There was a sort of competition going on. In between the rounds, they discussed the game scores and personal lives of the ball players.

Another group closer to the entrance consisted of retail business owners. The majority of them came to United States on fourth preference. They looked like free-spirited people. They unabashedly talked about making money. And they freely shared their exploits with each other. The conversation spanned from gas stations to liquor shops to nail stores. They made fun of their brothers and sisters who walked around with ties, briefcases, and umbrellas, but with little money in the bank. Lot of hat, but no cattle, they would say.

On the quiet side of the lobby was another group mostly of turbaned guys. They all wore a very serious and worried look. The theme of the discussion there was on how to save the next generation. The Western influence is chipping away right at the roots of the religious traditions. They were also jostling about seats in the oncoming management committee elections.

The older men—the fathers and fathers-in-law of the first generation immigrants—somehow managed to get in the hall. As they could not stand for long, they found a table close to the dancing floor. This way, they will not miss any action on the floor. Particularly, they loved to watch the grown-up men and women acting out their pent-up dancing fantasies. As they sat down, one of them initiated the conversation.

So how is the life, Buta Singh?

"Same as yours. Living in mithi jail," Buta Singh answered.

Sometimes days go by before I talk to my son and daughter-in-law. They run around so strung up that I am afraid to talk to them.

Another one threw in his unsolicited comment, It is good that they get my pension [federal support], otherwise they could throw me out. Others started to chime in their gripes.

These gora politicians discriminate. They do not like us. They want to stop our pensions.

They used to be good. I used to get a lot of services free. Not anymore.

Another bunch that went into the hall to sit down was a group of ladies that did not like the hobnobbing going on in the lobby. They too positioned themselves near the dancing floor but closer to the stage where they could watch the host family and their relatives. They munched on the appetizers that they brought in large plates and made comments.

Raj is looking good today. I like her sari. But her diamond set is not up to the occasion.

I feel the color of the sari is too bright.

"Who is that khusra-looking lady?"

They all laughed and continued.

Looks like they spent a lot of money on flowers.

But there is no taste though. No sophistication. Just loads of flowers dumped here and there.

They surveyed everything. Nothing escaped their keen eyes. They could do great as press reporters.At 8:30 PM, the head usher rang the bell, and the doors to the hall swung open. The guests started moving into the hall. It was open-seating arrangement. The groups pretty much stayed together, just moved to the tables. The ladies sat on one side of the hall, and the men on the other. The bar stations were closed temporarily to keep people in the hall and not stray out in the lobby while the speeches and other activities were going on on the stage. Guests had just settled down when the hall started vibrating with the sound of the dhole. The dhole player walked to the floor and stopped. Manjit’s elder brother, Jasjit, who was the master of ceremony for the night, welcomed Manjit and Raj Pandher. The dhole started again, and the Pandhers walked in, passed by the dhole player, and sat down on the table reserved for them next to the stage. Becky was announced next. She did a short dance while passing by the dhole player. And then with a big bang from the audio system, Jasjit announced,

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the newlywed couple, Paul and Simmi Pandher! They walked in holding hands. Everyone in the hall stood up in honor and gave them a huge welcome with claps, whistles, and cheers. As they came close to the mandap, the DJ put on their first song, a romantic Hindi song. The couple held each other in ballroom dance style and danced gracefully. Apparently, they had practiced well. As the song finished, the music stopped for the cake-cutting ceremony. After the brief ceremony, Jasjit came to stage and invited Becky; her cousin, Leslie; and the group of their girlfriends to the floor. The girls dressed in colorful folk costumes filed in and stood in a circle. As the music came on, they raised their arms and stepped in synchronism with the beat. They bent and swirled in unison to look like a row of flower bushes dancing in the wind. They finished their performance to a loud applause. This was followed by a bhangra dance by Paul’s cousin, Eric, and his friend. As always, it reverberated through the hall. Moving right along, Jasjit then called in the dancer specifically invited for the occasion. She was an American-born white girl who used to dance on Western music in the parties and saw an open opportunity for a white girl to perform on Indian music. And she was right. As soon as she finished training and gave her first performance, she had become an essential part of an Indian event in Houston and the area around. She was booked months in advance. As she heard the announcement, she walked in bowing to the cheering crowd. She put her portable audio system on the floor and stood facing the crowd with hands folded in namaste pose. Her reddish-white complexion, blond hair, and tight, colorful dress of an Indian dancer combined to cast a spell on the viewers even before she started to perform. She turned her system on, and as the music came on, she opened up herself into a butterfly. She had the song and music specifically tailored for her. Her dance imitated a flying butterfly navigating around the plants, leaves, and flowers. The audience was having a hard time staying on the chairs. There were cheers and whistles coming from all corners of the hall. The performance ended with a deafening applause and sporadic calls of once more!

Jasjit announced a ten-minute break. After that, the music was turned on again, this time playing the Punjabi dance numbers. The youngsters and ladies took to the dance floor. The menfolks went back and forth between their tables and the bar stations in the lobby that were opened again. The Pandhers had bought the best liquor package the hotel offered as that was the main feature of a Punjabi party. Bartenders were forewarned to pour doubles as the standard drink.

The dinner was served buffet style at 10:00 PM without making any specific announcement. People wanting to go home early watched the trays being set up and got in line as soon the setting was complete. Others ate as and when they liked. Quite a few of the men stayed around the bar stations and kept on drinking till they saw the food being removed. Some of the guys did not eat at all. Most people left by midnight. Some could hardly walk and had to be supported by their wives. Most of the wives did the driving going home. Only the younger crowd—the friends and cousins of Paul—were left, and they took over the dancing floor and the bar stations till the management forcibly closed the hall. That scene was beyond description.

CHAPTER 2

PANDHERS MOVED INTO their home when the Spring Grove Subdivision was just coming up fifteen years ago. The Johnsons bought the model home across the street from them a year later. There were very few occupied houses on the street then. The builder had sold these new homes without any grass or shrubbery in the yards. The owners had to sod the St. Augustine grass, plant the shrubs, and make flower beds. The neighbors would stop by and exchange tips on where to buy stuff and the easier ways to plant. It helped to generate a camaraderie that is generally not there in an established locale. Paul, Pandher’s son, was going to the same high school that Lisa Johnson was going to. In fact, they both were in the ninth grade but in different sections. At first, Barbara Johnson and Raj Pandher used to alternate in taking the kids to school. But Raj started skipping her turn under one pretext or the other till the arrangement was completely broken, and they drove separately.

As Paul started to turn from a boy to a young man, Raj became a bit protective. Paul was a bit bashful too, so the interaction between Paul and Lisa was virtually not there. That did not mean that there was lack of desire on either side. Slowly and slowly, the influence of youth started to take hold, causing the inhibitions to crumble.

It was the month of June, and school was out. But it did not bring much ease for Paul. He still had to wake up early and do chores around the yard while it was still relatively cool. The worst of the chores was the lawn mowing. It took all morning to do the front yard, cutting the grass, edging the yard, clipping the shrubs. He would do the backyard on another morning. He had just finished the cutting and edging when Chris, the ten-year-old who lived next door, came out and asked him why Becky, Paul’s younger sister, was not coming out. Becky, Chris, and his younger sister, Cary, usuallyplayed in their