Parenthood is a strange beast, a strange and apparently public-access beast. Everyone gets unsolicited parenting advice. It’s hard to know what to do with that advice sometimes, and when that advice comes from a cultural context that differs from the one you were brought up in, it gets even more interesting. There are surely lessons in these encounters. Consider:
“Hat! Hat! Where is the baby’s hat?” –shopkeeper in Kerala, where the average daily temperature was 95 with abundant sunshine and high humidity
“Don’t hold the baby that way! You’ll break its neck!” –male bureaucrats at the Foreigners’ Regional Registration Office in Delhi, when we were holding the baby vertically so she could look over our shoulders and see what was going on
“You’re going to give her a bath now?! But she’ll get too cold!” –my research assistant; just after a massive baby poop at 5:00 in the evening
“See, babies’ collar bones get out of place because we pick them up by their arms all the time. Then they get pain in their shoulders and won’t drink milk. You just have to push them back down [she proceeds to push on the baby's shoulder while baby screams hysterically].” –the lady who comes to clean, and moonlights as a baby and child masseuse in several homes
My usual tactic when I got advice that didn’t match my model of parenting was to either nod seriously and say I’d make sure to take care of that, or to say something to lighten the mood like, “Oh, she’s fine. Don’t worry!” People didn’t like the latter response at all. Sometimes I got scathing looks that implied in not-so-subtle terms that I must be a horrifically irresponsible parent.
Since I was still working on my research after the baby’s birth, Dave would often look after her for several hours at a time while I went out to do an interview. He’d frequently take her on walks in the Baby Bjorn around our neighborhood, and sometimes when we went out together he would carry her this way too. This drew a lot of stares.
Stares abound: Especially when Dave is getting his feet eaten by fish at the pedispa!
Now, it’s not as if men in India don’t carry babies. They do! But they usually carry them wrapped in a blanket and held cradle-style. I’m unsure if the stares came because we’re foreigners with a small baby (not something one sees a lot in India), because of the baby-carrying contraption itself, because Dave was carrying her and not me, or perhaps because Dave is just so tall. Surely, it was a combination of the above. The looks were usually curious, amused, and sometimes a little good-naturedly shocked.
Sometimes the interest in our division of parenting labor was more concerned than curious, however. Before becoming a parent, I imagined that people in India might find it odd and somewhat amusing that Dave was going to be so actively involved in our baby’s care. I knew this wasn't typical, but I thought to myself in a horribly culturally imperialistic way that this would create excellent opportunities for intercultural understanding, and might help my oppressed Indian sisters see that they don’t have to bear the brunt of childcare all alone. Girl power! Alas, this was not to be.
One day, I was getting ready to leave for an interview when the cleaning lady was at our flat. As I was about to walk out the door, she exclaimed, “You’re leaving the baby? With HIM?! Won’t she cry? Won’t she miss you?” Her facial expression froze like a DVD that had skipped: sheer incomprehension, utter disbelief, and outraged accusation. I’ve never been looked at that way before, by anyone, ever. That look went straight to my heart and made me feel, for a few seconds, that I must indeed be the worst parent in the world. It was totally paralyzing.
I falteringly explained that I was leaving milk behind so that he could feed her, and that I’d only be gone for a few hours. I felt like a kid making excuses for my bad behavior in school. She said, “But what will he do with her?” When I explained that he would sambhalna her [a general verb meaning to look after or take care of], her expression changed from horror to doubt. It took several minutes of explanation from my Indian research assistant, who enthusiastically vouched for my acceptability as a parent, before she relaxed. This was one situation where any amount of explanation by my foreigner self wasn’t going to bridge the cultural divide.
A few days later, I decided to bring it up again and see if I could get more insight into that unforgettable facial expression of hers. I casually asked her if she had been really surprised about Dave taking care of the baby, and why. She said, “My husband—I mean, he comes home from work, sits down in front of the TV, and youn [mimics a stern, angry facial expression and an imposing posture]. The children say, ‘Papa, papa,’ and he ugggh [mimics a disinterested grunt and a hand pushing the kids out of the way of the TV]. ‘Give me some water! Where’s dinner?’”
I was really surprised by this response. India does have a heavily patriarchal culture where women frequently stay home and take care of all child- and household-related responsibilities, but what she was describing sounded so extreme, like a caricature of all the worst aspects of patriarchy. If a foreigner had described this situation to me, I would have dismissed it, thinking skeptically, “Oh, she’s just vilifying North Indian cultural norms because she doesn’t understand them. She should be more of a cultural relativisit.” It’s important to keep in mind that this woman comes from a traditional family who only recently migrated to the city from a rural part of Uttar Pradesh, but at the same time, the situation she described probably wouldn’t sound unfamiliar to many other women in Delhi. She herself is working and bringing much-needed income to their impoverished family, but judging from her description of her husband’s behavior, this hasn’t brought her a lot of respect or status in the family.
…All of which is to say, cultures differ. As an anthropologist, I don’t expect to be surprised by cultural differences anymore, especially in North India, where I’ve spent so much time. Parenthood, however, has opened a new door onto an entirely new set of cultural beliefs, practices, and values that I’d never been exposed to before. There’s always more to learn.
“Hat! Hat! Where is the baby’s hat?” –shopkeeper in Kerala, where the average daily temperature was 95 with abundant sunshine and high humidity
“Don’t hold the baby that way! You’ll break its neck!” –male bureaucrats at the Foreigners’ Regional Registration Office in Delhi, when we were holding the baby vertically so she could look over our shoulders and see what was going on
“You’re going to give her a bath now?! But she’ll get too cold!” –my research assistant; just after a massive baby poop at 5:00 in the evening
“See, babies’ collar bones get out of place because we pick them up by their arms all the time. Then they get pain in their shoulders and won’t drink milk. You just have to push them back down [she proceeds to push on the baby's shoulder while baby screams hysterically].” –the lady who comes to clean, and moonlights as a baby and child masseuse in several homes
My usual tactic when I got advice that didn’t match my model of parenting was to either nod seriously and say I’d make sure to take care of that, or to say something to lighten the mood like, “Oh, she’s fine. Don’t worry!” People didn’t like the latter response at all. Sometimes I got scathing looks that implied in not-so-subtle terms that I must be a horrifically irresponsible parent.
Since I was still working on my research after the baby’s birth, Dave would often look after her for several hours at a time while I went out to do an interview. He’d frequently take her on walks in the Baby Bjorn around our neighborhood, and sometimes when we went out together he would carry her this way too. This drew a lot of stares.
Stares abound: Especially when Dave is getting his feet eaten by fish at the pedispa!
Now, it’s not as if men in India don’t carry babies. They do! But they usually carry them wrapped in a blanket and held cradle-style. I’m unsure if the stares came because we’re foreigners with a small baby (not something one sees a lot in India), because of the baby-carrying contraption itself, because Dave was carrying her and not me, or perhaps because Dave is just so tall. Surely, it was a combination of the above. The looks were usually curious, amused, and sometimes a little good-naturedly shocked.
Sometimes the interest in our division of parenting labor was more concerned than curious, however. Before becoming a parent, I imagined that people in India might find it odd and somewhat amusing that Dave was going to be so actively involved in our baby’s care. I knew this wasn't typical, but I thought to myself in a horribly culturally imperialistic way that this would create excellent opportunities for intercultural understanding, and might help my oppressed Indian sisters see that they don’t have to bear the brunt of childcare all alone. Girl power! Alas, this was not to be.
One day, I was getting ready to leave for an interview when the cleaning lady was at our flat. As I was about to walk out the door, she exclaimed, “You’re leaving the baby? With HIM?! Won’t she cry? Won’t she miss you?” Her facial expression froze like a DVD that had skipped: sheer incomprehension, utter disbelief, and outraged accusation. I’ve never been looked at that way before, by anyone, ever. That look went straight to my heart and made me feel, for a few seconds, that I must indeed be the worst parent in the world. It was totally paralyzing.
I falteringly explained that I was leaving milk behind so that he could feed her, and that I’d only be gone for a few hours. I felt like a kid making excuses for my bad behavior in school. She said, “But what will he do with her?” When I explained that he would sambhalna her [a general verb meaning to look after or take care of], her expression changed from horror to doubt. It took several minutes of explanation from my Indian research assistant, who enthusiastically vouched for my acceptability as a parent, before she relaxed. This was one situation where any amount of explanation by my foreigner self wasn’t going to bridge the cultural divide.
A few days later, I decided to bring it up again and see if I could get more insight into that unforgettable facial expression of hers. I casually asked her if she had been really surprised about Dave taking care of the baby, and why. She said, “My husband—I mean, he comes home from work, sits down in front of the TV, and youn [mimics a stern, angry facial expression and an imposing posture]. The children say, ‘Papa, papa,’ and he ugggh [mimics a disinterested grunt and a hand pushing the kids out of the way of the TV]. ‘Give me some water! Where’s dinner?’”
I was really surprised by this response. India does have a heavily patriarchal culture where women frequently stay home and take care of all child- and household-related responsibilities, but what she was describing sounded so extreme, like a caricature of all the worst aspects of patriarchy. If a foreigner had described this situation to me, I would have dismissed it, thinking skeptically, “Oh, she’s just vilifying North Indian cultural norms because she doesn’t understand them. She should be more of a cultural relativisit.” It’s important to keep in mind that this woman comes from a traditional family who only recently migrated to the city from a rural part of Uttar Pradesh, but at the same time, the situation she described probably wouldn’t sound unfamiliar to many other women in Delhi. She herself is working and bringing much-needed income to their impoverished family, but judging from her description of her husband’s behavior, this hasn’t brought her a lot of respect or status in the family.
…All of which is to say, cultures differ. As an anthropologist, I don’t expect to be surprised by cultural differences anymore, especially in North India, where I’ve spent so much time. Parenthood, however, has opened a new door onto an entirely new set of cultural beliefs, practices, and values that I’d never been exposed to before. There’s always more to learn.
