The True Story of My Marriage to a Pot

The True Story of My Marriage to a Pot

I’m sitting down with my palms clasped in a prayer. My eyes flutter among open and near. A scarf draped above my head refuses to stay put. A hearth crackles gleefully in entrance of me.

It is my marriage ceremony day. To a clay pot.

From in this article on, it is me and Mr. Pot. Mr. Pot and I. He’s curvaceous. I’m just nervous.

How did it appear to this? The short remedy: My stars had been not aligned.

In the West, the time period “kismet” normally refers to a quirky serendipitous come upon, a blip in a universe driven by no cost will and randomness.

But in India, the idea of kismet is an overpowering social force. Fate or future: It is not just inescapable, but a rational scapegoat for the lousy occasions and a benevolent supplier for the superior times. It is nearly an entity with its own will.

It does not imply Indians who subscribe to this viewpoint do not operate as tough or obstacle them selves, like those people who subscribe to a meritocratic universe. It just indicates they put together spiritually for what lies in advance, akin to carrying an umbrella on a cloudy working day. For many Indians, particularly specific Hindu castes, Vedic astrology is that umbrella.

In each Indian town, fortune tellers established up store in between the chai stalls and sari outlets. There are universities devoted to astrological comprehending, and Television demonstrates of gurus fielding viewers’ burning questions about the stars.

As before long as anyone is born, dad and mom rush to their trustworthy astrologer to attract up a chart — a “janam kundli” that is stated to map the correct situation of the planets at the time of delivery, down to the minute. This geometric constellation of diamonds and squares and triangles particulars everything from your structure to what coloration you need to wear for great luck to what ever that winking, smirking kismet has prepared for you.

As with Western astrology, the janam kundli map is break up into “houses”: a dwelling for occupation, a residence for wealth, a property for adore and relationship, and even a home for disease. (Whilst the zodiac signals of Western astrology are derived from the placement of the sun, Vedic astrology considers the moon.) Each and every world signifies a power that is thought to have an influence the home in which it resides.

In accordance to the chart, Mars occupied my property for adore and relationship. And that, in Vedic astrology, will make me “manglik,” or Mars cursed.

I and my oblivious, cursed self fulfilled my quite human lover on Halloween in 2012.

I was at a get together when I noticed him across the home, dressed as a mad scientist with the natural way flowing salt-and-pepper hair. I was dressed as a sheriff, full with a star badge. I was smitten in minutes. He didn’t even request for my variety. It was only immediately after some convincing on my finish, by means of Facebook messenger, that he agreed to go on a day.

But if I was snug heading following Mr. Salt and Pepper, it took me a few many years to do the job up the bravery to introduce him to my extremely common mother and father. My mother’s very first dilemma: “When’s your birthday and what time ended up you born?”

Mangliks are urged to marry other mangliks, you see. If not catastrophe ensues: arguments, incompatibility, even divorce or dying.

My mom took my boyfriend’s birth day and time to many dependable astrologers and was advised that, alas, my human lover and I would under no circumstances operate.

“He’ll leave her,” one explained.

So she place her foot down, and refused to allow me marry him.

A rift was shaped. My mothers and fathers and I went months without talking to every single other. I realized I desired to marry Mr. Salt and Pepper. My stubbornness clashed with their stubborn views. That dry, purple world turned my household into a cold, darkish shell.

My father scraped his way up from close to practically nothing.

He grew up in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, as the center child in a loved ones of 6 youngsters, residing a lifetime of meager suggests.

We are Sindhis, that means our ancestors arrive from a province known as Sindh that formally became Pakistani territory just after the partition of India in 1947, which unleashed 1 of the greatest and the most brutal refugee crises in historical past. Tens of millions of Hindu Sindhis crossing around the new, freshly drawn border wound up in Jodhpur, like my father’s grandmother.

When my father turned 21, he sold cassettes and tapes. He labored for a recruitment company in Mumbai. He tried using his hand as a marriage videographer and photographer. Just one working day, he chanced upon the opportunity to go to Hong Kong to trade leather-based items and customized-created fits close to Asia.

That option was the just one that brought my relatives some economical safety. My father labored himself to the bone in this new position, shuttling in and out of Hong Kong on red-eye flights and packing his times with again-to-back meetings. But, to this working day, he credits kismet with much of his good results. “Kismet offers you opportunities,” he claims.

In Hong Kong, my father furnished me with the luxury of a very intercontinental training, one that approached the globe as a result of a Western lens and described kismet as a quirky serendipitous face, as mere coincidence. In other phrases, he afforded me the privilege to see life from a point of view diverse from his have.

It was that privilege, in the conclude, that cleaved a generational, cultural and mental gap in between us. When my parents told me that marrying my boyfriend would be disastrous, I fought back. “But I appreciate him!” I would say, angrily, since that was my strongest argument.

At the time, my boyfriend had moved to New York for function though I stayed in Hong Kong, and we remained in a fully commited, prolonged-distance romance.

“Love isn’t adequate,” they would say again. In their eyes, Mr. Salt and Pepper was poised to demolish my everyday living, and my mother would continue to say, look, he’s settled in New York now, he won’t arrive again for you, it’s time to move on, “it is kismet.”

I refused to hear. I would text my boyfriend each and every early morning and each and every evening to hold our romantic relationship alive across time zones and in spite of my family’s tension. I only would not indulge their slim-mindedness. I would say, I am not that way. I am smarter, I am extra contemporary and consequently I am right, I considered, failing to understand then that I was only any of these matters simply because of them.

Confronted with my stubborn will, my mom and dad turned back again to their astrologers. “What ought to we do?” they requested.

As it turns out, there was one imperfect option: a “kumbh vivah.”

You guessed it. It’s the pot relationship.

Kumbh vivahs are however very widespread amongst Hindus in India. Even the previous Overlook Entire world and Bollywood megastar, Aishwarya Rai Bachan, is rumored to have absent by means of the ritual. (She, apparently, married a tree.) In Amazon’s 2019 Indian sequence “Made In Heaven,” there is an overall episode dedicated to this phenomenon. The few in that episode, like me and Mr. Salt and Pepper, are also modern day and Western-educated, battling to align their sights with the a lot more archaic sights of their families.

That it is largely manglik girls that are predicted to participate in this ceremony, which several have argued sites the load on females to take care of astrological defects — no subject your sights, that’s a herculean undertaking, to say the least — was part of my resistance to it.

But at the stop of the working day, I desired my mother and father to be content for me and I wished our connection to heal. They required me to be risk-free from heartbreak.

So, on the founded day, I sat in a temple in Hong Kong. There was a pundit reciting mantras, and though my dad and mom sat cross-legged close to me, I held Mr. Pot in my arms.

When the prayers finished, we stood up with each other, and walked outside the temple to a quiet, deserted place.

And then I smashed my new husband into the floor, shattering him into small parts. The pondering is that the pot stands in for my spouse, the one with which factors are destined to go awry, and breaking it symbolizes the conclusion of that unwell-fated relationship. Ostensibly, the curse was lifted.

8 months later on, I married Mr. Salt and Pepper beneath the blue skies of Bali, surrounded by gleaming household and good friends. We walked all-around a fireplace, we exchanged vows and danced all night time. Most vital, my mothers and fathers delightfully embraced my partner. They had been all in.

This union, it turns out, was not the break from custom we all expected this is not a tale of patronizing Orientalism, get over. The final matter I want is to fortify any stereotypical imaginings of India as a land of elephants and snake charmers and ladies who marry trees.

No, the story of my pot and me is a single of respect. For fantasy, for perception, for lifestyle and ritual and heritage, people ineffable things that swirl by means of generations, tying us to who we are as men and women. It is a story of what unites us: hopes, fears, passions and the earlier, all pushing us to come across our safety nets.

Will I count on my upcoming little ones to marry a pot? No. But in my performing so, did my mother and father relaxation improved understanding that they fulfilled that common urge of fiercely preserving their offspring in the most effective way they know? Of course.

And I have been happily married for 4 several years. Make of that what you wish.

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Posted by Krin Rodriquez

Passionate for technology and social media, ex Silicon Valley insider.