Following up from where we left off, I was left alone for almost 10 months after the PG1 debacle. Not that my parents slowed down, or gave up on their search. It was because finding an intelligent, decent-looking, educated man over 5 feet and 9 inches of height was getting a tad difficult. So difficult that my hypothesis that all good-looking and intelligent men were married, taken or gay, was turning out to be a truism.  Finally, after some persuasion by a good Samaritan who called himself my friend, I did the unthinkable. I joined one of those zillion matrimonial websites that promise to get you an ideal partner before you can say Czechoslovakia. I should have been wary of such claims especially since the country doesn’t exist anymore, but I fell for the gimmick and signed up. Maybe it was the friend’s influence or maybe someone had spiked my drink.

To cut a long story short, I “expressed interest” at one of the profiles I found, and strangely enough, the guy accepted! After a few short conversations over phone, we decided to meet. It was almost as if God had decided that my over-indulgence in five-star hotels needed to be punished and our first meeting was at the beach, over some sundal and kadalai. What better way to meet a potential fiancé than to put…er…I mean eat…some kadalai, huh? The meeting lasted 3 hours, during which we both had a good measure of fun talking, eating sundal and discussing life. It almost seemed like this was the man! And then…poooooof! The guy simply disappeared! No signs of acknowledging my existence, or even bothering with a rejection slip! He just vanished. Fed up of the dilly-dallying, I called him one day and asked him where things where things were going. He apologized profusely for being distracted and asked to meet again…ok! Now, I thought I would at least KNOW what the hell was happening. During our second meeting at some random coffee shop, he was equally sweet and charming and yet seemed to hesitate about taking a decision. Baffled, I asked him what was wrong. And bingo…that was it!! The…physics…no no…the chemistry was missing. And here I was thinking marriage was all about sociology and biology! And with that ended the saga of the one potential groom I actually liked!! Sigh…tough luck!

Not long after, there materialized another guy (PG3), this time through the parents, who seemed perfect by all standards. Several phone calls, conversations, parents coming home on a bride-seeing visit later, he promised to come to Chennai from Bangalore and meet me. And true to his word, he did. It was only that he had missed telling me a minor detail about himself, so minor that it could scarcely be noticed; that he had an incurable problem with his leg that prevented him from walking properly. You see, amidst the conversations about career, house, car, family and grandchildren, he figured it wasn’t so important to tell me what to expect when seeing him. Ah…the minor details!

PG4 is a specimen that deserves a much longer and more details than the others…I will save that for another post, another day. Until then, sayonara!

So, I am finally overcoming inertia to write this much-in-demand (ok ok…can’t you let a girl flatter herself?) post on my groom-hunting saga. So…where do I start? Ah…I know just the way to do it!

Circa July 2009

After extensive discussions on the whys and the wherefores of their darling daughter having so much fun, the parents decided it was time to find an appropriate scapegoat for me to get hitched to. Of course, they were delighted to have been afforded the opportunity to indulge in this exercise, like all other Indian parents. Had they known then that this exercise would turn out to be unending, they might have been a little less excited about the whole affair. Then, one day, mummy dearest sat me down to ask me what kind of man I wanted. She might as well have asked me to calculate the distance between the earth and Alpha Centauri to the 16^th decimal. That might have been easier than to explain what kind of man I really wanted. How on earth a girl is supposed to answer THAT question without sounding superficial, materialistic, indifferent or plain inappropriate is anybody’s guess. Add to the fact that men don’t really come pre-configured to specifications, and you have a rather difficult situation. Come to think of it, it would be rather convenient if we were able to configure men to specifications, like buying a laptop on the DELL site. Tall, dark, handsome, knows to cook, doesn’t mind earning less than wife, will do the dishes…but anyway, I digress.

Barely a month after I agreed to an arranged marriage (yes, I did protest, if you must know), the mater came to me with the profile and photo of a potential groom. I was hitting the panic button at the idea of being married, and yet desperately wanted to like him. The guy in question, let’s call him Potential Groom No.1 (PG1) for convenience’s sake, was quite good-looking. He had an impressive enough profile for me to agree to meet him. I took his phone number and he already had mine. I can’t remember now if it was he who called or me, but over a telephonic conversation, we determined (electronically) that electronic means of communication could prove to be dicey and decided to meet.

Owing perhaps to my upper middle-class upbringing, which taught me that food is five-star hotels is strictly restricted to conferences and parties for which others would pay I was surprised when he suggested we meet at one that was barely 5 minutes from my office. I agreed, for want of a better reason to say no. Those who know me also know I am a punctuality-Nazi. Keeping to my usual habit of arriving anywhere 5 minutes ahead of time, I was not very happy at realizing that PG1 was with clients, having chosen to squeeze in some last-minute meeting between the previous meeting with clients and the meeting with me. I ended up waiting a good 10 minutes, each minute grating on my nerves more than the previous. I would probably have been happier knowing he was stuck in traffic or something. In hindsight, the fact that he put his stupid client meeting (at 7.00 PM, if I may add) ahead of meeting me, should have given me a heads-up. But, let’s just say I can be dense when it comes to such things. In hindsight again, I suspect that he probably scheduled that client meeting just to make sure he billed the coffee off to the office; middle-class upbringing and all that, you know?

The meeting got off to a pleasant start, despite by slight annoyance at being made to wait. After the mandatory disclaimers that this was not something we were comfortable with, we got down to the nitty-gritty of discussing likes and dislikes. He asked me about my interests, and true to my nature, I spoke for about 3 minutes (yes…I am sure it was only 3 minutes) about my blog. He listened with an intelligent and interested look in his eyes. When I finished, I asked him about his. And this was when I realized that he could out-talk me in any talkathon! And he ONLY talked about work. About how his multi-billion dollar bank gave out multi-billion dollar loans to multi-billion dollar companies and about how loans were sometimes syndicated and so on. At this juncture, it becomes necessary to point out that seven years of university education, along with several hours of 8 AM classes on Macroeconomics and Economics of Defense (in peak winter with sub-zero temperatures) have helped me master the art of sleeping with my eyes wide open, and with an interested and intelligent look on my face. And yes, I do realize that this is probably exactly was HE was doing during my three-minute talk on my blog as well! And I admit that this is exactly what I did the fifth time he mentioned his multi-billion dollar bank with multi-billion dollar clients!

Now, this should give you a fair idea about where this was headed. After about an hour and 15 minutes, an hour and 12 minutes of which he monopolized talking about his damned bank, we decided to end the meeting. I might still have subjected myself to one more round of negotiations had he not said anything beyond good night that evening. But, he chose to damn himself and said, “Nice to have met you. And to be honest, I like you. And am ok with you as well. You can tell your parents. But, I am not sure I want to get MARRIED to you.”

Erm…what he was suggesting is anybody’s guess. But I decided I couldn’t live with a lifetime of discussing loans, syndicated loans, corporate financing, mergers, joint ventures and acquisitions. I have enough of that at work, me thinks! So adieu to PG1! Now, I realize that we’re through with just one potential groom and many more to come. So, will sign-off here and continue this saga with episode 2! Until then, ciao!

What’s with Tamil cinema? No, let me correct myself! What’s with B-grade Tamil cinema? Most of them are stupid love stories made with unrecognizable actors with totally contrived situations and even more contrived fight sequences! Like the one that was playing some time back on Jaya TV. Hero and heroine are in love, but they have never seen each other. They run around the city playing hide and seek before landing up on the same train. The minute they see each other, they hug and kiss and live happily every after! And before you ask, I didn’t waste time watching. You know the entire plot in less than 45 seconds of the climax scene. That way, I must admit the story is conveyed with incredible effectiveness! Change channel, one more love story with an equally nonsensical storyline. Boy meets girl and falls for her. Girl’s father is the villain. You see, he wants the boy to first get a job and then ask for his daughter! Oh the scandal! After much argument, tears, running away, coming back “Kaathalukku Mariyaathai” style…dad says ok! And they live happily ever after!

No matter how many times you change channels and to which language, you’re met with much the same bullshit masquerading as love stories. Makes Mills and Boon romances seem like they deserve the Man Booker! Oh! You don’t know what they are? Good for you! Means you’ve never been corrupted by impossibly perfect heroes and heroines. Practically every Mills and Boon has the same plot, and the same set of characters. Just the names and places change. Let me enlighten you! Heroes are always tall, dark and handsome. They are dashing princes of a feudal era, or self-made millionaires, or hotshot executives. They are uniformly over 6 feet in height with straight dark hair and a regal demeanour. And did I tell you they are also sensitive, amazing cooks, don’t mind babysitting and changing diapers? C’mon! Of course it’s not possible! But you’re supposed to suspend disbelief people! Who asked you to use your brains? That’s meant for lesser mortals!

Oh! The heroine? Sure…here we go! She is not more than a couple of inches above five feet in height. You see, our publishers seem to have a problem with tall heroines? Perhaps they are too intimidating? They have jobs of course! A secretary, or a clerk or maybe, if she is particularly talented, a receptionist. She is shy…terrified more like! Of the hero of course. He’s Mr. Perfect after all. Demure, submissive and whatnot! She may or may not be dumb. But if she really is intelligent, she never uses it against her man. You see…we want our women to be traditional, yet modern!

The plot is quite simple really! Complexity is too difficult for our minds to grasp. Boy meets girl. They hate each other at first sight. After much fighting, the heroine trips over (or meets with an accident, or chips a nail) and hurts herself. And our dear Mr. Perfect is around to nurse her back to health! Now, what stupid woman wouldn’t want a man to wait on her hand and foot? Hell! I would! I’d even feign illness so he pampers me! And bingo! They fall in love. About 50 pages later (overcoming obstacles posed by jealous ex-lover, villain of an uncle, inheritance, etc etc.) they walk into the sunset holding hands!

And what happens after that? Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! It’s a romance novel dammit! Not a tragedy!

Yeah…you read that right! The hunt begins. Actually, it began quite some time ago. I just haven’t gotten around to writing about it yet. Every month, the hunt goes something like this. Dad downloads an excel sheet with details of “boys” in it. Yeah! Once again, you read that right! Excel sheet. Easy to filter out you see? Tech-savvy IT professional that he is, he finds it the easiest way to weed out those he considers unsuitable for his darling daughter!

Before you ask me, caste criterion is already fulfilled. The list downloaded only contains details of Iyer/Iyengar/Madhwa Brahmin boys. Other castes are filtered at that stage. At this point, the excel sheet contains roughly 950 entries. The first filter to be applied is gothram. Don’t get me wrong. Not the gothram of those famed caste-based khap panchayat-ordered honour killings. This has something to do with which cowshed my ancestors belong to. Don’t ask me the logic. I fail to understand and will not argue the point. Frankly, it’s a waste of time. Anyways, to get back to the point, after filtering the inappropriate gothram, he is left with roughly 800 entries.

Next is age. Those younger than me and more than 5 years older are automatically disqualified. I am not a cradle-snatcher and don’t fancy younger men you see. And, the five-year limit is decided in consultation with parents for reasons ranging from financial to balding before I do! Again…waste of time to argue! This filter brings the number down further from 800 to roughly 550. Then comes income. While I am not a gold-digger and am not looking for someone with a six-figure monthly salary, the idea of not being able to afford my monthly beauty parlour pampering routine due to financial issues is rather off-putting! So, someone with appropriate salary levels is required. This filter narrows the choice from 550 to roughly 250.

At this point, you begin to think that finding a “suitable boy” is more difficult than going to the moon for a weekend away. But, it’s not over yet! Appropriate salary levels do not guarantee education. And most men are put off by my multiple postgraduate degrees, or intimidated by it. You see, not everyone is jobless enough to do the same thing twice! For a man to be ok with my education, he himself must have been jobless enough to take up graduate study at least once in this life, if not twice. This filter reduces the sample size from 250 to roughly 200. That’s not bad actually, given that an MBA is rather easy to get nowadays and people seem to think of it as an essential rather than as an added qualification. So far so good!

If you are thinking that it shouldn’t be difficult for me to find one of 200 people, wait till you hear the rest. At 5 feet and 9 inches, I tower over most Indian men. This implies than only men who are taller than 5’9” are eligible. This is where most of the filtering occurs. The sample size that was previously a decent 200 comes down to a rather difficult-to-choose-from 40. Of the 40 left, Dad allows me to look at each of the individual profiles to decide if they must call. Now, I must admit I have expectations that are not easy to match. To know more, you should probably click to read this! While that post was a bit of an exaggeration, it’s true that my expectations are quite high! This translates to 3 shortlisted candidates out of 40. 5 if it’s a particularly good month. Of the 3, one only wants a Vadama Iyer, another wants his wife to quit her job after marriage and the third has just found a soulmate 30 seconds before mom’s call! So…that leaves me with zero!

This drama repeats month after month. Sometimes, twice in the last year, there is one soul who is brave enough to actually agree to meet me! Heaven help him! Any wonder then that a year on, I am still single? Mom says there is an “Aayirathil Oruvan” waiting somewhere for me. I am thinking it’s closer to being roughly 1: 10826! 😛