Adventures in Arranged Matrimony: Hunt - Or be Hunted!!

Adventures in Arranged Matrimony: Hunt - Or be Hunted!!

"Priyanka, Anusha, Chaitra and 236 others are waiting for you...."the notification read. I was thrilled. If just uploading an incomplete profile would put me in touch with so many potential suitors, I would find the "Right One" in a couple of weeks. I quickly opened an other tab on the browser that said "Popular honeymoon destinations in Asia"

                                        

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 When you don't fall in love at the right time - or rather-get someone to fall in love with you at the right time, the inevitability of arranged marriage looms large. Add to that a conspiracy from the stars (read horoscopes), a script dictated by religion and caste, and (over) enthusiastic participation from a wide circle of relatives - the stage is set for drama like never before. Only, it is happening in your own life.

I still remember the day my Father brought a hundred page note book and religiously wrote Lord Ganesha's name on the first page. "Ensure that you find a girl before this book runs out..." was his first instruction. It was then that I realized that this notebook would be his database of all profiles that were referred to us. I almost ventured to suggest that he start an Excel, but held myself back, as I'd be the one eventually maintaining it if it were to transpire to reality.

Our next task was to bring out the model in me. This involved transformations of humongous proportions: from the hygienic to the well-groomed, from the posture-less to the photogenic and from the presentable to the polished. "Please try to put on some weight" seemed to be the universal suggestion right from the distant aunt whom I got to know existed when we started bride-hunting, to the gym instructor, who suddenly seemed to take more interest in my marriage because the membership renewal was due.
"I'll make you ready for the big day Saar" he used to say with a wink every time, in broken English. And as though spurred on, I would do a couple more routines that day, than the usual.

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"Let's head to the Bureau" declared Father one Saturday afternoon. We were nearing the end of an intense referral phase - with my matrimonial Resume being floated discerningly in the close circle for potential matches. This had not resulted in much tangible progress - apart from tempering our expectations and anxiety levels. My Father for one, understood that a blue tick on WhatsApp doesn't mean that his son's marriage is a foregone conclusion. I realised that wearing dark shades instead of power spectacles in a photograph, doesn't exactly improve my appeal. And most importantly, Mother started appreciating that a girl looking super beautiful in a photograph may look totally different in reality.

Once planetary alignments, Facebook profiles and MBA colleges ensured that we exhausted all possible leads in the close circle, Father decided that we had to cast the net wider. Or rather, I had to be displayed more publicly as an eligible bachelor. It was then that we zeroed in on the Bureau.

Apparently, lot of prospective grooms and brides had found the "One" in the Bureau. It had an excellent database of suitors (I was wondering if it was better than that of Father's) and provided opportunities for parents to network. It was a niche in itself because, it was still only offline with a fledgling presence online - and yet managed to attract people from all over the state.

It was a Sunday when we first visited the Bureau. Through sustained effort, I'd managed to gain a kilo plus three hundred grams - which was visible as a paunch, thanks to corporate life.(The gym instructor was insisting that I'd gained weight - where, was a different matter altogether). My Mother fussed that I wear formals;wearing a Tee would mean exposing my slender arms and bony neck. What if the girls' parents thought I was undernourished? Father complained that lack of a stubble meant I looked 24 and not 29. (This was definitely not under my control). "Behave yourself, cut your sarcasm" was the instruction I received from them as we got down from the auto. The Auto Driver's "All The Best" seemed more a smirk than a wish, as we entered the doors of the Bureau. I asked Mother if I should prostrate for a couple of minutes before entering - for good luck- but she dismissed my earnest question as sarcasm.

Ever since we started discussing the Bureau, I'd developed visions of it in my head. I'd imagined myself entering the Bureau with two jasmine garlands - one around my neck and the other one in my hand, for the girl I felt was my best match. Girls would line up on either side, waiting for me to make my choice. And the one I chose to garland would walk away with me, while her parents' eyes brimmed with tears of joy. In an alternate version, girls were waiting for me with jasmine garlands in their hands. The next moment there were multiple garlands around my neck, and I'd to figure who I needed to accept. It was my parents' eyes that were glistening with tears of happiness now.

The reality turned out to be totally different. The Bureau was one square hall, lined with benches and some chairs for courtesy. Tubelights lined the walls and a couple of fans cooled a rather tense and serious atmosphere. Anxious parents pored over files that contained data of prospective brides and grooms. Each of them, had made their own database ( I could now appreciate Father), which was in a different stage of maturity. 

Clearly, there was a distinction even among the parents' journeys of finding brides and grooms for their sons and daughters. There were parents who had just managed to convince their sons to start thinking about marriage and had rushed to the Bureau with horoscopes and photographs with a plan to find the right match the same day. There were parents for whom the novelty of the process had worn off and who were "going through the inevitable motions" before the perfect match came along. And then there were the frustrated ones - who had passed through the first two stages - who now just hoped that the process would end. There were the quiet ones. And some of them who were boisterous. Some one of them even acknowledged that they should have allowed their children to find the right match themselves.  I was amused at this late realization and silently wondered if the same thought was crossing my parents' minds too. Well, I guess it was too early in the day for that!

My parents were presently in the over enthusiastic segment. Father opened his precious database and wrote the date with the brand new Parker he had bought for the purpose. Mother switched over to her officious mode as she wore her reading glasses. I was soon doing the dual role of a bridegroom and a clerk. My job was to run to the store room, grab a file full of brides-to-be, hand it over to my parents. Father matched the fundamentals of the horoscopes, Mother scrutinized the profile and passed it to me for  final vetting. Nevertheless, it was cursory. If the profile passed Father's checks and Mother's eyes - we would proceed "to discuss at Home."
 
                                               
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I came back home from Office the next evening to a call centre. Father's database was spread wide open on the table. He was on one side of the living room, his customary coffee in one hand and his mobile in the other. "Hello...is this Mr..? We came across your daughter's profile at the Bureau. My son's name is Alok....." he went on. And at the end of the conversation, he would write a response across the profile in his database. There were different updates - ranging from "Accepted - to send profile" "Horoscopes don't match" to "Discuss with Alok". There were a couple of cryptic encircled and crossed out profiles as well.

Mother was on her phone as well, working on the other half of the list - typically where the point of contact was the lady of the house. She would start with an ice-breaker before pitching me more formally. She would even go on to describe what my hobbies were and what I did on weekends. I was almost sure her pitch was much better than mine to any prospective match. At the end of her conversation, she reached out to Father's database. But her evaluation and update were more analytical and critical than Father's. "Tone was cordial. Seemed interested". "Down to Earth. Need to progress this further". "Great background. Alok would be interested"

Both my parents were cold calling prospects!! And their cold calling had sincerity and earnestness that I never managed to imbibe in my share of cold calling as a sales guy.The final straw was my Brother. He was busy WhatsApping my profile to parents of prospects that Father and Mother had already spoken to.

Arranged Matrimony was staring at me in the face. To find someone - I always believed - had to be my objective. The reality was turning out to be different. My family had made it their purpose to find me someone. I was used to calling it social pressure - a blind obsession. But what I was now seeing was genuine concern to help me take the next big step in life. I saw the same energy, enthusiasm and determination that I had seen in them during multiple milestone moments in my life earlier.

I looked at them with pride and emotion. The lens of irony and sarcasm through which I had viewed the proceedings till now was fast melting in the fervor to do something to help my family see this moment through successfully - without much effort. Should I grab the sacred database and start dialing a few numbers myself? Or should I call the Matrimony website to extend my Premium subscription? Or should I vow that I would visit Lord Ganesha the moment an alliance was struck?

My train of thoughts was broken by loud shouts and noise from a couple of Hi-Fives. "It's more than a blue tick, Brother" Akshay was telling me. "They want to meet us next Sunday!"

Was I Hunting.......Or being Hunted?

                                                                                                    - 3rd December 2018

Disclaimer: Events dramatised for fictional purposes