Halfbreed

“Ahh! Yes, it was your uncle who ran away and married a Smartha!” These were the first (and rather loud) words this elderly man uttered to me.

I was in Toronto visiting my mother’s cousin in the middle of winter. Yes, I know, not the greatest of times to be hotfooting it from sunny SoCal to Toronto and Buffalo but I had no choice as one of my cousins would be home for the holidays only in that absymal weather. So there I was chilling with my aunt in Mississauga when she declared, one fine snowy morning, that we had to visit some neighbours a couple of streets away. The reason was a valaikappu (bangle ceremony for pregnant women who are on the verge of popping the kid out) for some woman (obviously). I was not keen to drop in on random valaikappus for people I didn’t know at all but my aunt insisted saying there was someone there who was eager to meet me. Apparently this person hailed from my father’s village, knew my family and was extremely excited to meet someone from the old territory (even though I grew up in Madras and really didn’t consider myself to be from the village). Anyhow I just had to chat the old coot up a bit and sit through the valaikappu, or at least that’s what I thought. Hopefully I would get to eat good food at least (that turned out to be the only redeeming feature of the jaunt – excellent food). Who wouldn’t like to eat hot vadais while it snowed outside?

So off we went, carefully walking on slushy sidewalks. Soon after we got there, my aunt took me over to a bunch of people and stopped in front of the elderly man and said,”This is the young woman I mentioned. From your village.” The man perked up and said those immortal lines, “Ahh! Yes, it was your uncle who ran away and married a Smartha!”. And while I gaped at him, he went on, “My father and your grandfather were great friends. We lived down the street from him. You might have heard your thatha mention Bashyam Iyengar? That was my father.” I was still recovering from the introductory sally and so he turned to our audience and announced, “Her uncle, you know, married a Smartha! Such a scandal!” Most of that was in a hushed listen-to-this-awesome-scandalous-gossip voice. And of course, there was a loud drawing in of breaths and silence as they looked me over.

I, of course, had to stop this nonsense at once, “Actually it wasn’t my uncle. It was my dad. Hehe, me the half-breed.”

Bashyam junior: No, no. I know. It was your uncle.

My aunt: Actually, uncle…

BJ: Nonsense. I know.

Me: It was my DAD!!! My mother is the Smartha!!!

BJ (refusing to be cowed): Uncle!

And then deciding to ignore this child who obviously knew nothing of her own family history, he turned to the audience, who had been watching this exchange like spectators at Wimbledon – head swiveling back and forth during the volley – and announced, “It was quite the scandal, you know. Imagine – a Smartha! Her younger uncle it was. What a fellow!”

At that point my Smartha aunt and I gave up and retreated. She to gossip with some of the women and me to seek solace in hot vadais.

Note: thatha = grandfather

vadais = awesome fried patty-type things (veggie of course!).

For those not into weird TamBrahm language, Tamil Brahmins (aka TamBrahms) are further divided into Iyengars (Vaishnavites or worshippers of Vishnu) and Iyers (Saivites or Shiva worshippers). The former think the latter are lower lifeforms and are not actually Brahmin and refer derogratorily to them as Smarthas. As in we (Iyengars), the Brahmins and they, the Smarthas and of course the rest of humanity who are dismissed as completely inconsequential!

I suppose the Smarthas should take solace that they are actually accepted as lifeforms.