Arranged marriage of cousin

My cousin’s wedding was scheduled for December 12th, and I was initially excited about it. However, I was unable to attend because I had to be in Gwalior for my tour guide training exams and interview. The wedding was on the 12th, my written exam was on the 13th, and the party was on the 16th, which was also the day of my interview. In retrospect, I’m relieved I didn’t attend, as the events surrounding the wedding turned out to be quite chaotic. My cousin, who worked at a travel agency in Delhi and was 30 years old, wanted to marry and had his parents arrange the match.

My uncle, who had a relative in Benares seeking a groom for his daughter, acted as the mediator. The wedding was set for December, after being arranged in May. Although my cousin and the bride had met secretly, as her father disapproved of pre-marital meetings, they got along well and seemed happy. However, a few days before the wedding, the bride’s father, who seemed rather superstitious, insisted on having my cousin’s horoscope rechecked by a prominent Brahmin. According to traditional beliefs, horoscopes are matched on 32 different qualities, and if fewer than 16 match, the marriage is considered inauspicious.

The bride’s father was concerned that my cousin was a “Manglik,” which supposedly posed issues related to Mars in his horoscope. Despite these concerns, the horoscope was revalidated, and the wedding proceeded as planned. On the wedding day, as the groom’s procession arrived at the bride’s home, a commotion erupted. It was discovered that the bride did not want to marry my cousin because she was in love with someone else. Her boyfriend, accompanied by an advocate, was present and expressed his wish to marry her. The bride, who had left her home just before the wedding procession arrived, took refuge at a neighbor’s house. Her father and others forcefully brought her back.

Amid the chaos, the bride continued to protest and expressed her desire to marry her boyfriend. Despite this, my cousin chose to proceed with the wedding. The bride’s family then physically assaulted the boyfriend and his supporter, imprisoning them overnight, and the marriage was forcibly conducted. The bride was quickly brought to the groom’s home, where she reiterated her feelings to my cousin and asked for his help to reunite with her boyfriend. However, my cousin insisted she accept their marriage, given the circumstances.

It’s difficult for me to understand why my cousin went through with the marriage despite knowing the situation. He often spoke of his age and his fear that he wouldn’t find a partner if he waited longer, which might have influenced his decision. I also struggle to understand why the bride didn’t disclose her relationship with her boyfriend earlier or why this issue was only addressed on the wedding day. Arranged marriages are still common in India, but there’s a growing opposition to the practice. While I don’t have an issue with arranged marriages per se, the circumstances surrounding my cousin’s wedding make me uneasy.

The situation was handled poorly, and it’s distressing to see such forceful measures taken. I’m unsure whether to hope for my cousin and his wife to work things out or consider separation, but one thing is clear: if the bride were to act on her previous desires, it would create significant problems for my cousin and his family.

Widows in Varanasi

I worked with a student named Irine from the University of Venice who wanted to study widows in Varanasi, focusing specifically on the issue of prostitution among widows in widow ashrams. She explained that her interest was sparked by the film *Water*. Although I found the subject compelling, I was initially uncertain about finding widows to interview about prostitution. Nevertheless, the topic intrigued me, so I agreed to collaborate with her. I conducted some research and discovered a government-run widow ashram near my home.

Upon visiting, we found about 18 widows living at the ashram. The facility was in poor condition: while there was a garden and open space, the building itself appeared to be from the early 1900s and was not well maintained. An office staff member informed us that a wealthy pilgrim from Kolkata had once visited Varanasi, met a widow at a ghat, and was moved by her story. This encounter led him to fund the construction of the ashram, which was later handed over to the government. It is currently managed by the Department of Women Welfare for Uttar Pradesh.

This is the only government-run widow ashram in the entire state of Uttar Pradesh. The woman in charge of the office was receptive to Irine’s project and allowed us to interview the widows. The ashram is divided into two sections: one for widows who are able to care for themselves and another for those who are physically unfit. Each widow receives only Rs. 550 (US$ 12) per month from the government. We were told by both the widows and the office in charge that no government funds had been received for the past three months, leaving the widows without any financial support.

The office in charge mentioned that local donors, who regularly contribute to the ashram, are essential for the widows’ survival. Without these donations, the government stipend alone would be insufficient. It is difficult to imagine how one could survive on Rs. 550 a month. The widows who are capable of managing on their own live on the ground floor, while those who are older or in poor health reside on the first floor. The government provides each widow with a small gas stove for cooking, but they must prepare their own meals. The ashram has a kitchen where food is prepared for those who cannot cook for themselves, with the cooking done by office staff. There is also a washing machine for laundry, though I am unsure who operates it.

The rooms are spacious, with four beds in each. Irine was particularly interested in exploring the issue of prostitution among widows, but I was uncertain how to approach this sensitive topic with women who were all over 65, with some over 80. We decided to visit the ashram multiple times, building rapport with the widows and staff to see if any information might emerge. We also inquired about other widow ashrams in Varanasi and were directed to two additional locations. One was very close to my place, called Mata Anandmayi Ashram.

At Mata Anandmayi Ashram, we discovered that it primarily functions as a religious school for girls. The peon mentioned that there were over 20 widows there as well, but the manager was extremely uncooperative. He denied that they housed any widows, which was puzzling. We were unable to speak with anyone other than the rude manager and peon. We then visited Birla Ashram at Chowk, Varanasi, which was established by the Birla family. There were around 20 widows residing there, but we couldn’t speak with any of them on our first visit.

We encountered a woman who was not a widow but was staying there thanks to her IAS officer husband, who had arranged a room for her due to her religious interests. She was uncooperative and prevented us from speaking with the widows. She asked us to return after a few days as she wanted to consult someone in Kolkata first. We returned after a few days and fortunately, the woman was not present. We managed to speak with a widow, but she was busy at the time. She told us that most of the widows at Birla Ashram work as cooks in various households and that the ashram only provides them with a room.

The disparity in support and conditions between the ashrams was striking. Some widows, particularly those who were unable to work, seemed to receive little more than a place to stay. When a widow dies, the ashram informs the family; if no one comes, the body is cremated, sometimes traditionally and sometimes using an electric burner. The stories of the widows were both heartbreaking and enlightening. Many were forced to leave their homes due to harsh circumstances: some were expelled by their own children or daughters-in-law, while others chose to leave to avoid being a burden. A common thread among them was early marriage, with some married as young as 6 or 7 years old.

I met several women married at such a young age, and many lost their husbands by the time they were only 10, never having lived with them. One remarkable woman from Chennai, who was the most educated and articulate of all the widows we met, shared a particularly poignant story. Married at seven, she spent four years living with her parents before moving in with her husband at eleven, only to be separated from him for a year due to family traditions. After her husband’s death, she lived with her parents and later with her sister. Feeling like a burden, she initially came to Varanasi to commit suicide but was saved by a boat rower and sent to the ashram. Her story was deeply moving and highlighted her resilience.

She described South Indian widow traditions, which differ somewhat from North Indian practices. For instance, after a husband’s death, a South Indian widow’s head is shaved, and she is separated from others while sarees are thrown at her from a distance. In South India, widows are permitted to wear either white or red sarees, whereas in North India, only white is allowed. The practice of throwing sarees is not something I have heard of in North India, but considering the conditions faced by widows, it’s not entirely inconceivable.

When we asked all the widows why someone becomes a widow, they all agreed with the belief that it is due to some sin from their past life. However, they felt that the sins of widowers are not as severe. Widows are expected to follow stringent rules, such as abstaining from tasty food, not interacting with men, not going out, not wearing colorful clothes, and avoiding celebrations. Most widows believed these restrictions were necessary to atone for their sins and avoid punishment in the afterlife.

Regarding remarriage, only a few widows felt it was acceptable; most viewed contemporary widows who remarry or dress in colorful clothes negatively. The general sentiment was that widows should adhere strictly to traditional practices. The prevailing view among the widows was that they were marginalized and discriminated against, particularly in Varanasi. They are often excluded from weddings and considered bad luck. It is disheartening to see such practices, which seem disconnected from the core values of Hinduism, which I believe should emphasize equality and respect for all individuals.

This experience has taught me a great deal. The systemic issues and historical practices that have contributed to the plight of women in India are profound. While education is crucial for addressing these problems, the current state of educational and social reform suggests that change may be slow. It is clear that addressing these deep-seated issues requires not only better education but also comprehensive social and policy reforms.

Prabhu’s death and superstition

My friend Prabhu passed away last month from colon cancer. His death has deeply impacted my life, as he was one of my closest friends. I miss him immensely. I was discussing his death with two friends, Babu and Rahul. Babu has a degree in science and is preparing to study in London, while Rahul has a degree in arts. Both are educated and have lived in the city all their lives. Although everyone who knew Prabhu was aware that he died of colon cancer, Babu and Rahul offered an explanation that shocked me.

They claimed that one of the main reasons for Prabhu’s death was his motorbike, which he had purchased a year ago. According to them, Prabhu’s Saturn was not aligned favorably, and buying anything made of iron is considered dangerous for someone whose Saturn is not in a good position. They identified four mistakes Prabhu made: buying a motorbike, purchasing it on a Saturday, choosing a black color for the bike, and not allowing others to ride it. Babu and Rahul believed that black is an “anti-Saturn” color, and buying a black motorbike was a significant error.

Prabhu was very attached to his motorbike and never let anyone else, even his family members, ride it. Babu and Rahul suggested that if Prabhu had allowed others to use the bike, it might have reduced the negative influence of Saturn and helped him fight colon cancer. Hearing this explanation left me astounded. It seemed absurd to link cancer to something as trivial as a motorbike, especially when we need to understand the real causes of such diseases.

I often hear about unhealthy practices such as mixing animal fat with oil and butter, treating old potatoes with acid to make them look fresh, or the increasing consumption of meat products. While these practices are concerning, Prabhu’s doctors attributed his cancer to excessive consumption of deep-fried and spicy foods. Prabhu himself admitted that he hadn’t eaten lunch in the past seven years. He ran a Kachaudi shop and would consume 10-12 Kachaudis with very spicy vegetables every morning, then eat nothing else for the rest of the day.

He also mentioned using burnt oil to prepare the Kachaudis. He maintained this diet for seven years, and his dinners usually consisted of roti with spicy vegetables. He had rarely eaten lentils during this time and suffered from serious constipation for years without ever consulting a doctor. Additionally, he chewed betel and tobacco frequently. I believe these factors, not his black motorbike bought on a Saturday, contributed to his colon cancer.

It seems that while India is evolving with its younger generation, there are still many outdated beliefs that hinder progress. The younger generation must move beyond such superstitions to better understand and address real health issues.