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.
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 