Rules of Engagement

There are rules laid out by the predecessors governing the manner in which two families interact with one another. The rules set the expectations. The rules are defined at every level, from the time the marriage takes place to the time of death of either one in the family. The rules lay down the conditions to which members of both families adhere. The rules may not be broken, for there is a social prestige associated with their compliance and a social stigma with the lack of it. The rules are an unwritten law and there is no authority to amend them and no forum to review them. There is no one to whom they can be appealed. There is no court to try the offenders, though in villages the village head and elders arbitrate. But in cities, there is no arbitration. The rules are flouted at the cost of dissension in the family, at the cost of unhappiness and resentment by the affected parties. 

Some rules have been superseded by the law of the land, the universal secular law that has overarching jurisdiction across regional and caste distinctions. Many rules have undergone change due to assimilation of new ways of living, new ideas from other cultures, new thinking on account of enlightened understanding. But there are many that simply remain to be followed, for they are neither too autocratic, nor too difficult to follow. But many families get away when they can without adhering to their side of the bargain. These rules are mostly of the nature of give and take. Ignorance of a rule is not condoned. Flouting of a rule is not taken lightly. Brazen opposition of a rule is rarely observed or entertained. There are the other families in the society to condemn the offenders. Even the most isolated of families, even the so-called enlightened ones, expect certain modicum of the rules of engagement. The cost of breaking rules by one family is nothing short of a travesty of trust, of humiliation, of loss of respect for the other family. 

Rules are sacrosanct. They are the protocols. They are manners. They make for a civilized society. They are the signs of a cultured society. They are designed to bring strangers to a commonly held pattern of living. Everybody is expected to know the rules. Everybody is expected to abide by them. Everybody knows on every occasion what rule applies and what needs to be done. There is indeed a rule for every occasion, from birth to death and beyond. Rules of engagement are the tradition of a society, the legacy of posterity, the inheritance of every man, woman and child. As long as a person is part of a family, he or she is expected to know and abide by the rules. A person who is ignorant of a rule is uncouth, coarse, gross, and not properly raised by the parents, not belonging to a good family and so on. There is no institution that teaches these rules. They are handed down from parent to child. They pass from generation to generation, sometimes lose their significance, sometimes their stigma, sometimes their purpose. But the progeny carry them forward in whatever manner they are remembered or told by their peers or elders available for them to know from. There are rules - they have always been and always will be, though not necessarily in their pristine form. 

Rules are a tacit contract between two families who agreed to build a relationship through marriage. They are a contractual agreement, no less important or significant than a business contract. Broken marriages are the result mainly of broken contracts. When a daughter breaks a rule, the mother is first and foremost afraid of a backlash. She is scared that her daughter may be subject to punishment, which is usually meted out as ill-treatment by her in-laws. When that happens, it is more than likely to snowball into a discord between the families where the child's parents and other elders will be treated with disrespect at the least and contempt at the worst. Sometimes the disagreement surfaces and leads to quarrels, but in most educated families in the towns and cities, it simmers and disrupts smooth interaction. A cold war ensues. Among the most hit will be the married couple, then their parents, and lastly by all and sundry who are associated with them. The war has a cascading effect and sometimes continues for generations in one form or the other. Peace and affection take on wings and fly away. A tremulous truce in an unending war remains as the only bond between the married couple. Sometimes there is an ever present danger of a break in the union. After all, things put together are always in danger of breaking apart. The rules are the glue to keep things together. When the glue dries up, the things return to their original state, albeit in a more bruised and wretched state. 

Some rules may be waived on mutual agreement, on compassionate grounds, for all families are not made equal. Rules mostly favor the family with the male child. Therefore, the family with the male child has the last word on the matter. Rules may be bent to favor one family, but then the other family expects a favor on some other count. Rules are not exactly the same for all families, even for the families that belong to the same caste and sub-caste and sub-order within the sub-caste. Rules are bound to differ, for families belong to different regions and are raised according to their perception of a rule. The same rule is applied differently by different families of the same order. Rules are notoriously unclear. Where there is ambiguity, the family with the male child dictates. But in most cases, barring minor infractions and variations, the rules are well known to all. Ignorance of a widely held rule is not tolerated, conformance to a minor rule is demanded, waiving of a rare and little known rule is ignored in the best interests of both the parties. But the male party has the last say in the matter, for it is the female child that leaves home and must adjust in its new and adopted family. 

It goes without saying that the wife must conform to the rules of the family that she steps into. It is the wife who leaves her family home to build a new family. She gives up her family name and adopts her husband's family name. Her children automatically receive the husband's family name, follow the husband's family rules, inherit the family fortune, if any. It is she who must now 'belong' in her adopted house. It is incumbent on her to remove the wrinkles - the family differences - between the two families, to bridge a relationship of trust and affection between the two families, to ensure that she balances her affection towards her parental family and the duties in her adopted family. And she begins this exercise by following the rules. A great burden indeed on a girl who is just out of teens and she couldn't do it without the support from her own family in the discharge of her duties towards her adopted family. The duties are rules, the rules that govern her married life. All this goes without saying because it is the way the rules have come into being. Living in a family is abiding by these rules at every turn in the girl's life. If there is a discord between her husband and his family members, she shall not interfere, for her sole objective is to follow the rules set for her. If the husband breaks from his family, the wife shall continue to maintain cordial relations as much as possible. For it is a delicate apple cart she is towing, any bump will upset it at any time in her life. Like a razor's edge. Like walking a tightrope. There is more to lose for her than for any member of the family, this side or the other side. 

This is what a good mother wishes to teach her daughter. This is what brings harmony in the house that the daughter has adopted. This is what a mother has gone through. This is what she has experienced. This is what she wants her daughter to learn, to be aware of the dangers, to keep clear of conflict, to try and not break rules so that she is accepted as part of the adopted family, so that she 'belongs' there, lives like one of them, even at the cost of losing touch with her own family. For nothing gives more comfort and happiness to a mother than seeing her daughter well adjusted in her adopted home. This is the pinnacle of her achievement. She can then proudly speak about her daughter in the family circles, in the society. She can walk with her head held high even among her daughter's in-laws. For she has passed on the rules to her daughter. She has raised her in a manner that is socially acceptable. The mother has taught her daughter the rules of engagement. 

The rules, however, are not always followed, especially by the male party. Though there are exceptions that only prove the rule. Differences among the male family members translate into ill-treatment of the daughter-in-law. Differences over the compliance of rules lead to misery for her. In rare cases, the adopted home becomes a nightmare. Sometimes, the daughter flouts rules with impunity and and manages to break the adopted family to suit her own agenda. Many variations occur, but these issues are outside the scope of this essay. 

What are these rules of engagement? 

Culture clash

Culture is a strange thing. It is used in different ways by people. In the west according to their culture sons and daughters don't stay in their father's house. In India, they do. And for someone from the west, this part of the Indian culture, like most other parts, seems absurd. And the Indians who emigrated to the west, also find it absurd, because they now live in the west, among the forward-thinking, upwardly mobile, advanced civilization in the world. At least that is what we in the east secretly believe, when we have temporarily forgotten our great and glorious past, which we pit against that of the west when we feel at a disadvantage.

In the west we live among them, we live like them, we think like them, we talk like them, we keep their streets clean, follow their traffic rules to the hilt, build houses like theirs, adorn the walls with their art, celebrate their festivals, enjoy their sport, oh so many things and yet behind this facade we have an undying faith in our own greatness, in our own glorious past, in our scriptures and gods, in our family and social values. And at the same time we harbor deep within ourselves - it comes out only when we are back in India - a dislike of their tendency to waste, their lack of respect toward others, especially elders, their arrogance of the notion of a superior race, their ill-concealed contempt for the colored people, their laws, their extraordinary respect for the word of the law, their utter disregard for family values - we secretly believe they have none.

But when we come to India, alas, we see the filth on the streets, the dust in the house, the numerous slithering and crawling creatures on the walls, on the floor, on the tables - everywhere - in the corners, in the dark interiors, in claustrophobic places, and the utter disregard for rules, the chalta-hai attitude, the poverty - it is everywhere, not just in the shanties. Even the educated son is jobless, penniless, living in father's house, living off the largesse of his mother, living without rent, oh so many things, we see these things, like a daughter using her mother to look after the children, not caring for the health of the mother, using her as one would use a maid, and so on and so on. We see all this when we come to India and at once our mind rebels - there is a clash of cultures. The culture we have grown up with, but too hard to live down, too hard to live by, too hard to explain away, too hard to ignore, and the culture we are adopting now, living in now, living beautifully, organized, clean, salubrious, with dignity, with a fat bank balance, with opportunities to grow and bloom...something that is impossible in the homeland where children run amuck like monkeys, adults with their morals and principles long discarded by the west as foolish, silly and stupid, their respect for others and elders so much at odds with the canons of free spirit of the west. There is a clash. A clash that happens every time we visit India, every time, we walk or drive in the streets - the noise, the pollution, the filth, the chaotic traffic, the mind boggling numbers and variety of vehicles and pedestrians...a clash that is hard to reconcile, hard to live with, hard to bear, hard to ignore.

It is not the clash of two civilizations. It is not on a global scale. It is not news on BBC World Service. It is hardly noticed by the majority of the people in the world. They are not even aware of it. It is felt only by the emigrants, by those who are trying to fit into new clothes, into new streets, into new habitations. Those who are adjusting to their new surroundings, new faces, new society. It is a wholly different way of life. Mostly automated, works like a machine, with clockwork precision. This clash is felt by those who went over to the west. Leaving behind their fledgling homes in the backwoods, they went through the portals of opportunity into the high life, into the best places in the world, into the most sought after advanced human ecosystem.

It is felt in individuals, not in groups. It is felt by every man, woman and child. It is felt acutely when they return. It is felt every time we have to contend with the people we left behind...'left behind' is a phrase that is the motif of emigration. Those who emigrated to the west have progressed, went further in life, went ahead, metaphorically speaking. We have 'left behind' our unfortunate brothers and sisters, parents and relatives. And now when we return we feel the difference acutely, like we are entering into shanty town, into a hovel that was once our home, where we grew up, in ignorance, with silly aspirations and stupid notions. And now when we return we return not just to our homeland, not just to what was once our home, we return to our past, our shame, to live once again with misery, with uncleanness, with notions and superstitions, with brothers and sisters who have not 'grown' in the real sense, in the sense of growing, blooming, flowering. They are still in the dusty and ignorant past, the past we left behind, the past of murky and musty corridors, the past we left behind to the bright future of tomorrow. It is this we have to contend with. The clash of the past and the future, the clash that happens in the present, it happens now, it happens every time we meet them, we see them, we walk and talk with them. We become impatient with their old world notions, with their illogical explanations and irrational thoughts. We pity them, commiserate with their misfortune, live with their foolish notions and silly aspirations, put up with their inane talk, watch helplessly their useless struggles.

We suffer because we have experienced the clash, on account of them, because we bear the cross of their misfortune. We try to alleviate their misery with ideas and gifts so that they could organize their lives, improve their living conditions, live with more dignity, live in the modern world. But we see with exasperation that some of them are beyond rescue. Their ideas are too deeply entrenched in the past, their future is hopeless, meaningless, and entirely without significance. It is this clash that we have to bear, to suffer.

But the clash there needn't be. The clash is because they wouldn't change. The clash owes its genesis to a couple of individuals in the family who refuse to change, who are incapable of change, who are so utterly lacking in skills, so utterly old fashioned that they resist change and the clash happens. Not to them, they are blithely ignorant of it. They live their beastly little lives and expect us to live with them.

The clash is not just a conflict of the civilization. It is a clash at the very personal level. It centers around the home, the home we lived in, the home we left behind, the home we want to come back to. The home is no longer that home of our remembrances. It has changed so much that hardly is there anything to rekindle the fond memories. It is trodden over, trampled over like hooligans, desecrated, furniture destroyed, walls unpainted, fixtures broken, house distorted, backyard abandoned, litter all over the place. There is no welcome, no homecoming, just a guest staying at a sleazy motel with no amenities, no service, no telephone, no clean bed, the motel that is our home converted, corrupted. This is the clash that is hardest to bear, hardest to live down, hardest to talk about. This is a personal clash and I am sure every man and woman who left the shores of poverty to the opulence of paradise must have felt some time or other this mind deadening clash, this fist clenching clash, this clash that would never go away, never leave us alone, like a leech it hung on. Until we return sad and defeated, to our promised land of plenty, of order, of dignity.