Prince Rama would Disapprove
On occasion I tutor; mostly when summer shows up and my paycheck does not. I have found that, in my district, Indian parents are the most diligent in having their children tutored, and therefore I have had several Indian families at my home for tutoring. The parents find a connection with me because of my vegetarianism, and we exchange recipes; my Italian ones for their Indian.
Last July a friend had spent the evening, and I forgot that I had tutoring the next morning. I asked him to stay in my bedroom until they left, a simple hour. He had a TV, bathroom, snacks and no need to be seen by my tutoree and her mother. However birds of vanity like making their presence known. In the middle of the session he sauntered out into the kitchen, grabbed a water from the fridge, winked at me, and went back into the room. And I was left slightly red, looking over to the sofa where the mom seemed to be glaring in no one’s direction. I apologized, assuming she was not impressed by the fact that a man was in my home. She, of course, said there was no problem but in my heart I felt like I broke a morals code. The daughter leaned over and quietly whispered, “He’s hot, for an Indian.” Inside I giggled, wondering if she recalled she was also Indian. “My mom doesn’t like him.”
The mother said nothing that weekend, but there was a next weekend. She came upstairs to my condo, and immediately sent her daughter back down for her purse which she left in the car. Like a good mother she gently placed her hand on my shoulder and earnestly spoke, “Denise, You know I like you?” I nodded. “I tell you as an Indian woman, He’s no good.” She needn’t tell me who, I was sure who she spoke about. “Indian men use women. They cannot marry a white woman. He will hurt you.” What was I to say? “Our men cheat. They lie to their wives, and find women like you, who believe the lies their wives’ won’t. You deserve better.” She said more, and also told me to take anything he gave me with my left hand as anything I took with my right hand would fall away.
I don’t know if her classification of all Indian men as “dogs” is accurate. I don’t know if her assessment was correct in general or in total. I do know that the last two Indian men I dated, do nothing to prove her wrong. One was cheating the entire time with a woman he claimed was an old friend just visiting from San Diego, and the second was married. As he explained it – a prison, a trap, the reason 16 hour work days were more favorable then his own house in Glendale. Even after pulling into the garage he would sit in his Mercedes GL-550 sometimes past an hour pretending that when he would finally walk into his home she would have returned to India, with her mother in tow. Both had decided they had no reason to be in America. Then his white whore would be allowed into his home, and maybe his heart.
But the indictment of Indian men can easily be levied against any man. Men Lie. Lies to hide who they are. Lies they claim, to save you from hurt. Lies to keep what they want, but do not deserve. Men simply lie. They either lie to you, or they lie to themselves. Whichever it takes to get through another day.