Does the boy eat chicken ? or My Big Fat Punjabi Family

I'm sure there are some films you watch repeatedly, either because they have meaning for you or they star someone you love watching or they just make you laugh. My Big Fat Greek Wedding was on the other day and it's a film that I missed on cinema release that I never really appreciated at first. It's grown on me since and it's only now I realise this is because I see it as an instructional film for anyone considering a cross-cultural relationship / marriage. In fact it could almost be about my own family the similarities are so startling.

There's the character of the father who is convinced everything is Greek (or in my Dad's case indian) and his constant sobbing refrain "why is she doing this to me ?" The enormous family that are noisy, in your face and inappropriate. I have aunties who used to say "it's good to have a long nose, it suits you," genuinely believing I needed to hear that. This appears to be an inbuilt need to 'advise' on appearance which is also evident in the scene where on the morning of her wedding Tula is surrounded by noisy female cousins and aunties bleaching and plucking facial hair while fussing around the sudden appearance of a spot.

I was spared the one cliche from the film that is also a truism of cross-cultural marriages, the poor new lad being tricked into saying inappropriate words to his new family. As I'm the one sibling who is fluent in punjabi it was unlikely Hubbie would learn any swear words from me. Now he is learning from our son who uses some incredibly cute crossover language that is 'Pinglish' or an amalgamation of punjabi and english.

Of course I've mentioned before how there are always mountains of food when we visit my parents or other family and my husband's first visit to my Mum's home for lunch was a lesson in why indian women outlive their husbands. Mum hovered over Hubbie ensuring his plate was always full (while simultaneously cooking chappatis) so he learned to always go to their house on an empty stomach in the future. The first time my Dad met Hubbie he asked (in Punjabi) "does the boy eat chicken ?" (I don't so it was a fair question) and when it was established that he did I think he passed. 

My favourite similarity from the film is when Tula's father presents the bride and groom with a wedding gift of a house. These grand gestures are very indian and I still cringe when I recall being a guest at a wedding where the father of the bride presented his terribly embarrassed daughter and son in law with a comedically big cheque like they'd just won the pools or something.

I admire the bravery of the men who've married into my family. Some didn't make it, but the ones who did have hallowed status. Hubbie is no. 1 son in law - especially since he is also Daddy to their first grandchild. When we visit Mum always makes his favourite chicken. These days she spends less time watching his plate as my son gets lavished with all the attention, but Hubbie still leaves feeling stuffed.

The one line in the movie that sums it up for me is when Tula's auntie looks at Ian and says proudly, 'he looks Greek.' When we stayed in India with my beloved late grandmother she was so taken with Hubbie she said, 'of course he's Punjabi.'

It was the most I could have asked for and made me so proud.

Let me tell you about the birds & the birds and the bees & the bees.

To my beloved son,

As I type there is an urgent debate taking place on Twitter, in the Houses of Parliament and on news channels about the free vote taking place on marriage between gay couples. The most interesting part of this for me is how we retread the same old arguments for years and years. In my youth the debate was about 'promoting' homosexuality in schools - in other words acknowledging that some relationships exist outside of the man and woman scenario that was considered the norm. Of course you know that there is no such thing as 'the norm,' there is just who we are and how we live.

I heard a discussion on the radio this morning where a woman claimed that it was 'God's law' that marriage is only between a man and a woman. Now let's be clear where I stand on this issue. Anyone who wants to be married and who is free to in law should be able to. If they want to do this in a religious ceremony that is up to them and if they want to do this in a legal, but not religious way that is fine too. That means: a man and a woman who want to be married, a man and a man who want to be married or a woman and a woman who want to be married.

Can you believe there was a time when me and your Dad being married would have caused a similar hoo-ha because we have different coloured skin ? I know, I know, it's ridiculous the things that people think are any of their business.


You are nearly two and a half now and you have no preconceived ideas about the people in your life. I just have a few things that I need you to know and remember as you grow into the amazing man I know you'll be:

• Treating someone differently because of who they fancy is stupid, plain and simple. 

• I bitch-slapped a grown man (ok he was a young man, but he was in the army at the time) for repeatedly using the word gay in a pejorative way -  I will not hesitate to do it again.

• Whoever you fancy / adore / love we will always love you - there is no question. 

• If you want to marry or not marry the person you love you deserve the choice either way. 

Most important of all, to meet someone you love enough to want to marry them is a special gift - not everyone is that lucky.

If anyone tries to stop you from being with the person you love come and get me - I'm nowhere near out of slaps yet.

All my love always,

Mummy

"Stop going on about pants" (Hubbie to me during the beach volleyball)

By now you've probably watched the Olympic opening ceremony. You may even have been in it in which case well done, unless you're the woman who infiltrated the indian team and caused an international incident. For my part I loved loved loved the whole thing and - as I commented on Facebook - the only way it could have been more spectacular is if it was an Indian wedding organised by my Mum.

It's out of character for me to take any interest in a sporting event and even more so for me to choose to go to one. So being excited about the beach volleyball yesterday morning took me by surprise. The last time I chose to go to an event with Hubbie was when we saw the San Francisco Giants at the SBC Stadium while on holiday in California. That was a long evening made manageable only by the constant entertainment and the organ that does indeed go "dah dah dah dah" like in the movies between innings.

I'm as interested in sport as Hubbie is in weddings. While I'm oohing and aahing at the dresses and flowers he's checking the sports results on his phone. In fact at his brother's wedding - which took place during the Ashes - the photographer had to keep sending his assistant into the bar to retrieve all the male guests (and groom) so the photos wouldn't just have women in them.

Likewise when sport is on I'm checking my email, facebook, twitter or blogging. I don't watch the BBC during Wimbledon fortnight as I have no interest in tennis and when the world cup takes place I spend a lot of time shopping or baking as I don't want to deny Hubbie his footie fix. Every Saturday during the football season the boys follow their team Fisher and I get to see my friends for lunch or catch up with the cleaning. Before we were married I used to attend one game a season, I'm now officially a Fisher widow which I much prefer.

Like almost everyone else I applied for tickets to a lot of sports in the Olympics without any genuine interest in them. I got tickets for the Beach Volleyball and Hockey and it's only the former that I was bothered about going to. It was as I expected unreconstructed sexim (complete with Benny Hill) and audience participation not unlike the baseball. It was fun and almost held my interest once Hubbie explained to me how the scoring works.

Now I regret that I'm not going to more events over the next fortnight - maybe all sports are like this and I'm missing out on something ?

Twenty Twelve Vision

As everyone else is saying how rubbish 2011 has been I thought I'd offer my own review of a year that has been a bit of a curate's egg. I've watched Charlie Brooker's Newswipe and it pretty much encapsulated the news events for me, so I refer you to that for the newsy / political perspective done far better than I would have managed it.

The year began with a very close friend coming back from the dead. I mean properly actually dying then having the paddles to bring her back (like in the movies). I put it down to a desperate need for attention myself - it had been a few years since she got married and our friends live in other parts of the world so it took something radical  in order to get them to call. Mission accomplished. She is under strict orders not to repeat this so we're all waiting with bated breath to see what fresh capers she has planned…

I had my first Mother's Day as a mother this year. Of course my son was oblivous to the significance of this. In later years he may badly wrap a gift to give me, but for now I'm content that hubbie helps and we kid ourselves he has any idea what is going on. (I have deliberately left this dubious so you can decide who I mean).

In May we sold our house - the first home me and hubbie have owned together. The home we brought our son back from the hospital to. The home we brought Neo from Battersea Cats & Dogs Home to. Of course it took months to actually move (see Oct), but someone came to see it in May and said she'd buy it. Result !

To everyone else August in London was about lunatics in balaclavas nicking TVs from the walls of betting shops. For my family it was all about the "Monsoon Wedding" of my youngest sister complete with a flower strewn Ambassador and bangra rhythms. It was also a chance for Khushbir to dress up in his Bollywood finery and impress everyone by applauding at the speeches.

Having enjoyed a year of playgroups, back-to-back Come Dine With Me and cups of tea with other Mums the time came to return to work and in September I went back to a new location, but the same colleagues. I'm not sure if it just because I had been away and I missed my boy, but going back to work was truly hideous. The only silver lining in all this was that my boy had his first birthday at the end of September and we celebrated with cake and hats and singing so now he knows that the correct response to a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday is to put out his hand for a piece of cake. That's my boy !

After months of frantic phone calls between vendors, buyers, the bank, the estate agents and solicitors we finally moved house in October. We paid to have a company move all our belongings, which I admit does make life much simpler, but isn't entirely foolproof. We had boxes marked as containing curtains with kitchen items and picture frames in. I wasn't sure if this was simply a mistake or an elaborate attempt to make us laugh when unpacking. The final straw for me was having to wear the same two pairs of shoes for weeks until I looked in the box marked "baby's room" which had all my shoes in it the entire time !

In November after weeks of going into work and being pretty much ignored and sidelined I decided to leave. It wasn't the simplest decision, but one that having been made proved to be the best course of action. My work colleagues continued to ignore me and on my last day only two people actually wished me well. If I could be bothered I'd take up a case of constructive dismissal, but frankly being able to spend every day with my boy is the best outcome I could have asked for - regardless of how I came to it.

So we come to the last month of the year when I had already finished going into work and was able to concentrate on preparing for Christmas and more importantly the wedding of our own TOWIE stars. I love, love, love weddings and this one was in a fairytale setting (albeit in Essex) with the funniest best man's speech we've heard in a while.

My year began with a friend's health scare and it ends the same way. A good friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer and will be undergoing treatment in early January. She is my age and has a young son. Whatever else happens in 2012 we've already agreed to go shopping for wigs together and discussed how to wear scarves at a jaunty angle to cover hair loss.

I hope 2012 brings you happiness, good health an abundance of love and just enough wealth to not spoil you.