Love and marriage

Two mornings a week, I teach at B-GHUD, the English language college run by the irrepressible John-Sir. Most of his students are in their early to mid-twenties, studying English in order to gain the international IELTS qualification they need to apply for work in any English-speaking country.

I hope the students have learned something from me during the time I’ve spent there, because I’ve certainly learnt a huge amount from them.

I would never have dreamed, for example, that I could stand up for an hour and a half in front of 60-plus students talking about etiquette and manners in the west. And I had no idea I knew so much about British politics, education systems in the western world, the impact of feminism, crime and punishment, to name just a few of the random issues John commands me to speak on at each session. Yet somehow, from somewhere, I’ve found a voice to talk confidently on (nearly) every subject, with no time to prepare, no advance notice, and every session done on the hop.

I’ve learned that I can speak strong, clear English; that I can keep control in a classroom; and that I can (occasionally!) make them laugh. For someone who quakes in her boots whenever asked to give a simple presentation in front of a small handful of people, this has been a revelation. I’m starting to find an inner confidence, and it feels good.

My favourite times with the students are when we’re working together in a small group of five or six. And, it doesn’t matter what subject we start on, by the end of the session we’ve always arrived at the thorny issue of cultural differences: love and marriage in particular.

Traditional Keralites, like most Indians, have marriages arranged by their parents. Women tend to marry in their early-twenties, while men marry after 28. The matches are arranged according to culture, so Christians always marry other Christians. With Hindus, the system is more complex: not only must a Hindu marry another Hindu, but the husband and wife should come from the same caste and be astrologically compatible. When a baby is born to a Hindu couple, the precise time and place of the birth is carefully noted so that its astrological significance can be used later in life to find a compatible match.

In Delhi, Mumbai and other cities where life is more cosmopolitan, Indians are more likely to marry for love. But in most traditional towns and cities, it’s rare – and particularly rare when those marriages cross cultural and religious boundaries.

When I ask the B-GHUD students what they think about having a husband or wife chosen for them, around 95 percent say they want to follow their cultural tradition. Just a few (and never the girls) say they want to marry for love. Because marriage here isn’t just about the connection between a husband and wife: it’s a connection between two families and two communities. It’s almost unheard of for a husband and wife to have their own separate home. Most Indians live in extended family homes, with parents and siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents and other members of the extended family.

So the whole family has to buy into the marriage, and parents take great care to find a mate for their son or daughter who will fit into the family unit. It’s a concept so alien to us in the west, and I’ve been forced to confront my prejudices and try to see things from an Indian perspective. While forced marriage is always abhorrent, it seems that an arranged marriage, planned by loving parents who understand their children and their needs, can work well. My Keralite students tell me that they are allowed to say no to a prospective partner but that, in the main, they trust their parents’ judgment.

What they don’t tell me is that, certainly in Kerala, and probably across India as a whole, there is a high suicide rate among unhappily married husbands and wives. Divorce is a stigma; families will go to great lengths to preserve a marriage, even when there are clear problems. Among poorer educated communities, for example, it’s common and even acceptable for a husband to regularly beat his wife.

My students find it hard to comprehend the way we do things in the west, and are scandalised by our high divorce rates, co-habitation and same sex relationships. Their views tend to be coloured by what they see on TV, in magazines and the movies, and I think they imagine most western women live like Madonna! I tell them that yes, the divorce rate is high in the west, and yes, people sometimes give up too easily on relationships. But many other people have long and successful marriages, work through their problems and live together as a team.

There’s so much our cultures can learn from each other. I can’t imagine ever having an arranged marriage, but I’ve started to understand the benefits of husbands and wives being part of a carefully chosen community. Keralites are shocked at the idea of divorce, but surely that’s preferable to being trapped in a loveless and abusive marriage, however much support you might receive from your extended family. I’ve tried to keep an open mind about the things I’ve seen and heard in Kerala, and have advised the students to do the same when they move to the west, because they’re in for a huge culture shock when they arrive.