Not the best mix. Oh well.
I was at Mitra’s house for the memorial service of her grandmother, the family matriarch. Shocked at the sight of Mitra’s father, who had shaved his head, I asked him if he had gotten in a fight with a barber. The family looked appalled, but luckily Mitra’s dad only laughed. Head shaving is a sign of reverence and mourning. Doh!
I was honored to be at the religious ceremony – the only other whitey there was someone who had married into the tight-knit Assamese community. But like all ceremonies, it dragged on a bit. Thank goodness for kids running around.
And thank goodness for the Indian mother sitting next to me trying to explain to her 7 year old how to open the car while simultaneously putting the fear of god (or Ganesh, not too sure) into him about locking the keys in the car. After five minutes of waiting for her son to reappear, she sheepishly left looking for him. I took my cue and did the same, watching cartoons with the other children who had escaped the ceremony.
I don’t think Jumbo Jet would have minded. She liked me, once she got over the shock of her grandaughter having 1) male friends, 2) non-Indian friends,, and 3) androgenous friends. I wouldn’t normally claim #3, but after meeting me (family members describe the diminutive woman ‘lifting’ off the floor when I shook her hand) she asked Mitra’s mother, “Is that a girl or a boy with long hair?” She had never seen such a thing before.
The ceremony involved chanting, some dude playing Indian cymbals, and an offering of food. The food was first offered to the makeshift shrine assembled in the basemen, and after the ceremony, offered to us. Between the cymbals and twice offered food (admitedly, raw chickpeas and fresh coconut flakes), I was warming to Assamese memorial services. The Assamese fish curry was also excellent.
I did find, just as the buffet service started, a nice looking matriarchal Indian woman and asked her, as cluelessly as possible, which dishes contained curry. She paused, and patiently explained they all did.
