The Wedding

‘And this is Keya. I’ve told you about her.’ 

The bride smiled automatically in my direction. The same flashy one that she had given the six hundred odd people who had been introduced to her before me. 

‘Really? He’s mentioned me?’ I raised an eyebrow. 

‘Oh yes!’ 

She was exhausted. I could tell, even though the hundred pins in her hair had stuck on steadfastly and her kohl and lipstick were still immaculate. The poor girl had been up since four in the morning, I found out later, getting her hair and face made up to look bride-worthy. And the journey to the wedding hall from her house had taken almost three hours, after which I’m sure, she would’ve had no time to breathe.

‘Miss, do you want to be in the picture?’

‘No, no …’ I inched away. The bride and groom turned back to the cameras. I was already forgotten. 

The feast had started. I could see someone conjuring roomali rotis in a corner before a fascinated audience of five-year-olds. A dozen waiters had appeared out of nowhere, delivering fluffy appams and pork chops and beef curry to the endless row of tables. I suddenly lost the little appetite I had gathered during the boring wedding mass.

They looked so happy- the new couple. I watched them for a few seconds, a little wistfully, before running away.

—

‘Are you absolutely, positively SURE about this?’ I had asked Shawn the previous night. 

‘Of course! She’s a sweetheart.’

‘But … you barely know her!’ I protested.

‘That’s not true. We’ve been talking on the phone.’

‘Um … you’ve met her only thrice. How can you possibly tell what she’s like? What if she has horrible secrets? You’re going to be stuck with her your entire life!’ 

‘That’s how arranged marriages are,’ he replied, falling back on his pillow.

‘I also have horrible secrets, don’t I?’ he added, quietly. ‘It’ll be fun discovering each other.’

I stared at him incredulously, not knowing what to say.

He yawned. ‘It’s past 2. I have to get up early, you know. I’m the groom and all.’

‘Are you asking me to get out of your room?’

He smiled sheepishly. ‘Well.’

I closed the door behind me with a bang. Late nights had never bothered him before. Don’t be silly, I told myself. He’s getting married tomorrow. Obviously, things are different now. 

—

Shawn and I had never spoken to each other as kids. I was painfully shy, and he did not think it necessary to even attempt to talk to me. He had many other cousins he was on better terms with, and saw much more of. 

All I knew about him was that he was my dad’s older brother’s son, and that he liked Michael Jackson.  

Years passed, and I did not learn more. Until I went to college in a city ten hours away from Kerala. Visits became more frequent. Instead of once in every two or three years, it was now twice a year.

Shawn and I started talking chiefly because of our other cousins- a garrulous lot, unlike us. We started to build our relationship through card games and carrom tournaments. Small talk turned into conversations. Conversations turned into arguments. Arguments became scuffles. And we suddenly found that we had started considering each other siblings and best friends. 

We would spend night after night in the balcony, sometimes with the others, playing games and laughing our hearts out till dawn, and sometimes by ourselves, sharing stories or singing along to the music on his laptop, until somebody came and asked us to shut up and sleep. 

It never occurred to me that we wouldn’t be able to spend all our lives singing in harmony under the moonlight with stolen glasses of vodka in our hands, a half-abandoned pack of Uno cards lying on a plastic table near us. 

It wasn’t such a big deal, in retrospect. Marriages were arranged all the time. Babies were produced all the time. Regardless of whether you were ready or not. These things come naturally; there is no need for preparation.

At least, it wasn’t a big deal for my cousins, who had grown up knowing that they would be thrust into a relationship with a stranger for life by their parents. My cousin Neetu was younger than me when she got married. I couldn’t attend her wedding because I was studying abroad. When I returned home three months after, I was shocked to see that she was already pregnant. My infantile cousin had a baby inside her! What was equally strange was that her husband was this strangely reticent chap who’d hide in a corner at all gatherings. (Heck, even I wasn’t as bad as that, even though I’m famous for my unsocial-ness!) And he was married to a girl who … well, finds it really difficult to shut her mouth even while sleeping. Eighteen months after her wedding, Neetu was back at her parents’ house, with her baby daughter and a huge bruise on her cheek, and welts on both arms. Oh it was no dowry case. She was just attacked by her whole household because she didn’t have the meekness of a model daughter-in-law.

Shawn knew right from the start that there would be no future with his college girlfriend. She was a Hindu and a North Indian, and the daughter of a retired army office. Her parents were more conservative than his Syrian Catholic ones. Yet they had gone out for four years, fiercely in love with each other. It didn’t end well, of course. The affair was found out and the girl was quickly married off to a North Indian Hindu. And Shawn – my smart, level-headed cousin turned to the world’s favourite refuge. Disgusted to see his son do a Devdas, my uncle left him to his devices. It took a couple of years for Shawn to pull himself together. He still smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish, but at least, he wasn’t in mourning anymore. By the time we started talking, he was only a little too nonchalant and cynical for a 26-year-old.

—

‘That’s it? You’re not going to eat any more?’ asked Mum worriedly as I brooded over how the presence of the New Wife was going to change everything.

‘Yeah, I’m done. I’m going to find Neetu.’

I pushed my plate away and walked out of the hall, returning perfunctory smiles from relatives, acquaintances and perfect strangers on the way. ‘You’re going to be on that stage soon too, you know,’ some old aunt cackled as I brushed past her. I tried not to gag.

Neetu was nowhere to be seen. I sat down on a chair and took out my camera.

‘Kay, where were you?’ I felt a hand on my shoulder.

‘Anju and I were getting so bored there … all those people! And the photographers just wouldn’t stop bothering us! I thought you’d keep us company,’ Shawn said. ‘Anyway, we’re leaving now. See you at home.’

He gave me a quick hug, and taking his wife’s hand, led her into the waiting car. The moment they were inside, Anju rested her head against Shawn’s shoulder.

Neetu came running, holding an abandoned bouquet in her hands. ‘Have they left?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Oh, were you sitting here all alone? I’m so sorry, the baby was crying, so I had to …’

‘It’s okay, come let’s go get some ice cream,’ I said, suddenly feeling much better. My cousin had got a second shot at love.

 

Post written for the Indiblogger contest – Love Marriage or Arranged Marriage. www.facebook.com/LoveYaArrange

 

 

 

 

 

And they lived …

My mum was 20 when she first met my dad, who was six years older to her. They were opposites, in every way possible, and boy did they attract each other. Sighs were sighed (I presume), letters were exchanged (this I definitely know), promises were made and meetings were met (my granny swears) over a period of two rosy years, at the end of which my mother decided that she was ready to drop out of college and marry my dad. All hell broke loose, of course, because what kind of love story doesn’t involve parental opposition and much melodrama? My dad, though highly educated and decidedly charming, came from a poor family. Self-made men are awesome in novels (and awesome-r in movies), but they’re not the sort you wed your daughters to, my mum’s (filthy rich) family decreed. My mother simply locked herself up in her room and threatened to starve to death if she didn’t get her way. Needless to say, she got it (after her family gnashed their teeth to pulp).
And they lived happily ever after? Well, not so much.

Over the years, I’ve watched their marriage crumbling, bit by bit. Going into exactly why their marriage fell apart is tedious. They were too different, their families were too different and all the differences only grew with time. If any love remains, let’s just say it’s very well-hidden. I’m still trying to figure out how they fell in love in the first place.

My maternal grandparents had an arranged marriage. My grandmother saw my grandfather ONCE before she got married to him. In the twenty-four years of my existence, I have never witnessed them exchanging a single civil word. Everything (and I kid you not) about my gran irritates my grandpa, and vice versa. Yet they somehow stay together, because not being able to stand each other’s sight is not good enough reason for a divorce in India.

A few years ago, when I was less cynical about, well, the whole world and beyond, I would’ve said ‘OF COURSE I want a love marriage, I can’t even imagine my parents arranging a match for me, I’d rather die’. That’s when I was still in the ‘someday my prince will come’ mode, despite all the hullabaloo in my house. Even now, if I had to pick one of the two, for the sake of picking, I’d still tick Love Marriage. Only because I think Arranged Marriage involves a big-ger leap of faith and by the time you figure out if you’ve been very stupid or very brave, it’s too late. And of course, the very idea of Other People deciding what you should do is just repulsive. But then we’re all accustomed to that sort of system, aren’t we? We’re all so used to having other people do our stuff. Mama does the cooking, Dad takes care of all the bills, the Dhobi washes the clothes, the Maid cleans the utensils, and so on. We’ve developed a system in which none of us are allowed to do anything on our own, and that includes taking important life decisions.

Having said that, finding somebody you want to spend your life with, on your own, is not easy in this country.  Especially if you’re a girl. People are puzzled when I tell them that I’ve never dated anybody, that I’ve never been asked out. I’m tall and thin and I like to think that I’m not hideous. I may not be the brightest star in the galaxy, but I’m reasonably smart and occasionally funny. But I’ve been single all my life. I’ve only fallen for two people so far. Seriously, that is. The first one and I had a lot of things in common – we read the same kind of books, and liked the same movies, we both wrote a lot and liked to critique each other’s work, we even enjoyed the same kind of humour. We flirted a little, and suddenly I found myself head over heels in love, only to have my heart torn to shreds. Reason: he didn’t find me attractive enough. All right, fair enough. But I did spend two years of my life feeling all bitter and stuff. Then came another Boy, who was just the same! Man, what are the chances of that happening? Since then, I’ve tried my best to prevent history from repeating itself for the third time, because I honestly don’t have any self-esteem to spare.

But then there’s that small matter of loneliness. Yes, that evil thing. I wish India was the sort of place where you can just walk into a bar and strike up a nice conversation with a nice guy (without him thinking that all you want to do is sleep with him). But it isn’t. Even admitting that you would like to have a boyfriend to your friends is considered ‘desperate’. I think I’m finally beginning to understand why even ‘modern’, city-bred people are willing to enter into arranged marriages. There aren’t enough opportunities for people to mingle and socialise and find somebody compatible. And then there’s the matter of ticking all the caste, creed, social standing, language, region, dialect (add a million more categories here) boxes. And god forbid, if the girl makes the first move!

Come to think of it, I don’t have much faith in the institution of marriage itself anymore, but I seriously think that the concept of arranged marriage (if marriage HAS to exist) should be done away with, because it reinforces religious, caste, class  and regional barriers in our country with a vengeance. I propose we add a new Fundamental Right to our Constitution – the right to live your own life.

— written for Indiblogger’s Love Marriage or Arranged Marriage contest (www.facebook.com/LoveYaArrange).