Julie & Kishore (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The
Hindi word for boy is lardakaa.

After
that first date things seemed to blossom quickly for us. I felt comfortable in
Kishore’s company - there was a connection between us that I couldn’t explain.
I genuinely liked him as a person, which was a plus, he was intelligent,
generous and kind.

I
knew there were many differences between the Indian culture and my own. Being
raised in traditional English ways this included the ways of finding a husband.
A seemingly hit and miss situation that involved seeing a lot of boys in order
to find a compatible partner. A judgement of a possible relationship totally
left up to fate, which unfortunately often ended in one night stands or messy
break-ups.

Before
marrying Brett, Sarah had various boyfriends and although each boy was
different, the relationships ended in the same way.

 
Without a word Sarah quietly put down the
phone and ran to her room. Soon, the husky voice of Rod Stewart drifted out
from under her bedroom door, ‘
I don’t
wanna talk about it,
how
you broke my heart…'

It
was the same everytime Sarah broke up with a boyfriend, she would drown her
sorrows in Rod Stewart’s crooning voice. Crying for days, only occasionally
emerging from her room, her eyes puffy and red. Her pain
and heartache
soon changed to anger, “Who cares, who
needs him anyway,” she defiantly exclaimed as she entered the final stage of
boyfriend breakups - ‘Moving on.’

Knowing
this kind of sorrow could also lay ahead for me, I knew I didn’t want to follow
in Sarah’s footsteps - I wanted a relationship that would last. I didn’t want
to have to go through her despondency, besides, I didn’t even like Rod Stewart!
 

As
I watched Sarah
,
I thought it
might be easier for me to pack it all in and become a nun - like Maria in
The Sound of Music
but then again what
good did it do her? She fell in love with her employer and became a Step-Mum to
seven children!

Western
people went through this scenario many times sometimes never finding that Mr or
Miss right. Often, the only chance of finding a partner was through friends or
while out socialising, where strangers meet and try to find a mutual interest
in each other that would sometimes result in a second or third date. Couples
looking to become an ‘item’ or looking for love to last will eventually though
not always get married. Living together is sometimes preferred as they do not
wish to be bound by a piece of paper.

 
It’s the couple that decides on their life
together, no one else, their hearts rule, not their sensible heads.

 
Of course I had been on a few dates with boys
before but this time it was different. After spending time with Kishore, I knew
it felt right and as the weeks went by we were sure we had found the missing
piece in each other’s life.

Not
long after I started working at
O.S.W.
I went on a date with Lance. He drove one of the company van’s delivering the
office supplies. He was a tall, lanky guy with a mullet haircut and a tattoo of
an eagle on his arm. We had chatted a few times during work hours and had
decided to meet at Brandy’s bar one Friday night after work. I was hesitant and
a little anxious about the date, he was a nice guy during work hours but I had
never seen him in a social setting before. But the best way of getting to know
someone, or so I had been led to believe, was to go out for a drink. It
soon
became apparent that my anxiety was justified.

Arriving
at the bar on time I pushed open the door, a waft of cigarette smoke instantly
entered my nose.
P
ulling a face
like I
had
just sucked on a lemon I realised I could also taste
it in my mouth. ‘
Don’t dream it's over’
a
new song by the band Crowded House, softly played on an unseen stereo. My
attention was
diverted
towards a table in the corner, where
the sound of glasses clinking and especially loud laughter could easily be
heard above the rhythmic melody of the song. I could see the table was
jam-packed with a group of people who were not just having fun but were over-the-top
rowdy and were generally acting like juveniles.

A
thought flashed through my head, what immature pathetic idiots they were. My
eyebrows lifted as I took a closer look and realised my date Lance was one of
those immature pathetic idiots. I
was just
about to
whirl
around to head
towards the doo
r but I was too late, Lance had already
spotted me and was heading in my direction.

I
apprehensively smiled and muttered, “Hi Lance.”

“Juuuuulllieee,
how are ya?” His words were slurred and his breath stunk of a mixture of beer
and ash. He’d had far too much to drink already and the night was still young.
Draping his arm heavily around my shoulders, he dragged me over to join his
friends at the table. Grudgingly, I said my hellos to each person and instantly
felt out of place. All I wanted to do was leave. How was I going to get out of
here? I glanced around, possibly looking for someone to rescue me. An Indian
guy was at the bar drinking a
beer
, did
I
know him from somewhere?

With
Lance practically ignoring me, I sat for a long tedious hour, eventually making
an excuse to go. There is nothing wrong with people enjoying a good time but
when they become drunk around me and behave stupidly, I’d rather not be there.
Needless to say I never saw Lance on a social basis again.

In
comparison, as time progressed with Kishore and me, we enjoyed seeing alot more
of each other, things were going well and it wasn’t long before we were seen as
a couple.

When
he was at work, Linda’s attitude towards Kishore changed. His smile told her
all was well in his life. As the weeks flew by and our love blossomed, we both
wore that
in love
, aura that radiated
from us like the warmth from the sun on a crisp autumn day.

Linda
was all smiles, she knew she had created this happiness between us and as time
went by she saw Kishore transform into someone completely different, from a shy
Indian boy into a happy, self-assured young man.

I
remember a particular episode of the iconic New Zealand TV programme
Country Calendar
. A proud dairy farmer
sat on his horse at the highest point
of a ridge. He had taken a moment out of his busy day to survey his vast land -
his trusty black and white sheep dog sat faithfully at his side. The farmer was
watching his cattle grazing in the paddocks below, his face holding a huge
smile of satisfaction. He was proud of his five thousand acre farm on the
Canterbury Plains in the South Island. The land he knew like the back of his
hand was his achievement and he was content.

This
is the same satisfied look I now saw on Linda.

She
had taken me under her wing and her stern warning to Kishore was that he had
better treat me nicely or else he would
have her to
answer
to.

Most
of the time we spent together was at parks or chatting in one another
’
s cars
,
neither of us
feeling we could have the privacy to express our emotions at each others
houses.

It
was as if a part of the puzzle in my life had been found. I ignored the doubts
my friends put into my head, “An Indian! You’
r
e
going out with an Indian?”

Or
I was told, “Be careful Julie, he might be hiding from you a wife and children
back in India.”
  

Conversation
flowed freely between us and I learnt Kishore was a complete romantic. I didn’t
care what my friends said as my heart melted in the heat of Kishore’s flowing
compliments. There was no doubt in our minds we were a couple - in fact, it
felt like we had known each other all our lives.

We
talked and talked and never ran out of things to discuss. We discovered the
differences in our childhood were like chalk and cheese. Growing up, I wore
jeans and t-shirts, the women in Kishore’s life wore saris.

I
ate bread, cereals, meat and vegetables, Kishore ate dahl, subji (cooked
vegetables) and rotis
(or chapatti -
round flat bread)
.

Although
we did find some similarities - childhood games that were universal regardless
of race or culture: hopscotch, hide and seek and marbles. Little girls from
both countries used their Mother’s old stockings to stretch and jump over while
singing counting games, while boys played soccer or catch. We both enjoyed
learning to ride a two wheeler bike and ran and played in the street with the
other neighbourhood kids.

It
was a terrible day, rain was pouring but regardless we had decided to go for a
drive. Kishore carefully negotiated the winding roads as he guided his car
through the pelting rain, we eventually arrived at Piha, a wild west coast
Auckland beach, famous for its black sand and big waves which are popular for
surfing. After parking we both clambered into the back seat. Enclosed in the tomb
of his car, we snuggled as close as we could, with the rain teaming on the
steamy windows we gloriously soaked in the warmth of our love.

He
adoringly pronounced,

“Julie
…
(‘Ju-LEE’ – each time he said my name that way it
was like music to my ears)…you are so beautiful.” I didn’t believe him but went
along with it, relishing in the fact someone thought that way about me.

Kishore
reached for my hair and lightly wrapped his finger around one of my curls,
“Your red hair is like little soft, tiny balls of fire.”

Softly
touching my face he murmured, “Your freckles are like tiny kisses from the
sun.”

Gently
pinching my cheeks he whispered, “Your cheeks are like little red tomatoes.”

His
fingers moved to my mouth and as he tenderly touched my lips he said, “Julie,
your lips are like
pink
rose petals.”

Finally
he took my hand and kissed my palm softly, holding it to his face he declared,

“Your
skin is as soft as...is as soft as...three ply toilet tissue!”

 
Snatching my hand back I hit him on the arm
exclaiming “Kishore!”

“Okay,
okay, sorry” he laughed, rubbing his arm, “Your skin is as soft as cotton
wool.”

He
then stared deep into my eyes, he leant closer and softly touched his lips with
mine, our first real kiss,
he
pulled me closer. I held
him tighter, both of us lost for an instant in each other’s embrace, our souls
drowning in the passion of the moment.

As
I became happier I outwardly began to change. I was much more confident about
myself - in fact I positively radiated and found myself walking taller. I had
finally met someone who liked me for who I was including my fiery red hair,
sun-kissed freckles,
tomato
red cheeks, rose petal
lips and skin that is as soft as cotton wool or, apparently three ply toilet
tissue.

Kishore
had long since declared his love for me. He told me so over and over again. He
taught me in Hindi the one sentence he wanted to hear from my lips, “Mai tumse
pyiar karti hun” (I love you). I knew I loved him, long before our first kiss I
knew but I had never actually said it. In fact, I was pretty sure I loved him
from the moment I looked up that day in the lunchroom and saw him hovering over
me
holding out the pink carnation
with a big silly
grin on his
face.

I
didn’t want to proclaim my love until I was absolutely one hundred percent
sure, so when I knew,
when I was
one hundred
and one
percent sure, I decided to make the
declaration a special occasion.