"I love you, Beta" (or why kinship terms are the magic beans of life's beanstalk)

So I've been promising (or threatening, depending on where you're standing) for sometime to write about my deep love of kinship terms. I'm thankful I postponed, as the last few days have given me more time to reflect and add to my thoughts on this. I'd be curious to hear what other's have to say on this topic, so please feel free to add your two sense. :)

I'd been thinking about my ideas on kinship terms for several days when my phone rang and to my surprise, my dad was on the other end. My dad and I are much more successful at communicating in person, so phone calls are pretty rare, but he told me that he was with someone who wanted to say hello. After a moment's pause, a voice came on the phone, "Hello beta (daughter in Hindi)". I felt my face explode in to a smile as I joyfully responded "Auntie!" Anyone who knows me in the "real world" will know, Auntie is not really my aunt. Well, not in the sense that she is a sibling or sibling in law of either of my parents. She, like many of the people I call family, was once a stranger whom I'd met through someone else I know, usually because there was some idea that they could help prepare me for life in Nepal. But over time, something magical has happened to many of these relationships. The ensuing phone conversation with Auntie is testament to this magic. It went a little something like this:

Auntie:"Beta, I am so proud of you for Fulbright. This is such a good thing."

Me: "Thank you Auntie, I'm excited too. But I've been so busy getting ready. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you. And I was worried that you would be busy too, so I didn't want to bother you."

Auntie: "We always make time for our daughters. Come for dinner and eat with your uncle and I. Come soon."

Me: "Of course Auntie. I will come very soon."

And this is the best part, partly because I could tell from her voice it had slipped out, probably a habit from years of saying the same thing to her natural born daughter, but partly because I knew she meant it all the same.

Auntie: "I love you, beta."

Me: "I love you too Auntie. Tell uncle I said hello."

If you're observant, the above conversation reveals a very complex relationship. Auntie and I have no generally recognized kin connections. I refer to her by a term that indicates that she is a sibling of one of my parents, but she refers to me as one of her own offspring. Even more interestingly, Auntie and I have only shared a handful of afternoons together. But the way we feel about each other and the rules that govern how we interact are very real. This is the magic of kinship terms.

When Auntie and I first met, she was kind and welcoming to me, but I felt a formality in the way she treated me. After all, I was the daughter of her boss, and I had come to observe, in the role of an interested student, a Hindu ritual in her home. She invited me to come again, but even in our second meeting I was not completely at ease. Fortunately, I had some ideas of what was expected of a young lady in Indian culture and I knew that I was well received by both Auntie and her husband. But it wasn't until my third visit, when I was going to be attending a traditional Hindu wedding with Auntie and Uncle that our relationship became what it now is. Auntie was picking out one of her daughter's old lungi (an Indian dress) for me to wear to the wedding. I innocently (though not really) asked her what I should call her at the wedding in front of her friends. After awhile, we decide on Auntie and ever after, we've been family. Of course, I'm not entirely unaware of fostering these relationships. I'm always careful to behave appropriately to the roles we've decided on. But I still believe that these words we are using to describe each other have a huge impact on the way our relationships develop. When I went to fetch Uncle's tea, it could have been interpreted as a polite gesture, but instead, it was proof that I was a good daughter. I'm still not certain if these terms are powerful only when the expectations they convey are met, or if the terms themselves are just so emotionally loaded, it's difficult for us to disjoin the emotion from the relationship the words typically describe. I am certain however that calling someone by a kinship term is a surefire way to develop a powerful and lasting bond with virtually anyone. If you need more evidence of this, just look at the ritual friendship/brotherhoods (meetini in nepali) relationships. (I could write more on this point, but I won't simply because I've more rambling to do.)In any case, it seems to me that kinship terms and not actual kinship is what creates families.

But as much as I truly love all the people I call family, I can't help but be reminded that some of this status is fictional. Usually, these reminders come from outsiders who comment with curiosity on my "family" photos or who know my natal family and are certain my mother didn't have several previously unknown daughters. I've just finished re- re- reading Love and Honor in the Himalayas, and the author, Ernestine, talks about how unkindly a stranger in Nepal once reminded her that "...it was wrong, and I [Ernestine} was wrong, and that what I was engaging in was a masquerade to which I had no right. I was not going to stay there. I was not going to marry there. I was not going to suffer there."(McHugh, 117) Ernestine's reaction to this was one of dismay, but I feel differently. I personally feel that the use of kinship terms and the subsequent creation of relationships allows me to open myself up to people in ways that would otherwise be socially unacceptable, but also emotionally unwise. My "fictional" kin relationships have merely provided me the safety net needed to get to know people that I would love no matter how I came to know them. I fully recognize that I am a guest in the lives of those that call me little sister, daughter or niece, but my temporary status does not make my position in anyone's lives any less genuine.

There's also another important view point to consider here. As I prepare to leave for my ten or more months in Nepal, I've had to do a lot of thinking about the life I will leave behind. I've been blessed by a life more full of love than anyone could ever hope to have and I'm painfully aware of all the people whose lives will go on without me very very soon. And it makes me realize, we are all guests in the lives of those around us.

Case in point, I regularly read Janice's blog (check it out here: http://www.jkosmandu.blogspot.com/) and her most recent post stands in stark contrast to her others. Janice's post are generally filled with pictures and stories that while seemingly exotic to those of us living in the states, are clearly Janice's everyday existence. Ironically, the pictures in her last post seem the most exotic of all, so much so that I checked to make sure I was at the right page when they opened. The pictures show two teenage girls in their prom dresses and Janice tells us about her two nieces preparing for prom and graduation here in the states, without her. While genetics and a greater cultural law describe these two girls as her "real" family, I wonder whether anyone could really argue that these relationships, which have been put on hold while Janice completes her work on the other side of the world, play a more significant role in Janice's life than the friends and "family" she is currently sharing every moment of her life with. Even when she returns, are those relationships really any more lasting or permanent that the ones she'll have left in Nepal? In my opinion the answer is clearly no. While our past and our future help to shape and influence who we are, identity is very much created and understood in the moment.