A Parsi woman’s perspective on being denied basic rights

by SANAYA DALAL

ILLUSTRATION/Jayanto/Parzor Foundation, Delhi/Hindustan Times

“You knew what you were getting into.”

“A child inherits his father’s name and religion, not his mother’s.”

“Women with non-Parsi spouses will have their kids navjoted only to avail of housing and monetary benefits from our wealthy community trusts.”

“Our religion does not allow intermarriage or conversion.”

“Recognising the children of intermarried Parsi men was a mistake, and recognising those of women will be another one. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

These are the refrains I am often subjected to when I debate with so-called orthodox (read bigoted, racist and misogynist) Parsis about the ridiculous gender divide that we, as a community, have allowed to persist unchallenged for over a century.

I am a Parsi woman married to a half-Parsi man; my mother-in-law is Parsi, but my husband is not recognised as one because his father is a Sindhi. Had the latter been a Parsi and his mother from another community, however, he would have lived life as a Parsi.

We have a delightful four-year-old son, whose brown hair and light eyes are living proof of his part-Iranian heritage, but laughably, he is not recognised as Parsi either per the existing laws of the land and our skewed practices.

The fact that the misinformed masses are on the losing side of this argument in every way that matters – ethically, scripturally and scientifically – does little to quell their dogged beliefs.

My husband Rishi was, for better or worse, brought up in a colony with primarily Parsi friends and family. He has always been well-liked and very sociable, but the second-class status that is a direct consequence of not being on the right side of the fence has seen him face discrimination all his life.

“I actually did my best to keep him away from Parsis,” my mother-in-law often tells me. “I never wanted him to have to go through what he did at the hands of some narrow-minded people. Unfortunately, he had a lot in common with Parsi kids and inevitably ended up just another colony kid himself.”

Rishi has never been allowed into a fire temple alongside his mother to offer prayers, nor has he been navjoted – bestowed with the holy girdle and vest of our faith. Growing up, he played sports year-round with his friends, only to sit on the side-lines when community tournaments came up, while others of similar mixed marriage ancestry participated unquestioned because their fathers were Parsi. Some well-intentioned mates sometimes placed him in the weakest sporting teams so that he could play at least a couple of rounds before dropping out of the competition early and undiscovered. Cricket and volleyball were his forte, but he was never allowed to play to the best of his abilities.

His surname – Kishnani – has usually been concealed on entry forms like it’s a dirty word. “We don’t want Guptas, Kumars and Shahanis in our baugs and colonies,” is a statement you often hear when in exclusively Parsi company. It’s more than a little ironic that it is the Desais, Patels, Kapadias, Dalals, Khans, Nicholsons and Chowdhrys who make these declarations. Where have your surnames come from exactly, I ask them – Iran? No response.

The social discrimination hardly ends there. Mumbai’s Parsi-only Ripon Club has spent years weighing the issue of whether Parsi women should be offered full-fledged club membership, as opposed to the associate membership status they have so far been accorded. Those opposing this proposal are doing so on the grounds that the non-Parsi husbands of inter-married women members will then take over the institution and its administration; curiously, all the non-Parsi women who have been frequenting Ripon all these years with their Parsi spouses are not perceived as a threat.

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