A cross-cultural marriage is an adventure I'd recommend

[Al-khiyal]

A cross-cultural marriage is an adventure I'd recommend

December 27, 2009 -- One visit to India and a childhood playing cricket was never going to be quite enough to prepare Toby, a white Englishman who grew up in Oxfordshire, for his marriage. After all, you don't just marry an Indian woman – you marry her large (and often eccentric) family and all that brings with it. The realisation began to sink in for Toby at the Hindu part of our wedding, three months ago. He got out of arriving on the back of a white horse, but we persuaded him to go along with the rest of it. That included being dressed up from head to toe, with a red turban with white tassels hanging over his face, embroidered scarf, full-length white coat with gold trimmings and his very own pair of what he called "Aladdin" shoes. He took part in the "baraat", an Indian tradition in which the groom arrives with family and friends dancing around him.

So there they were: swinging their arms to the bhangra beat of a dhol drum with shell-shocked smiles as they were met by the cheering crowd of "aunties" and "uncles" (not real ones – that is how we address any Indian person above the age of 40) and bending down to have garlands draped around their necks and red marks smeared on their foreheads. The image of a white British groom at the centre of a mass of ecstatic Indian aunties would once have been a rarity. But research released earlier this year found that one in 10 people in Britain with Indian heritage who is in a relationship has a partner of a different race. The study, by the Institute for Social and Economic Research, found the same was true of half of all Caribbean men, one in five black African men and two out of five Chinese women. The result so far: one in 10 children in Britain is living in a mixed-race family.

It is a trend that has been welcomed by many (including our parents, thankfully) and vocally opposed by some. In the extreme cases, it comes as little surprise: I wouldn't expect great support from BNP members. Nor perhaps from a justice of the peace across in the U.S., in Louisiana, who has recently faced disciplinary action after refusing to marry his fourth mixed-race couple on the grounds that it would be unfair to any children they had. But I have also come across people who are neither extreme nor racist but who have expressed reservations about mixed-race marriages. I've heard them argue that cultural differences can be a barrier – something to consider when choosing a spouse; that similar backgrounds create the best chance of success. Often, it is the minority groups themselves that are making these arguments. I certainly have friends from a number of backgrounds whose parents have been upset when they got together with someone of a different race or religion. And I feel that where you live in the UK can make a difference. When I return to my parents' home, in a suburban area, I am somehow more aware of our racial differences. Yet in London, where we live and where in the inner-city primary schools one in four children is of mixed race, I sometimes completely forget.

For Toby and me, our first three months together have undoubtedly been a reminder of just how different our cultures are. After all, the wedding did not prepare him for the next step of our marriage – a trip to India to meet the real family. Toby grew up on the outskirts of Oxford with his mum, dad, brother and a succession of dogs. He had one aunt and no first cousins. I, too, grew up in England (near Manchester) with both parents and a brother – but that is where the similarities end. Welcome to India, where first cousins are akin to brothers and sisters, second cousins to first cousins and any close family friend is considered – and treated – as a relative. Add to that the fact that everyone wants to meet, cuddle, feed and interrogate a new husband. For Toby, that means a new family with 17 "brothers and sisters", dozens of cousins and almost 100 aunties and uncles. We had two weeks to say our "hellos". Soon, Toby would wake up with the question: "How many social engagements do we have today?" The answer was rarely fewer than three and at each we would be (virtually force-) fed piles of Indian food until we pleaded with them to stop. Within a week, I had put on half a stone and Toby, who had been ultra-careful about everything he ate, was nevertheless suffering from the obligatory Delhi belly.

And as we were newlyweds, there were some traditions that were new to me, too. "It is great – every time we meet someone, they put a red mark on my head and hand me a bag of nuts and some cash," said Toby at one point. One great auntie went further, adorning us with a coconut each. And then there were the gifts – shawls, jewellery, scarves, boxes, pictures and more. He found some things particularly difficult: the inequality that was so visible in Delhi, the constant crowds and the dust. And loved others. We laughed at the way Indians reacted to Toby's height. At 6ft 3in, he seemed to tower over most Indians. One stranger looked up in shock and said: "Is he in the military or something? I've never seen anyone so tall." Then I smile to think of the look of glee on Toby's face as we boarded our Virgin Atlantic flight and began the journey back to the calmness and order he never even realised existed at home. It was quite different to trips to Oxford to visit his parents or the annual jaunt to Cheltenham with his grandfather's wife and her family that I am now invited to as well.

So it is undoubtedly true that getting married highlighted the differences between us. Because before that, it had been about me and him and sometimes our parents. But now he has found himself not just my husband, but a fully fledged member of the Asthana (and Bahel) family. And I'm sure there is a risk that could bring along some difficulties. But the truth is that while our cultural backgrounds are hugely important to our lives, they don't come close to defining us. In fact, I'd say there are more ways in which Toby and I are similar than our racial backgrounds make us different. Yes, we were brought up eating different cuisines, under different religions, but we both came out with remarkably similar values about family and friendship, a love of sport and (most of the time) agreement about politics. Sometimes, I wonder if the fact that the marriage is mixed region – me from the north, him from the south – is as significant as the fact it is mixed race. And I'm sure that people who marry others of the same colour and heritage but with other significant differences in class or personality face far more differences. Because, for all the craziness of the first few months of marriage, the fact that it is mixed race is overwhelmingly a positive thing. It means we get to choose the best out of two very different cultures: the curries in Manchester and the roast dinners in Oxford are just the start.

[Al-khiyal]

Cross-cultural marriage is no picnic

January 11, 2010 -- My engagement present was a book of pocket psalms, with yellow highlighter streaked through passages that warned of the eternal damnation that non-believers face. It was presented to me in the small, dark room of a village house on the outskirts of Nairobi by my future father-in-law, a lay preacher. I had gone there to ask for my girlfriend's hand in marriage, and to meet her family. I'm a Hindu. That's why I read Anushka Asthana's invitation for everyone to join Britain's cross-cultural marital jamboree with more than a little alarm. It's not that I oppose inter-racial or inter-religious marriage, because I've enjoyed mine. But there is a dark side to it, and sometimes the choices it forces upon you are more trying than deciding between curries and roast dinners.

I can't pretend that my marriage typifies cross-cultural marriages in any way. I don't have statistics to hand but I'd guess that Asian female/white male marriages are more common than Hindu Asian male/Christian Kenyan female. What my marriage showed, though, is that cross-cultural matches can light up an unexpected bonfire of bigotries. My parents, for example, were remarkably accepting of our union, but my extended family much less so. For many traditional Indians, fairness of skin is the yardstick of beauty ; it's inextricably linked to social status too. So my fiancée, darker than their servants, wasn't considered marriage material (this wasn't helped by the fact that many of my cousins have wives who could pass for Greeks). When she passed through Mumbai, on a work trip, they took the opportunity to quiz her on why she wanted to marry me, wondering aloud if it wasn't so she could get a British passport. The fact that she wasn't Hindu didn't seem to bother them too much, though.

If colour lay at the root of my family's objections, then religion was my father-in-law's prejudice of choice (I'll admit, being a lay preacher meant he was never going to accept without a struggle my worship of many, many gods). They had no problem with my race – "we are all brothers in Christ!" he repeatedly insisted. His problem was with my faith. For these reasons he didn't speak to my fiancée for six months before I went to Kenya, and threatened never to again unless she broke off our engagement.

Fortunately for us, he broke his silence the day before I arrived, in exchange for the opportunity to have a crack at converting me. He did try, and try hand, to give him credit (hence the engagement gift). I spent most of the trip squirming from the Christianity that crept into every family get-together; it turned out that there wasn't anything that wasn't worth praying for (we even paused to pray to a quick journey to the airport, even though it made us late). I ended up meeting more people from my father-in-law's church than from his family, and they all impressed upon me the perils of worshipping false idols. They also consistently failed to say my name properly. After a certain point I was convinced they were mispronouncing my name deliberately so that I might be think of myself as actually being a Patrick, and thus one step close to the kingdom of Christ.

Despite these trials, they didn't put us off marriage, and if anything strengthened our resolve. So I'm not suggesting that anyone should give up their big romance out of fear of tripping up on family prejudices; that's clearly not the right message. But there's something worrying about fetishising cross-cultural marriage or trying it out for novelty or to prove just how liberal you are. It won't be a "magical journey" for everyone, and sometimes it can place strains of family that take them to breaking point. In fact, they should come with a health warning: cross-cultural marriages can seriously damage your relationship with your parents.

[Aayesha]

Very interesting. Jazakallahukhairan for posting.

[salma]

Oh my...that was funny and sad too.

"My engagement present was a book of pocket psalms, with yellow highlighter streaked through passages that warned of the eternal damnation that non-believers face." - lol

"In fact, they should come with a health warning: cross-cultural marriages can seriously damage your relationship with your parents." ):