Fun with matrimonial dot-commers

When you’re a single desi girl in your late twenties (yeah, officially began on the “late” a couple months ago, a fact everyone in my family seems to be bothered by but me), your parents invariably try to get you to agree to tie that proverbial knot and nothing is going to deter them except, well, another girl of nuptial age, or maybe, just maybe, another girl of nuptial age, cos let’s face it, among the ferocious cyclones and the threat of dengue and the relentless power-cuts, marriage of their incorrigible daughters in alien lands seems to be the singular problem bogging down Indian mid-lifers.

So, if you’re unfortunate enough to be in the subcontinent, they keep foisting on you that good-natured (uh-oh), decent, well-educated guy from that family of good upbringing, who, by the way, did clear the background check (I am not sure what that entails but as far as I can tell, it’s not along the lines of hobbies or favorite foods) till you finally cave in and agree – after all it’s just your marriage and you’re only going to spend the rest of your life with the guy, nothing major. If you’re lucky enough to have an ocean or two between you, however, your parents learn to be a little more creative, namely, resort to that thing that makes the world a tinier place, and usually has a dot-com at the end of it.

And in order to humor your folks (not to mention a certain tangible fear that began to surface when you found yourself single at age 25 and 2 days, and has grown progressively since, not totally unaided by parent-instilled paranoia) you register at one of the online sites. There’s a wide range to choose from, thanks to Indian ingenuity and cyber-competence, not to mention the fastidiousness of ‘single-and-looking’ desis, who seem a tad pickier (as evidenced by the universal dropdown tab, including yes, no, maybe & don’t know for everything from vegetarianism to spirituality), contrary to the parents that are ruled by criteria totally unrelated to living in this day and age; for one, they don’t seem to be able to translate “good, clean, habits” to “forget ever going to a sports bar or night club.”

So, more for the ‘heck of it’, your love of writing (and parents) and amusement with anything foreign to your character, than any real belief that you’re going to find a potential life partner this way, you use your writing skills to their articulate best and put up a rambling, descriptive profile, that includes everything from your ’90s awe of Pete Sampras to your current radically libertarian views and believe it or not, find a pastime quite unlike any you’ve ever dreamed of (unlike that all-important man you’re looking for, who surfaces every so often).

Shaadi.com becomes one of your daily internet stops, and you soon find yourself accommodating it between the more routine ones like gmail and blogspots and bbc-world. Because, despite the sitcoms and late night comedies and the incredibly stupid republicans out there, you are still looking for something to add to your repertoire of daily laughter – duly fulfilled by the guy that comes “from a very close knit family with lots of values”, the one that is “garnished with positive aura”, the fella that is looking “for a nice lady that is loving to her parents and family” or the father that wants a daughter-in-law “preferably in the IT field” (you do give him the benefit of doubt and wonder if the guy has trouble differentiating between linux and unix, and feel a pang of pain that you don’t qualify).

If you’re fortunate, you have a small clique of single, strictly-25-or-older, female friends that you either talk into registering (in the rare case that their parents were less militant than average and haven’t been initiated yet) or better still, share your password with, so they can join in the fun as well. After all, other than the occasional federer-fervor or matrix-obsession, they fit your profile to a tee (let’s face it, they’re not single and 25-or-older and desi and female for nothing).

And then it happens. Your pal forwards you a Shaadi.com profile and you read it in its entirety. You’re stumped. You re-read it, lest you missed something the first time. Again, nothing. Now you get a little worried – you either lost your sense of humor or your grammatical authority – both, in your opinion, utterly precious to your qualifications as a human being. On the third reading, still coming up with nothing and slightly short of breath, you shoot her an email: Relatively well-read and well-informed, inclined to both sports and politics, decent sense of humor, near-equal weightage to the couch and the outdoors, likes food and the television, and even the English is almost flawless....What is up with that?

And then you spot it. The guy has a damn cat. You haven’t lost it after all. You burst out laughing. Now, a rotty would be dandy. A lab, glorious. A golden retriever, just about perfect. But a cat?

There’s a reply from her almost immediately (she’s single and desi after all ;)).

I know you will beat me up for this.. but that guy in the profile seemed really your type... (esp since he named his cat SPUNKIE)

Now you’re really outraged. She’s drunk the cool-aid!
You could put the spunkie in bold black letters, alright, but I still hear the cat a whole lot louder....

And now, having irrevocably jeopardized my chances of ever finding anyone on shaadi.com, I’ll go back and see if someone missed an all-important comma.

All said, this is not so much out of the cynicism or arrogance that comes with being single, but rather that all-essential, self-disparaging and healthy laughter you need to have with your female friends when you find yourself unattached beyond a certain age....No offense to shaadi.com and the dozen earnest matchmaking sites out there, which would, no doubt, allow a simpler human being find her soulmate and live happily ever after. And to be totally fair, I find it hard to resist a smile when I chance upon a fellow Maher-worshipper or the guy that proclaims to watch tennis with the same nail-biting fervor that seats me on the precarious edge of a sofa through Wimbledon, or turn off when another doesn’t share my penchant for Crichton or T-bone steak.

I am just a little more romantic than a feeble attempt at trying to fit my characteristics on a pre-designed template...and expecting someone to even begin to imagine a lifetime with me based on it... a few hours at dinner, maybe, a couple hour-long phone calls, sure, a 10,000-odd word email, absolutely...

But a page-long description with my co-ordinates and occupation and dietary habits? I’m a little more complicated than that.....I wouldn’t be doing justice to myself....or a potential suitor....