This week we had a delicious dinner of Mutton Curry and Aloo Gobi, paired with ridiculous conversation and a lovely Indian family.
My friend A invited us for supper with her parents, who were born and raised in Mumbai. They have lived in the Middle East, India and Canada, and were delighted to meet Varun. (And curious/bemused to meet me).
I was trying to explain to them that I am a permanent residence of India, or a Person of Indian Origin. Needless to say they found this hilarious.
A’s Dad: But how, you’re not of Indian Origin…?
Me: Haha. Yeah, well-
A’s Mom: It’s through marriage. Through Varun.
Me: Yeah, I’m just not sure why it’s called that though.
A’s Dad: But you could be Kashmiri. Girls from Kashmir look just like you.
Varun: Um. Well, maybe if her hair were dark.
A’s Dad: No! Kashmiri girls have golden hair too.
A’s Mom: Sure, but if you open your mouth they’ll know.
Me: True, my accent does kind of say “WHITE GIRL!”
A’s Mom: You can just be the demure Indian bride.
Varun: Yeah, be the shy bride.
Me: Great idea. Except that includes being demure and shy. Which I can’t do.
Over a delicious strawberry upside down cake they told us about the decision to move to Canada and their immigration snafus. Their insistence that we eat more, their reference to a napkin as a “handkerchief” and stories of home made for a wonderfully Indian evening.