The Taste of Ginger(83)
“What are you doing?” I asked, once we were alone in the garden outside his house.
His eyes still had a hollow look to them, and I wondered if they’d ever get back their sheen.
“My parents have been suggesting girls to me for quite a long while. It’s time I grow up and move to the next chapter.”
Next chapter. His words were familiar; Hari had used the same ones when he and I had spoken about his arranged marriage when I had first arrived.
“Biren, this is a prison sentence for you,” I said gently. “What about Samarth?”
“What about him?” he said too quickly. After a pause, his voice softened, and he said, “We haven’t spoken much since that night. We both agreed the risk was too high to pursue anything.”
After making sure none of his family members were watching us, I put my hand on his arm. “I know what happened that night was bad. Really bad. But do you really want to give up your chance to ever be happy? To find someone worth taking that risk for?”
He scoffed. “That’s what you don’t understand. This is India. People like me don’t have that kind of chance, so I’m not giving up anything.” His eyes flashed with anger. “You run around here thinking about love and ignoring the caste system, but the rest of us don’t have that luxury. We have to grow up and be adults.”
I flinched. When I’d learned he was gay, I’d wanted to help him find a way to be happy. He was so amazing and deserved at least that much, but I hadn’t appreciated the trade-offs that came with it for him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling the weight of the words.
“The best I can hope for is a normal life where people don’t look at me differently, one where I don’t bring any shame upon the family. Getting married will accomplish both.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” I whispered.
His hard expression crumbled, and his eyes glistened. “You should have seen my mother’s face when I told her I was ready to accept her last suggestion. She was moved to tears. I’m an only child, her only son, and it is up to me to carry on this family’s good name.”
He glanced at the house. We could see his father directing their servant to tidy things inside. I moved my hand and slid a few inches away from him so we wouldn’t be close enough to arouse any suspicion. After all, he would soon be a married man.
Tears now shone in his eyes. The first sign of genuine emotion I’d seen from him in weeks. “I love my family. In life, everyone makes sacrifices. This is mine.”
“Are you sure? Are you really sure you can’t have both?” I asked.
He stared into the distance. “No one gets to have everything they want in life. That’s true no matter where you are. Every day we make choices.”
“But isn’t this a huge thing to give up?”
His expression softened a bit. “I thought about it a lot. I’ve always thought about it a lot. You and I have spent time in the West, and over there, romantic love is everything. It is worth sacrificing every single thing in your life and seems to be the great path to happiness, right?”
I nodded, thinking of the conclusion I had come to that, if I had to choose, Alex was more important than my family.
“But what if there are more paths?” he said. “Our parents never dreamed of romantic love in the way the West teaches us. Our parents’ generation was focused on love of family. They found happiness a different way. Even our generation for those raised here, right? Think of Hari and Laila. My parents don’t have burning passion for each other like a Hollywood movie, but they support each other and have developed a relationship that will last for their entire lives. They know they will have each other until one of them dies. How often does that happen in America? A lifelong partner means something different here, and maybe it can be something better.”
I pondered Biren’s words. He was right. The Western notion of romantic love was not a universal truth, god-given right, necessity, or prerequisite to happiness in many other parts of the world. There were many cultures, like the Hindu one, that prized familial love above all else, and that was the path to happiness. I thought about my choices thus far in life. I had chosen Western values, including Western notions of love, and had not contemplated anything different. But could I say that I was fully happy with where I was in life right now? I assumed all immigrants to the West adopted those views like I had, but seeing Biren, who had flirted with those values and ultimately decided to come back to his Indian roots, was novel for me. I saw how earnestly he wanted to have a close relationship with his parents, and how not having that would make him less happy than not having a romantic partner.
“You’re right,” I said. “Every life involves sacrifice. I have always had my blinders on, and while I hoped I would never have to choose, I knew I’d choose a romantic partner over my family. It’s what I’ve done in the past, and it’s what I’ve become accustomed to.” I smiled at him. “But it’s not the only way. Having a safe, healthy, happy life surrounded by your family and friends sounds pretty great too. May even have less drama overall. My quest for romantic love hasn’t led anywhere great so far . . .”
His eyes met mine, and I saw both the appreciation for the support and the apprehension at the unknown that he was moving into.