The Tamesis
My parents were virtual strangers on their wedding day. They were introduced to each other by family members, had only met three or four times before, and had never been alone together. Their parents linger in the courtship process, passively negotiating the terms of their possible union. Marriage between acquaintances was unheard of in America, but common in India, where they immigrated.
My mother was a ballet dancer and my father was an Indian worker immigrant without a college degree. The stars – meaning Vedic chart readings with their birth dates and times – said they were matched. Of course, astrology is just due diligence and a way to come to an agreement before arranging a Hindu marriage. Their families have made the decision for them. They have no choice but to get married. It’s in their best interest. If they work hard, maybe one day they will fall in love with each other. They are taught that love is earned.
When I look at my parents’ wedding photos, I see the fear in their eyes. It’s fear of the unknown—a deeply human, all-encompassing, universal feeling.
Despite being a first generation Indian American, I never felt like I had anything to prove. I had a different perspective on love and relationships than my family, and I never viewed marriage as a sign of success. I don’t feel like I have to find the love of my life to break metaphorical generational bonds, nor do I feel like I have to carry a metaphorical torch toward Western ideals of progress.
On the contrary, I have wanted to get away from it all since I was a kid. I don’t want to prioritize romance, love, or relationships. I think relationships are a frivolous, wasteful pastime that Americans aspire to, and an economic system that Indians at least aren’t in the sugar-coating business. Love is always a choice, and it can seem difficult. Romance in a dreamy, escapist sense applies to TV, movies, music and books. I avoid heartbreak at all costs.
Instead, I read about broken hearts. The first romance novel I ever read was Wuthering Heights. I was assigned this book in high school and annotated it religiously. We were told to focus on Emily Bronte’s diction and syntax, but slowly I became interested in the characters’ actions and inner lives. The chaos of Catherine and Heathcliff’s story is unlike anything I’ve experienced in my own life. Eventually, I wrote a 12-page paper: “Reading Wuthering Heights The cruelty I am referring to, of course, is Heathcliff’s campaign of revenge—bred by childhood abuse by Catherine Earnshaw’s brother and compounded by Catherine’s decision to marry Edgar Linton.
Although in many ways this book bears no resemblance to my life or concept of romance, its core is surprisingly familiar: a marriage rooted in convenience and material concerns.
“He would be rich,” Catherine said in explaining why she favored marrying Edgar Linton. “I would want to be the greatest woman in the neighborhood, and I would be proud to have such a husband.” Like my mother, Catherine did not marry for love. She chose social mobility over her truth. She chose the illusion of security, a false sense of certainty. Heathcliff’s heart suffers collateral damage.
There is also a price to pay for choosing Heathcliff. Loving him is not free; love is not always as free as we think. Often, this is something we have to fight hard to protect.
