Free hit counter


By continuing your visit to this site, you accept the use of cookies. These ensure the smooth running of our services. Learn more.


Grand-parents and kids with parents of different cultures

Have you ever wondered how grand-parents could live a situation of multi-culturality? When your children marry someone from a different culture, that they know nothing about, and when they sometime live very far away? I asked their inputs to the grand-parents of my sone!

An article in 3 parts :

  • Part 1, the Indian grand-mother link
  • Part 2, the French grand-mother link
  • Part 3, the French grand-father link

india,france,bandati,third culture,multiculturality,biculturality,grand-parents


How a little French-Indian boys sees the world...

Since Little Samurai started speaking, I wrote down and collected some of the thoughts he shared, either because they made me laugh or simply because they startled me. Click on this link to have a glimpse of what can happen in the head of a little French-Indian boy who grows up in India…

(And do not hesitate to visit the Bandati page for a book for children (3-7 years) on the mixed / multicultural family, available everywhere.)

India,France,Bandati,children book,mixed family,multicultural family


A story of wedding, hair, rugby and alcohol

Any resemblance with existing persons is fictitious. Or not.  

Our small family recently completed its pilgrimage to Kerala, organized in order to attend a wedding. (an engagement actually but it might as well have been a wedding so we will take it as a wedding.) I was not sure sure it was a good idea: I was a bit worried, in all modesty, that my little Samurai and I would ‘steal the limelight’ from the bride (‘white people’, especially when they are introduced for the first time, have the annoying tendency to draw all the attention). I was wrong. No one could really steal the limelight from the bride, simply because nobody really cares about anything else than food (dixit my Malayali friends)...  


I arrived a little anxious because I had forgotten to put deodorant. And I NEVER go out without deo. A fortiori in a place where it is 35 degrees and 110% humidity. I did try to buy some in a pharmacy but in the interiors of Kerala, forget about it. But there again, I was wrong to worry: the moment we reached, an ‘auntie’ jumped at me and put me straight in the ambiance. She reeked of sweat that had been macerating for some timel! She started to undress my baby, dressed in a cute Indian outfit for the occasion, under the pretext that it was too hot. Without asking me my opinion, of course. No doubt that SHE felt hot to smell like this! Not shaken by her defeat (I didn’t let her go past the tiny sleeveless jacket), she went on – she was in a great shape! – with a nice “your hairstyle, no good”. Flaggerbasted, I found nothing to answer, and moved away. Coming from her, it was the pot calling the kettle black: her hair, already becoming rare, was gathered in a rat-like tail and dripping oil. This I don’t understand: oiling hair to nouristh it, ok. But going out with greasy hair? Maybe they find it beautiful when it shines? Like glossy well polished shoes? Needless to say, I have a problem with greasy scalp, as I do with odorous armpits... In short, this ‘auntie’ who was one of my favorite in the family, did not score many points this time...  


After this introduction, I had to face another situation: in India, a baby is not a person but a rugby ball. As soon as they see a baby, arms reach out, they grab him and pass him to one another. I must be a not-so-good scrum-half: at the sight of these reaching out women, one with rotten teeth, the other with a beard and another one without tooth but a mustache, I did not let go of the ball. To be honest, I did not give the ball to anyone, even to those who were not so scary. Just because the three pairs of arms who welcomed us scared me away, feeling totally aggressed. While it is apparently an act of “politeness”, politeness I was supposed to return by giving my child away. Well, I will be honest with you, I didn’t care one bit about going the impolite stuck-up bitch that would not let her baby go! 

And my baby played along and refused to leave my arms. Of course I don’t want him to be anti-social; I just want people to give him some time to adjust to all these new faces before being thrown into the scrum!

After holding on against almost everybody, people left us alone… I took advantage of the new found peace to let baby stretch and take a few steps. No sooner had he a foot on the ground that he got grabbed by an ‘uncle’ who had identified an opening and seized it! He got eventually passed in the arms of four women, who were not even from my husband's family...  


The wedding itself takes place in a hall, or a temple hall. The couple are on a stage all along. The ceremony lasts about ten minutes, during which people look at it – if it lasts longer, they may go out and chat waiting for it to get over. Then the buffet is announced! (On that day at 5 PM.) This meal is a little challenge: not only there is a monumental line with 500 people who throw themselves on it, but once you have waited for everyone to be finished to take your plate, these 500 other guests that have now moved on to digestion come and talk to you! You are therefore introduced to ‘uncles’ and ‘aunties’ (polite formulas to address elders, especially in North India), with your mouth full and your fingers dipped in curry. Not easy to remain classy. Therefore, even at the expense to be impolite, I ignored a person or two, in order to finish my plate fast, get done with this ordeal and go fetch my baby back! 


Once you are done eating, you have to go on the stage to take a picture with the bride and groom. Otherwise people will forget you came (Just kidding.) It is also a welcome distraction for the couple who is otherwise required to take the most fancy bollywood pauses for the photographer. (Not kidding.)  


And this is it; that’s about all that happens in a Hindu wedding in Kerala... At 6 PM it was wrapped up and everybody was going home. Or hide behind the hall to booze. Men only. And in secret.  Even if everyone knows*. Others return home, happy to have a new event to comment! Even if there's not much to feed on, apart from the food and the hairstyle of the foreigner (who caused quite a sensation, not in the right way I’m afraid). 


Morality: I will be eternally grateful to my favorite Indian for sparing me this and making our wedding an unforgettable event. And I look forward to attending a wedding in France and have his point of view! 


* Statistics show that Indians drink less than Europeans (4.3 versus 12.5 litres per year per person) except that we should remove from the equation women (who do not have the right to drink), pious men (who do not drink out of religious conviction), and all those who drink home-made alcohol, which kill mostly in silence, and sometime loudly (when more than a hundred people die, like it happened in June in Mumbai). Malayali drink 10.2 litres per year, quite far behind the guys of Andhra Pradesh (35 litres). For many Indian States, taxes on alcohol represent nearly a quarter of the State income (22% in Kerala); whereas it is less than 1% in France. This makes it difficult for States to tackle alchool consumption, as they regularly try. Only the Gujarat has been holding on tight, but the black market has been exploding. Increasing taxes (already at more than 100%) or making alcohol illegal is fine but it does not help much... 




(1) In India: ; ; ; 


(2) In France:  ; & xml = t_3203 ;

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Next