Category: Random Thoughts

Posted in Random Thoughts

Choosing one good thing out of three

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I was recently writing a science fiction short story. By recently, I mean that I have been writing it for an year and it is still not finished. The reason it is not finished is that I have three probable ends and I am not able to decide one.

The story has been created out of a dream. It was a surreal dream and I wanted to use it. But as I progressed, this one developed into something totally different and I am unable to decide where to take it in the end. Does the heroine get her hero? Was he really the hero? Did he really exist and on what level did he exist?

So many paths to take,

so many turns await…

I take a step to where my heart moves me…

but my heart moves at a fast pace…

How do you decide what life to live today?

Author’s note: I feel in my bones that whichever end I choose I will never be satisfied. I think I am in too deep. I am living this story in my mind!

Posted in Random Thoughts

I do: The Indian Way (Part 2)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Pun intended

Before jumping into this article, I would advise you to visit the original post I do: The Indian Way (Part 1) so that you can understand the beginning of the madness that we Indians lovingly refer to as “arranged marriage”, which is a complex process to simplify the process of finding a man for every girl and a girl for every man (usually 5-10 years older than the girl, henceforth incorrectly termed as the “the boy”). Had the process been in place in England and USA, books like Pride and Prejudice and Little Women 2 would have not existed in the first place.

In the original post, we have already covered the first seven steps of the process.

Step 8: The meeting preparation and the approval of the bhabhi

So far, the stage is all set for the big reveal. The girl (probably in early twenties) and the boy (probably in his thirties) are about to meet for the grand finale. The entire khandan (extended family big enough to fill a football stadium) is either already there or waiting on Zoom and Whatsapp to hear the good news.

The house is in a general state of disarray with cousin’s running around, children crying, father and uncles on phone, grandfather and granduncles pacing around, mothers, grandmothers and aunts cooking and discussing the various scenarios that can possibly unfold–What if one of them is diabetic? Do we have something for them? Do we have green tea? What if they want more dowry? What if they see one of the prettier cousins and choose her instead?

The dining table is creaking under the combined weight of fruits, various types of sweets, pakodas, samosas, namkeens (various salt savories), lemonade, cold drinks and the best possible crockery loaned from concerned neighbours and relatives to serve it in. The kitchen is busy with lunch/dinner preparations high on matar-paneer, daal makkhani, dahi-bade and dhaniya ke aaloo to be served with puris, an assortment of sauces, pickles and fried papad.

A stylish bhabhi (brother’s/cousin’s wife) has draped the girl’s sari so all her curves are visible to lure the boy in while the skin is covered so as not to provoke the boy’s parents. Every bit of the girl’s face is covered with 9 -10 layers of cosmetics, each one smelling of different flowers, making her feel like a walking flower shop with no visible flowers. Her blood pressure is increasing with each make-up application and the friendly advise:

  • Don’t rub your eyes. You’ll smear the mascara.
  • Why didn’t you tell me what shade of Fushia your sari was. Now I got a lipstick three tones lighter!
  • Don’t move your lips. You’ll mess up the lipstick.
  • Don’t eat. You’ll mess up the lipstick.
  • Only drink the cold drink I will set in front of you. It will have a straw.
  • Don’t speak, you’ll mess up the lipstick.
  • Don’t laugh. Indian brides don’t laugh. Besides, it puts wrinkles on the makeup.
  • Don’t sweat, you’ll mess up the makeup.
  • Act shy. Don’t look at anyone straight in the eyes.
  • Don’t ask too many questions.
  • Don’t ask about his girlfriends.
  • Don’t tell him about your boyfriends.
  • If he asks your hobbies, say that you like cooking. Don’t tell him you play football and ride a motorbike.
  • Just stay quiet. We will manage the rest…

By this time, a low growl can be heard starting from the bottom of the girl’s throat, which is bhabhi‘s cue to take her baby for a diaper change. We will not discuss the case she doesn’t take the cue, because this is not an article about mass murder.

The blood pressure is at all-time high when the cousin who was posted at the gate comes running inside and stage-whispers through the door, “They are here!”

Step 9: The joint approval of khandan and neighbours

All the noise stops suddenly. Even the children who had been throwing a tantrum a second back suck in a breath and wait with abated breath as the boy’s party approaches the gates. Father, uncles, grandfather and granduncles wipe their brows and run towards the gates to greet the party at the gates and smile with hands folded in “Namaste”. After this, their hands are forever folded in their laps as they stand around obediently taking orders from the in-laws.

As the boy’s party along with the middleman is ushered in, the mother, aunts, grandmother and grandaunts greet them indoors and show them where to sit. The stylish bhabhi, together with a party of well-trained cousins, brings in water and beverages. Someone quietly clicks the picture of “the boy” and posts it on family group on Whatsapp for the rest of the relatives to approve. The bride, who is also part of the group, looks at the picture and is petrified, for the said “boy” is at least 7-8 years older than the picture shared by the middleman.

The parents seem unaffected. They probably expected the situation and have already decided to fill the receding hairline with extra zeroes in his salary. The boy is now the new animal in the zoo, inspected by the girl’s younger giggly cousins and accosted by the younger children of the house who want to climb on his back, try on his glasses and check if he knows how to give a piggy-back ride. One of them has already pulled out his uber expensive pen from his shirt pocket while he is trying to explain to another child why he cannot play on his iPhone.

And he is bearing it all with gritted teeth and a smile that shows he would rather be at office drinking horrible coffee. His parents are trying to pick children off him one by one on the pretext of asking their names before the boy runs out shrieking bloody murder (He too has been through a grooming experience mirroring the bride, except the makeup part, but we will not talk about that. It is not his story).

The neighbours are now beginning to show up under various pretext following the trail of the variety of food fragrances, knowing well exactly what it could mean. They all express curiosity that goes beyond the girl’s parents and ask questions missed during the earlier interrogation, including growth opportunities in the boy’s line of job, frequency of salary hikes and where they see themselves in 10-years time (hopefully, in Canada). Once the khandan and neighbours have expressed their satisfaction at the responses they have received, a cousin is sent to “bring the girl in”.

Step 10: The big reveal and boy’s and girl’s approval…sort of…

Now that everybody else in the known universe has agreed to the match, the girl “is brought into the room” by the aforementioned bhabhi. The boy is more interested in the bhabhi who is curvaceous and confident. He is looking at her with an interest but when he realises all eyes are on him, he moves his eyes towards the girl (because he is supposed to). The girl is a bundle of nerves and shivering as she “is settled” in front of the boy so that he cannot touch her. He is scared witless and trying to act confident but his parents beat him to it–they begin talking to the girl, who keeps her answers monosyllabic, as instructed by bhabhi to keep the make-up intact. His parents assume it to be shyness. The girl’s parents assume it to be nerves. Only the bhabhi really knows as she places the cold drink with straw strategically in front of the girl.

The discussion is generally about education and interests, which is mostly loads of lies.

Then someone suggests that the boy and girl should be left alone to talk! And everyone moves out of the room. Everyone, except the said bhabhi and the bhaiya (elder brother/cousin) standing close enough to the door to eavesdrop and remain faintly in sight so that the boy doesn’t gets any ideas.

Now, the sudden retreat of the people leaves the girl and the boy conscious and tongue-tied and it take a couple of minutes to gather their wits, another couple of minutes to get through the basic introductions and they are still discussing education when everybody decides to return to their posts in the room. And someone mentions lunch/dinner.

Immediately, the girl is whisked away to her previous hideout since obviously she can’t eat without ruining her make-up.

During the lunch/dinner, the bhabhi in girl’s room is dropping hints about how a well-paid boy with medium looks is the best proposition because he is more willing to keep the girl happy and has the means to fulfil her dreams. (What those dreams are is never discussed since it could be riding a motorbike to the highest mountain pass in Leh-Ladakh.)

The girl, having no opportunity for a real conversation with the boy, relies totally on her family’s opinion. Already overwhelmed with all the attention and performance pressure in front of the entire family and neighbours, she nods her head with exhaustion. Right at that moment, the bhabhi relays the news to the mother, who is overheard by the grandmother, who calls her husband aside and reiterates it to him, who instructs the girl’s father. The girl’s mother, meanwhile, congratulates the girl for her perfect choice and hugs her, and the girl’s fate is sealed.

Someone sends a message on Whatsapp and everybody expresses their opinion of how rushed things were but how happy they were that everything came out so well.

Step 11: The boy’s party’s approval

The girl’s father immediately starts dropping hints about their willingness in front of the boy’s family. The boy’s family is already prepared for engagement ceremony. But they still state that they need time to think this over (because they really can’t show that they came prepared for the ceremony and lose their bargaining power). They go to the middleman’s house after the lunch/dinner while the girl’s family is chewing their nails.

On the way, they talk to the boy about the virtues of marrying in a well-to-do family and praise the girl for being homely and shy; and that living on outside food is bad for health; and that it is high time he is married so he has someone who can cook a proper meal for him wherever he lives. The boy, having no opportunity for a real conversation with the girl, relies totally on his family’s opinion. He is dealing with similar family pressure where his own khandan is waiting on Whatsapp for the good news, nods his head (he still doesn’t know about the football and motorbike).

The boy’s family take another couple of hours until the girl’s party calls them to ask for their verdict again. They reply in a long-suffering tone that they are okay with the match and would need to prepare for the ceremony. They sit around doing nothing on the pretext of preparing for the “roka ceremony“, second guessing if they had been too rash or whether they should have delayed a bit longer. They make a move to leave the middleman’s home at least an hour later than promised.

Step 12: The approval of the girl’ side of the world

The boy’s party reaches the girl’s the house famously late, where the entire house is crazier than before and, yet, stands to attention at their arrival. Suddenly, hands are being wrung, the boy is crushed under the hugs of all of girl’s male cousins (including those who had been earlier waiting on Whatsapp). The female cousins are looking down from the roof or waiting at the threshold giggling and whispering and adding to the general conundrum. The boy’s own cousins are back in his city, so he is alone to deal with the attention.

The house is filled to gills with people, ready to burst at seams. Cousins are pouring in and pouring out (for arrangements). A photographer, arranged to create proof of the ceremony, is busily arranging lights. A bunch of cousins are busily spreading chandani (white silky cloth) on hired beddings across the floor to arrange enough sitting space for all the invited (and uninvited) gentry. People keep getting in each other’s way apologizing with smiles, and trying not to get irritated with the way sweat drips from their forehead because no number of hired fans is enough to kill the heat generated by breathing of so many people.

The boy’s party produces a basket of fruits and a large box of sweets arranged on the way to the venue.

The girl is being prepared again by the same bhabhi along with the instructions along the same lines–don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t speak, don’t breathe… The girl has given in and is not growling anymore, so the bhabhi shows her exactly how to eat baby-sized bites without smearing her lipstick and drinking with a straw (because she had smeared her lipstick the last time). The heat is making the make-up runny and the women in the house are suggesting all the possible ways to make it steady…none of which is possible anymore since the make-up is already done.

Someone comments that they should have hired a bridal artist rather than a novice, at which the bhabhi helpfully reminds them that they are free to bring one in if they think so which effectively shuts everyone up. The girl’s hair is done in elegant curls and has more make-up than she had earlier that day and she shivers at the woman she sees in the mirror. But everyone is telling how wonderful she looks and she trusts them because that is all she can do. The girl is then “taken” (you would think she can’t walk on her own) to the room where everyone is sitting.

The boy’s eyes zeroes down on the bhabhi (wearing a magenta sari that shows all her curves and plenty of skin) holding the shivering girl (shivering from nerves being close to nervous breakdown). Then again, he realises the photographer is shooting his reaction and slides his eyes to look at the girl. The girl “is sat” next to the boy this time (where he can touch her if he dares to take on an entire family of feral brothers). The girl sits as delicately as possibly for the fear of causing a tear in her silk sari. The boy’s party think of it as shyness. The girl’s party thinks of it as nerves. Only the bhabhi knows the truth as she carefully arranges the pallu of the girl’s sari.

The mother-in-law remarks how lucky her son is to have bagged her, while also reminding her that her son was her best bet and that matches are made in heavens. She then produces a heavily embroided sari she had already bought in her own city but wrapped in a wrapping sheet to hide the fact that they had come prepared. She also presents a gold ring (that she had carried in her purse for three years in the hope of getting her son married) and the said box of sweets. The other women in the boy’s family who had come with the party present cash envelops (or if they were also prepared–silver ornaments).

Each action is followed by the photographer’s blinding flash and clicks of photos on various mobile phones. Someone is live streaming the event on the Whatsapp group.

The girl’s father does similar stuff for the boy, presenting clothes, a ring and sweets. The considerably larger family on the girl’s side ensures that by the time the ceremony is done, the boy is considerably richer than what he came in with. And this is only the beginning of a lifelong supply of goodies, as long as the girl is happy with him.

Note that the girl and boy had no real opportunity to talk yet. They are playing blind. By the time they realise their mistake, it will be too late, and they will live erringly happy ever after!

To be continued if I see people showing interest in the rest of the process. Let me know if you survive it and dare to know more.

Disclaimer: No part of this story is fiction, may be a little exaggerated but, in spirit, accurate. I have seen it happen to most of my cousins, even played the giggly cousin part quite a few times. I have been the internal messenger, salad arranger, dahi (yogurt) whisker, chutney (sauce) maker and the uninvited cousin in several such events. Not all these events come to an agreeable ending, and sometimes the boy and the girl might have to go through several such experiences before the said roka ceremony, but each one is just as crazy.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Book Review: The Man-eater of Malgudi by RK Narayan

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

As I have said earlier as well, I am no book reviewer but I have read some books that I would love to talk about. The Man-eater of Malgudi by R.K. Narayan needs no mention and is probably one of the most amazing books I have ever read.

When I first saw its title, I thought it was in the same league as Man-eaters of Kumaun by Jim Corbett–a story set in nature and a thriller that was so real-life, it gave you goosebumps. So, when I went through the first three pages, I was confused.

The story was set in a small town. The primary location was a printing press and the main protagonist, Nataraj, was the owner of the press living peacefully in a South-Indian village in the early days of printing. Life was slow and people had time for sitting down to have an actual chat about politics. It was not what I had expected. There was no talk of man-eating lions or tigers. So, I put the book away for the time-being and jumped to other books.

But it was R.K. Narayan’s book and I had seen a TV series based on one of his books as a child, so I decided to look at it again with a fresh perspective. And then, I realised it for the gem it was. It is a book about simple people and their interactions with an violent outsider. The story is humourous in a subtle way and very realistic. I smiled through the most of it because of the way Nataraj went out of his way to avoid a confrontation–it reminded me of myself! 🙂

I recommend this book to anyone who wishes to look closely into Indian culture and has a liking for realistic stories that take time to build characters.

Posted in Random Thoughts

About ACs and other woes

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: I think the context of the post is very Indian because it directly relates to the weather and culture here.

Lately, I have been down on posts so much, I wonder if I have the right to own a WP account. My entire family has been ill (me included)–viral fever relapsing every week. My daughter had been on anti-biotics until day before yesterday.

We were worried that it was something sinister and got tested but nothing!

And then, my daughter’s doctor diagnosed the real cause–Air Conditioning (AC) at school! In India during changing weather of September, the difference between day and night temperature can be 16-17 degrees but this change is gradual and happens over the course of day. Then, imagine walking to school at 30C only to sit in a classroom at 16-20C and then walking out again in the afternoon at 35C. Add to that even one infected child in the room–one sneeze and Boom!

So, as soon as my daughter had announced in May that her school was installing AC in all classrooms, my first reaction was “Why?” And now it is “Damn!” (Sorry about swearing but…)

I don’t understand the whole point of having AC in school.

My whole generation had one or two fans among the 50+ classmates and we fared just fine. Infact, it made us more active outdoors since the outside temperature didn’t turn us to ashes. I remember painting one of my school walls during summer afternoon (without sunscreen) for the annual sports event. It was Fun! I also remember cycling and walking back from a couple of my schools in the afternoon sun. It never bothered me. I just needed a handkerchief to wipe off the sweat and a water-bottle with unfiltered school water and a good deal of street-food to deal with the day.

And now, children are travelling with RO water-bottles in AC buses to AC schools and returning to AC homes, jumping directly to mobile phones gaming, cartoons or Netflix! No climbing trees, no building makeshift swings, no stealing mulberries and black plums from neighbours’ gardens, no crazy cycling, no snooping on bird nests, no digging out colourful stones in the garden, no splashing around in water while watering plants, no walking on the low walls to imitate tight-rope walkers, no playing in the rain, no building tombs for dead butterflies…

Sigh! I wonder what kind of world we are building for our children.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Book Review: The Road to Farringale (Modern Magick #1)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I am not a book-review person. I read for pleasure–critiquing requires a different mindset, which is for others. But once in a while you come across a book that leaves an impression and you just can’t leave without saying something to someone. And since you are here, you will have to bear with me. 🤣

So, I recently read a book, The Road to Farringale by Charlotte English. Actually, I have read it thrice during the past one year–it is that amazing! It takes a very fresh approach towards “Magick”. It is not a Harry Potter Oh-my-god-there-is-a-troll-in-the dungeons book.

It is a let’s-check-out-the-troll-colony book.

It has a humourous and unapologetic style. The main character is an acclaimed Magick scholar who is very ‘resourceful’. She is also slightly eccentric. And she “can’t find her way out of a bucket.” So, together with a new recruit to help her ‘find her way’, she sets out to save a couple of endangered magical creatures and comes across a much bigger problem.

After reading hundreds of books on magic, witches, werewolves and vampires, I have finally found a book that leaves an impression.

I found the book on Google Play. I believe it is also available on other platforms.

I also recommend the next book in the same Modern Magick series as well: Toil and Trouble. (Did you ever have book fall in love with you?)

Happy Reading!

Posted in Random Thoughts

The Letters

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I have been working on a short series of birds painting on postcards. Why postcard? Because that is the only scrap of paper my daughter hasn’t snagged from me…yet! And I have around 20 of them in the house.

I had bought them with the hope that my daughter will write to my parents and fall in love with letter writing–unfortunately, when I sent one to mom on her birthday, it failed to reach her. The postman probably didn’t know what to do with it. Sigh!

My father used to move around a lot so, I left behind many friends to whom I wrote on a regular basis. The post office, in cities with more than 50 thousand people, probably knew me by first name. If someone wrote a letter by “Shaily Agrawal, Aligarh”, the letter would have reached me without doubt.

It was so wonderful to connect with friends who were now far away. The anticipation, the waiting, the joy of the postman ringing my doorbell, the handwritten note reminding me that I was still missed, the nostalgia of reliving old days and the discussion of the present and future plans. It was worth the time it took for my letter to reach my friends and their reply to reach me.

When I left behind Kanpur to move to Agra with my father, it was probably the most painful time of my life. Manpreet and I had been inseparable for 3 years and, then, we had 400 miles between us!

It was the letters that kept me afloat at that time. I wrote letters every week, sometimes twice a week until Manpreet wed in 2007–I was 25 then.

I still miss handwritten letters–the tangible proof of love, the fact that someone wrote them just for me. Emails and WhatsApp messages don’t even come close. There is something about being able to touch letters, to stash them safely in a drawer so no one else can read the poor jokes your friend has shared with you…or the new love…or the heartbreak…

I wish my friends would write to me again and give me a reason to write back but the postman would probably not know what to do with the letters. 😊 So, here I am using the postcards to paint pictures. There are nice but not as nice as a handwritten joke from a dear friend…

Author’s note: Dedicated to my friends for writing to me and helping me remember that I am loved and missed. 😊

Posted in Blogging, Random Thoughts

Inspired

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

My hands are smeared in wet flour from my semi-finished dough when the inspiration strikes. I look around for somewhere to write it. I can spot a paper. Now, where is that pen?

My daughter must have taken it to draw…why can’t she draw with her own pens is a mystery to me. She must have pens in all the colours ever created by humanity and yet, it is my pen she seeks every single time an inspiration strikes her.

I frantically search around, lest the muse leave me behind to be with those better equipped to deal with her. Where could my daughter have kept my pen…or her pens, or pencil, or pencil colours…? Where does she hide writing equipment after using it is another mystery I am yet to unravel.

Suddenly, I spot a crayon lying under the bed and reach out for it. My back is complaining as I grab for it! Now it is covered in dough as well as the bed where I had put my hand to support my weight and the floor where I picked it from. Ugh!

Well, at least I have the crayon now. Okay, where is that paper? I try to write but anyone who had ever kneaded dough can stand witness to what I experienced next. The tiny crayon was slipping from between my fingers that were still smeared with dough. But washing off dough and drying them will take time.

I need something longer.

I lunge for my husband’s pen–this one with a special grip. He is better organised than I, and, for some reason, my daughter doesn’t take his pen. There is a silent treaty between the two of them–I buy you toffees and other stuff, and you leave my stuff where it is. So it is right where it always is.

So, I take his pen quickly and dash for that scrap of paper. The pen behaves as all reasonable ballpoint pens do during the times of need–it splutters several times creating illegible indents on the paper without much ink to call it writing. I feel like a viking trying to write on rocks with a chisel. I have to create loops on the piece of paper to make the pen work properly.

Now, my paper is ruined with indents and smears of dough. But I don’t have the time to look for another. I will have to write in the corners or wherever I can find the space.

Okay, so what was that I wanted to write?

Uhh…

umm…

I was saying that…umm…

Ugh…

It will come back to me, I swear it will. It always does. I will just have to prepared this time. I will carry a pen and paper in my pocket…

Only my dresses don’t have pockets…

I will take notes on my phone…

If I can only remember where I kept it when the muse arrives…

Sigh! I pick up a rag and begin cleaning the dough–now dried–from my hands, the bed, the floor, the crayon and the pen, wash my hands again and go back to my dough…

Author’s note: From years of working in a highly creative field (Instructional Design), I have realised that inspiration strikes at the most unusual moments when you don’t have a pen around–cooking in the kitchen, taking a bath, driving a scooter, hailing a taxi, preparing my daughter for school and, especially, when sleeping!

Posted in Random Thoughts

Live life king-size

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I was reading about Phillip the Handsome today, thanks to Pete Johnson’s article. Call it morbid curiosity (since Indian History has nothing to do with European kings except those who ruled over India for a couple of hundred years), I just googled the average life span of a European King.

Honestly, I have been very interested in average life span of people in earlier days because in Jane Eyer and Wuthering Heights, people were dropping dead left, right and centre. None of the characters passed the 40-years mark.

So, I thought, “Well, kings have better medicines, better food, more wood to warm their rooms and more attendants if they need to be taken care of. So, they should live longer!”

Why kings, you ask?

Because I am a woman and a romantic. I have read enough novels about kings marrying common girls to believe in “happily ever after” involving Cinderellas and princes (who would rise to become kings, of course). I was interested in what usually happens after they get married and move into adult life with a basketful of children.

I wish I hadn’t. I am worried about Cinderella’s future now.

The average life span of a medieval European king (Google added “medieval” to the search and I didn’t change it) was less than 30 years at birth.

If they become adults…please note, ‘if’ and not ‘once’…so, if they become adults, then their life span average was 40 to 60!

Every time I read of a king, he died of war wounds, stabbing, poisoning or lived a life full of scars from war wounds or attempts of stabbing or lived being scared someone would poison him…

I’m sure glad I am not a king!

Posted in Random Thoughts

I Do: The Indian Way (Part 1)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Pun intended

If you type the words “I do” on Google search, it can provide a search with a million answers, but if you ask an Indian, there are only 15-20% chances they would be able provide a coherent and relatable answer.

Indians are used to arranged marriages, which is a complex system meant to simplify the process of finding a girl for each man and a man for each girl. (Note that I am not using the word ‘woman’ because, in India, if you are old enough to be called a woman, you are too old for marriage.) It involves layers of consent, none involving the bride or the groom–at least not in the way that matters.

Here is what I mean.

Since, traditionally, Indians are not allowed to marry blood relatives for seven generations, nor do they get married in the same village, marrying someone from the known world is out of question. The proposal comes somewhat like this:

Step 1: The middleman’s approval

A relative of a relative of a relative comes for a visit in your city and finds out that you have a daughter the age of marriage. The daughter has “fair complexion” (light colouring) and knows household work. Either that or you go to attend someone’s marriage taking your daughter along, and the whole world finds out that you have a daughter the age of marriage who knows how to cook, of course because her mom ensured everyone knew that. She is also the one who tied her girl’s sari and made sure that all her curves were covered properly, and all the pins were secured securely so that no wardrobe-malfunction happens.

(Author’s note: To be inclusive, a similar process goes for men as well. I am just talking from the point of view of a girl because, well, I am one! Also, note that I am not using the word ‘boy’ here but ‘man’ because, in India, if you are not old enough to be called a man, you are too young for marriage.)

Step 2: The budget approval from middleman and parents

A week later, a phone call comes in from the said party with an offer of a suitable match. He is the son of someone “they know very well” and who is earning a lot (colour doesn’t matter and household work not expected). And the party is enquiring your budget (Meaning: How much dowry are you ready to give? Is it negotiable?).

Note that the man…well, let’s just call him “the boy” now onwards though he is probably closer to 30 than 20…So, the boy’s family hasn’t even seen the girl or her picture yet.

The boy and the girl are still probably blissfully unaware of whatever is cooking behind their back.

Once the “budget” is deemed to be of satisfaction to the boy’s parents and the girl’s parents are happy with the boy’s earnings, photographs of the boy and the girl, bio-data (a resume with height, weight, education, job and earning details), and janmapatris (birth start-charts) are exchanged.

Step 3: The star-chart and approval of the Pandit (Family priest), middleman and parents

The janmapatris are duly handed over to each party’s family Pandit. No one ever asks this person if they had studied star-charts during their education, assuming that they must have. He would study these star-charts and see if they match. If they don’t, the whole process stops at this step with a simple statement, “Pandit ji mana kar rahe the. Patri me dosh hai!” (The priest has declined the match. There is a fault in the star-charts.)

That is, unless the other party is loaded and cannot be allowed to escape. Then Pandit ji is requested to check the charts again and find a solution. These solutions sometimes mean marrying a tree first…but well, does it really matter!?

If and once Pandit ji has provided his approval, it is time to involve the rest of the family.

Step 4: The photo approval by the parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, and finally the girl

The photo is shown around by the parents to grandparents, uncles and aunts and some of older cousins. Once they have critiqued and approved the boy, it is finally time for the big reveal for the girl.

The mother calls her daughter aside and, if it is the first time, starts with a long-winded conversation about how daughters are paraya dhan (someone’s else’s property) and parents try their best to get the best match. Once the girl’s is done with her tantrum (I am not ready!) or emotional enough to listen, both the parents pull out the photo and begin the actual conversation about this “wonderful” boy who is “well settled” and a “good match”.

If it is not the first time, the girl is already resigned, so they just hold out the picture and let her know that there is this “wonderful” boy who is “well settled” and a “good match”. And she is allowed to nod.

Somehow the conversation always goes in a way that if you are not too strong headed, you will agree to meet this boy at least once, because, well, you are made to believe that you can always say ‘No’ if you don’t like the boy in person.

(Author’s note again: A similar kind of discussion is happening on the boy’s side as well, but this is not his story.)

Step 5: The setting of meeting with the boy, boy’s parents and whomever they would bring along and secret invitations to the abovesaid grandparents, uncles and aunts

Once the girl nods her head in resignation, the parents quickly call all the important people in their family who live close-by (Indians always live close-by. There are entire villages made of closely related families.) how to best plan the meeting, the venue, the number of people in attendance etc.

Then they call the boy’s parents and set up the date and figure out their preference, and change all their plans accordingly because they are “ladkewala” (boy’s family) and cannot be reasoned with.

Step 6: The extended family’s background check and approval

The girls’ whole extended family now obviously knows about this meeting and people who are not invited are now inquiring why no one informed them. The Fufa jis (Father’s sisters’ husbands) and/or Mama jis (Mother’s brothers) are asking why no one ran a background check on the boy and that their brother-in-law’s brother’s friend’s friend works in the same company/has shop in the same market/studied in the same college, and they take over the responsibility of the background check. The girl’s oldest cousin’s wife has a kitty party member who has family in the same city and can make confirmations on the family’s home reputation.

Meanwhile, an assortment of cousins are running through Linked In to check his job details. Others are searching Facebook to ensure the boy is indeed single and not committed and does not have “obscene pictures with girlfriends”, and his Instagram and Twitter accounts are sifted through end-to-end for any “undesirable” material.

Step 7: The pre-meeting arrangements

Now that the boy’s last girlfriend is deemed gone from his social profile for more than an year, (if girl’s background reveals a boyfriend at the age of 5 years, she is deemed unfit), his job and salary confirmed and family’s reputation approved, the date is now set for a meeting. A list of most venerated elders is elected to attend the meeting along with an assortment of cousins of various ages and sizes. Elder cousins are supposed to run around behind the scenes buying groceries, sweets, namkeen (salt savoury), arranging the house/venue, bringing flowers for the vase. The younger ones are supposed to fetch “stuff” for these elder cousins, run errands and create general chaos. Little children of the older cousins litter the floor, stroll in the room prepared for the meeting, throw stuff around and cry for food adding to the general mess.

There is a bhabhi (brother’s/male cousin’s wife) who is tasked at solely ‘preparing’ the girl for the ‘event’. She is usually the most stylish person in the family with loads of experience in make-up and other “visual” arts. She must tie the girl’s sari in a way that shows off all the curves to interest the boy while still hiding all the skin, except that of the face and arms, to ensure she still looks decent. The make-up is of such a level that seeing her without make-up (preferably after marriage) would bring a shock that may leave the boy paralysed.

Right now, the girl is paralysed.

She feels the pressure of expectations rising with each added layer of concealer, foundation, child crying, eyeliner, blush, brother rushing in to tell them that the boy’s family had left the middleman’s home to come here (because they are ladkawalas and can’t directly come here without being “invited” yet again)…

To be continued if I see people showing interest in the rest of the process.

Disclaimer: No part of this story is fiction, may be a little exaggerated but, in spirit, accurate. I have seen it happen to most of my cousins, even played the part of the over-excited giggly cousin. I would have been a victim too, had I not opted for love marriage, which is a different process altogether, though it is novelty in India and definitely a lot different from Europe. If you wish to read the rest of the crazy, let me know in the comments. Meanwhile, since I have just read it again, I am trying stop laughing because my tummy is beginning to hurt.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Rules are meant to be broken!

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Wrestler Vinesh Phogat’s disqualification from Olympics for being 100 gms overweight, that too after making weight every single round until the match for gold, was inhuman. The dismissal of her plea for a joint silver is cruel! Twice this had happened to her–last time being 400 gms. She announced her retirement because she was in so much pain–to work so hard for so long, to be so close to gold and then lose to your own body and the rules?

While staying within weight category is essential for a fair wrestling round, do 100 gms give a player any advantage over the other. She lost 2.4 kgs overnight–not eating, not drinking, sweating it out in sauna, even cutting her hair and shortening her clothes. What else did they expect? She was so dehydrated after the weigh in and disqualification that she had to get a drip!

Should she have come to the game nude to make weight?

It is one thing to have rules and another to have them so tight that there is no breathing space for humanity. The bigger problem is that there are only 6 weight categories for women wrestling–men have 10. Since only one person per category is allowed, you have squeeze in somehow, even if it means going hungry all night long to make place in a lesser-weight category.

Olympics talks about health and wellbeing of players but if 100 gm can get you disqualified in the final round, imagine an athlete’s mental condition, worrying about weight every day all night until they collapse of hunger and thirst!

Shouldn’t there be some room for extra weight so athletes can eat?