An American Education

J had an unpleasant but necessary conversation with our landlords and their families the other night. See, they are in our business beyond anything we've ever experienced. They ask me a hundred questions--really, it's more like the Spanish Inquisition--every time J travels anywhere. I end up feeling like my back's against the wall and no answer that I give (i.e. He's working, he's with friends, he's got a meeting, he's doing business) is ever good enough for them.

They give their opinions about the wisdom of traveling to certain towns, traveling during monsoon, traveling with the friends we've chosen and trust. They ask us how much money we make, how much our driver charges us, whether our children miss their daddy when he's gone. They speak sternly, eyebrows knitted together, with an air of authority. They invoke their elder status. In short, they feel a great deal of ownership over us and our decision-making, and they try to exert their will.

I got to the point where I felt I could not stand it any longer. So J decided that it was time to gently inform them that this isn't acceptable. All things considered, the whole conversation went well. They back-pedaled some, said that they were only concerned for our safety, etc.. J was able to communicate that while he appreciates this, the third degree is still not ok. Our job will not change. We will take risks in our lives, and we have counted the cost of our profession. They seemed to hear it all, though I have no doubt we'll have a reprise of this conversation in the future if the past is any indication.

So today was about showing love, declaring that we have no hard feelings with actions because words are cheap. We spent the entire day decorating their front room for a birthday party they plan to have tomorrow. In fact, J is still working at the moment.

At midday, when our eldest landlord came home for lunch, we sat and made conversation with him. It was the first time I'd seen him since The Talk. He was slightly grumpy, baggy-eyed, short and terse. I knew he was nursing his wounded pride. After all, how dare we thirty-something, whippersnapper Americans set boundaries around our personal life with our elders? Who are we to talk with such confidence and optimism and look people in the eye as if the world belonged to us? We who neglect our offspring by allowing them to wear t-shirts and not woolen coats in 72 degree weather! We who drink cold juice in the winter and hot coffee in the summer! We who sometimes go without socks in the house!

It's sheer madness is what it is. Just who do we think we are?

Well, it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it still stung a little when Eldest Landlord looked at all the decorations we'd spent the day putting on the walls--at the behest of the women of the family--and he muttered, "It should be more...colorful..." I wanted to look him in the eye and say, "You are totally welcome to climb on that rickety-crap ladder of yours and put up better decorations. But then, you'll have to find them in the market first, and I defy you to find ones that don't look like they're made from toilet paper."

But you know, I didn't say that.

I tried to let it roll off instead. I feel like we've tried to be as Indian as two white people can be. I dress like the locals, we eat Indian food, and we speak Hindi. But in the end, we're American. And I guess I'm starting to think that it's ok if our landlords try to understand us a little for a change. Goodness knows we've spent 17 months trying to understand their mindset and hearts and we don't regret it. As long as they look at us and see Him first and America a distant second...Well, I'm becoming more and more ok with that.