Not an Ordinary Four Day Weekend

Again, I have a story that seems too typical for modern legitimate fiction. If I put it in novel form it would certainly be rejected. Too ordinary, too plain, it’s been done to death. No reader will find believability in the characters or the outcome. Too picture perfect, people don’t really act like that. I would be accused of being a second rate hack only out to solicit a prescribed emotional response from the reader. I would be pandering to a low intellect crowd clamoring for their fantasy image of love to come true. Again, I have the same problem: The story is true. Again, I have the same problem: The pure reality of the situation forces me to write it down and share it with whoever will believe that reality is far more idealistic than anyone’s fantasy.

I went to class last Thursday like any other day, Engineering Economics. I daydreamed through half of the class, already knowing some of the material. One student later asked me why I was smiling all through class. I told him not to pay attention to my smile because I was daydreaming. My smile had nothing to do with anything happening in that classroom. Only what was happening in my mind. I was too far gone to recognize that another classmate of mine, Anil, was not paying attention either. He was daydreaming too, only his daydreams were closer to fruition and they were also causing him a weighted amount of stress. After class when we all drank tea together, I was too wrapped up in a discussion about a book I had loaned to a classmate. I didn’t notice Anil deep in thought about what he was about to undertake. Still, no one in the class knew what he was about to do. No one could expect it.

The rest of the evening and the next day were as ordinary as any other. A little before class I went to the tea shop on campus, to meet with classmates and talk while we waited for the professor to arrive. One of the students who also stays at the M.Sc. Hostel asked if I had heard the news about Anil. I told him I hadn’t heard anything. He told me that Anil would not be in class today. I was a little worried about what might have happened. In Kathmandu, unexpected events are usually unpleasant and almost always unwelcome. He went on to tell me that Anil had gone to Pokhara with his girlfriend, to get married. I paused in disbelief. I asked if this meant exactly what I thought it meant, that Anil had left with his girlfriend to get married, without his parent’s knowledge. My classmate gave a somber nod to let me know that this was exactly what was happening.

After telling the classmates there the meaning of the word “elope”, I stopped to think about what it meant here. In the USA it often has a positive connotation along with the possible negative connotations. Here, deep in the land of arranged marriages, there is rarely a positive outlook on this activity. I stopped and thought about the young girl I met on the airplane who returned home to find that her family had arranged a marriage for her. She felt fortunate that they had chosen a young man who she was once close friends with. At least she would have that to start off with. I also thought about the young girl I met in the government hospital. Her eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams to have a love marriage. This dream was all the more fantastic in light of the harsh reality of low probability that surrounded it. A love marriage was becoming more common, but it was still rare enough, and eloping was far out of the question.

Everyone in the class knew what had spurred this decision on. Anil had a girlfriend from a different caste, a lower caste. His parents never knew about their five year relationship. He would have been banned from seeing her. There was no way he could have married her with his parent’s knowledge. Likewise, another couple I know has kept their relationship secret from the parent’s of his higher caste family. The son is a “good son” and he won’t run away with his girlfriend to be married. Anil on the other hand was doing the seemingly impossible, especially for a respectable young intellectual in a painfully traditional society. I’m constantly reminded of a paraphrased quote from a famous author: “I am not a politician, nor am I running for political office, and I don’t have to respect anyone’s stupid opinion.” I stand by it in my daily life. I can respect someone else’s culture in many cases, but if a culture states that two lovers cannot be married because of something as trivial as the differences in their last names, well, I don’t have to respect that, and I am free to call it stupid if I want. It certainly is dated, and its death is long overdue.

So for Friday and Saturday the words around the Hostel were, “Have you heard about Anil?” The rumors were flying and there was only one way to find out the truth. Wait for Anil to return and ask him in person. Before Sunday’s class I told the rumor to a classmate who lived outside the hostel. He was due to have an arranged marriage in the next month. He responded by telling me that this was certainly a joke the other students were playing on me. Anil would not have a marriage without informing his parents. This was not possible. Joining the others for tea, he soon found out that the rumor was very sincere. After a while, he too was claiming that we would need to wait until Anil’s return. Before the teacher arrived in the classroom, one of the students called Anil on his cell phone. As the whole class stood silently listening to the phone ring on speakerphone, I made the obvious comment. If Anil had gotten married, he certainly wouldn’t be answering his phone right now, unless we managed to catch him at a meal or something like that. As expected, no one picked up.

Class on Monday was also missing Anil and the rumors still remained. After class I returned to the Hostel and walked into the mess for dinner. There, sitting and eating dinner, was Anil. I started to ask him about the rumor, but he cut me off, saying that yes, everything I had heard was true. He said with a gigantic smile, “Yes! I eloped her!” After I corrected his grammar I began washing my hands as I smiled and shouted congratulations to him from five feet away. I told him how courageous he was and how he had done something that my culture would regard as a pure act of true love. I continued by telling him that people in my culture dream of being challenged this way, only so that they may overcome it. I refused to stop and I continued telling him how great he was for denying his parents and his culture in order to marry the woman he loved.

Calming down as I sat down for my meal. I asked him about what had happened. He told me that he decided to do this last Wednesday. On Thursday he took and overnight bus ride with his girlfriend to Pokhara. He added that he respected as much of his culture as he could. He called his unwed older brother to ask for his permission, since the oldest brother should always marry first. Securing his permission, which he knew was sure to come, he called his girlfriends parents. Her father gave his permission, but her mother begged him not to do this. She promised that if they would return the families would arrange a proper marriage and they wouldn’t have to go against tradition. Anil hung up the phone on her. He knew that her parents would work to arrange a marriage, but once his parents knew, they would be certain to destroy it. Immediately after they got married he called his new wife’s mother again. This time she gave her blessing to the new couple. As he told the story his smile was uncontrollably beaming across the room. He was louder and more animated than usual. For those who know Anil, this may seem impossible, but it was true.

Anil finished his meal and came over to me to tell me more about how great he felt. I asked if he knew why my culture hailed the love marriage as the greatest form of marriage in the world. He responded by shouting that yes, the love marriage is the greatest feeling in the world. As he went on, I interrupted him to tell him that in his culture he would be expected to give me a gift, but in my culture I would be expected to give him a gift. As we walked back to our rooms I told him what a great and courageous thing he had done. I told him that I would bring him a gift, but it would take some time to find the right one. I had to be certain to find a gift worthy of the greatness he had just achieved.

Leaving him at his door and walking the rest of the way back to my room alone, I started to worry. What on earth could I find that would do justice to the unspeakably amazing thing that he had done? What gift could reflect every great quality that I was taught to revere since I was a little boy. It wasn’t until a few hours later that my mind tripped over the only thing that could come close to touching what he had done. I needed to find a Superman t-shirt, for him to wear. He had earned it. And of course a Superwoman t-shirt for his new wife, after all, she had earned it too.

Congratulations to Anil. You are my hero.