Crossing the cultural divide

Living in a community of divergent cultures is quite an experience. That community is always in constant motion; changing from one perspective to another in order to find themselves or the life which suits them at that time. In recent years, I have arrived at the conclusion that there are many paths to essentially the same destination. This weekend, I realised there has been one such path right outside my house.

We have a saying in our home: “Never return something borrowed to someone empty”. I’m not sure when this belief started or which historic event triggered it or which cosmic alignment took place to give birth to it. All I know is that it has remained a convention for us for some time. And somehow observance of it has come to mean the borrower adding some small token of appreciation for the lender’s kindness. Over time the token itself has become a fundamental pillar of our existence.

This is so clearly demonstrated by my mother and her neighbour. The very first time when my mother fell ill our neighbour decided to cook her a simple dinner and delivered it in various containers and pots to our front door. After recovering from her bout of illness my mother promptly returned said vessels, all scrubbed to an industrial high polish, packed with various Indian snacks, condiments and sweet treats as a heartfelt thankyou for such neighbourly kindness. Only problem was, my mother’s return out-did our neighbour’s first gesture. And it has continued from then.

So much so that as I settled comfortably into the sofa to watch the Six Nations rugby matches on Saturday afternoon, my mother disrupted my plans with her usual sense of ‘the end of days’ immediacy to action. I was directed to return our neighbour’s rice serving bowl which was now a component part of a celebration-style hamper, complete with fresh exotic fruit, Mediterranean baklava and dates, and gourmet vegetarian delicacies from our local Waitrose, all arranged in layers with a silk sari entwining each and every ingredient. The whole food burst was wrapped in cellophane and tied with a silk bow. Shocked at another double-booking possibility for this evening, I enquired if we had been invited for one of their birthdays. “Don’t be stupid!” came the reply. “I’m just returning her bowl”. I’m bracing myself for the next delivery…

For more cross-cultural observations, check out the posts at Bonn Voyage.