Indian hospitality and its many pitfalls
Please eat. More. MORE. MOOOREEE.
Every time my family (my dad) invites guests over, the expectation is always to be on our best behaviours, bring out the most delectable food our kitchen can produce (which, to be honest, is not that delectable since I live with my grandparents, and they can only stomach so much) and adorn the very earth these guests step on with roses (only the best kind).
The general instructions are to overdo the food, the drinks, nothing is over the top. If it were in his control, I think Indian males would commission a glass sculpture every time someone was to visit their homes. It is like an adult practical exam where you test how well your home staff is trained, how well-behaved your children are, how great your taste is, and how agreeable you are (let’s be real, agreeableness is the only characteristic you need to be great company, at least from the Indian uncle pov. Any disagreements and you may as well just leave the house, the city, the planet because you are at best unaware and at worst absolutely stupid). It is the time to tell everyone about your lladro, your new TV, your new music system and the fact that you have made the shift to all organic sustainable food grains as a family and that white sugar is just something that is just too lowly for your grocery list.
I hate the concept of guests and home hospitality. It is riddled with the constant feeling of not having done enough. So often, it isn't even about a nice evening; it is about an bi-yearly update on what one has been able to amass since the last time they met.
This one time, my brother visibly annoyed by the ever-persistent thing all guests can’t stop saying—
“Come sit with us. Please eat with us.”
“Baitho. Aap please baitho.”
I mean, I would love to do that should you want to share the responsibility of bringing the soda from the fridge, the chapatti from the tawa, the ice from the freezer, and all the ten thousand things that are being demanded at this gathering which I can’t seem to enjoy at all.
I hate hosting. Does that make me a terrible person? Maybe. That being said it is not hosting that is the problem, it is the expectation to spend time with people who do not add value to my life in any way.
I wouldn't call myself anti-social but it takes an awful amount of energy for me to make conversations with people I know only because of other people’s associations.
Who we spend time with should be independent of other people’s association with them no matter how close said people are.
I am going to hang on to my words until next time when someone shows up to my house for no reason.
Not just that, I hate to be entertained at other people’s homes. I feel like such an inconvenience. I hate having people go out of the way for me and very often houses smell weird. Maybe, my house smells weird to people. There is so much excess and I often have to stay past my bedtime.
Isn’t so unfair to have to waste your time, deprive oneself of sleep and have no fun at all? It feels like that everytime I am dragged to places I have no people I like.
Thankful to this hobby, I wake up as a new person every day! Don’t know where I’d park the resentment otherwise
