On The Market

I have a confession to make. I am now available on the marriage market. Have been now for the last couple of months, through those nefarious websites. Love has eluded me. No, that would be wrong. ‘Love marriage’ has eluded me, so far atleast, and frankly I don’t really see any dramatic developments happening on that front to change this reality.

Coming back to the marriage market, it’s been great timepass till now, and not without its moments of hilarity. There was this moment when I thought I was chatting online with a girl who seemed to be extremely curious about my antecedents and job prospects when after ten minutes of intense interrogation, she admitted that she was in fact the girl’s mother. Needless to say, I immediately pulled the plug on my computer. Since then, I always confirm who I am speaking to on the phone or online before proceeding with the conversation. If they ask, "Of course, this is ___, who else would pick up my phone?", I relate this harrowing experience and am immediately marked as a guy with a sense of humor, at least I like to believe so.

Then there was this girl, whom I met (the only person till now) who kept smiling coyly and looking down at her hands in response to any attempt on my part to make conversation. After 10 minutes of such coy smiles, hands fisting the handkerchief, whispered answers that I couldn’t hear, I gave up, leant back on my chair in that coffee shop and tried to find a mirror to check if I had an additional nose or eye in my face that I had somehow been unaware of all this time. After a further 15 minutes of contemplative silence from both ends, she finally opened up, but the moment had passed.

There is of course nothing romantic about the whole process. My profile has received more interest since the time I have added the letters ‘IIM’ (truthfully, I might add) to it a couple of weeks ago. A fact not hard to miss is also that responses are more likely from the same caste-language combination, to such an extent that I have stopped expressing an interest in profiles which claim a no ‘caste-language’ preference. All my claims of cosmopolitan upbringing don’t seem to cut much ice there. And no, I don’t happen to look like a gorilla.

It’s a process of elimination rather than selection, really. I won’t blame you if you like me less after reading further. If it helps, I share your opinion.

- Profiles created by parents, relatives, siblings, friends are a big turn off. So are responses from fathers asking me to send MY son’s horoscope across. Reminds me of that Asian Paints Exterior ad (‘Main intezaar karoongi’), albeit a more bizarre version.

- Check height, weight, photo. * Dazedandconfused ducking a hail of bullets as he runs for cover*

- Check educational background and income.

- Check for taboo words like ‘homely’, ‘adjusting’, ‘religious’, which result in flashing red lights going off in my head with visions of ‘Pati Parmeshwar/Sati Savithri’ Indian women.

Hmmm…maybe I should ask HER again one last time. She’s refused me twice already but what the hell. I have nothing to lose. What do you think?