The Marriage Season
Though I have nothing against marriage, yet the very thought of certain compulsions irk me to no end. Take for instance, you have to share your bed….that too for unknown period. To have a companion over the weekend or for a night is different but to wake up looking at the make-up lost face can be pretty terrifying and emotionally and mentally harmful, if seen for a prolonged period. Then comes the issue of the toilet. All the HAGU ma’s and Bari Jabo syndrome holders will be sharing the same toilet. How hygienic were the good old days when you carried the mug to the nearest field and returned to the bountiful Mother Nature what was legitimately hers. But after marriage, please be prepared to walk in to the toilet to discover the left over of the previous night’s delicious dinner floating and obnoxiously staring at you. Marriage also takes away your privacy in bed. Of-course I am NOT talking of sex. I am talking about emitting foul smelling gas. Though the smell is directly proportional to the last consumed meal, please remember that you have propriety right on the smell (even if it changes) and anyone else smelling it should not reproduce the same smell.
Keeping all these in mind, doubts pertaining to divorces are erased from my mind. By the time one is 23 Bong moms get hyper to get their daughter married. Well, mom who has a son does not lag behind. A prominent Calcutta club, patronised by mostly bong GHATER MORAS (on the verge of kicking the bucket) is the breeding ground for prospective matchmaking. One should see all the pishi mas and mashi mas (paternal & maternal aunts) resplendent in their ugliest of ugly saris with antiquated matching jewellery and mouthful of paan and jarda pondering over bio-data (from memory, as those kids formed part of their previous PNPC sessions) of innocent children to be nailed down.
I remember being part of one session a few years back. In hindsight it was hilarious. The girl’s mother, quite imposing because of her girth and height told her beautiful daughter (thankfully the beauty came from the grand mothers) that she has to meet someone with proven pedigree. The daughter was aghast for she thought her darling and ever-eager mother was getting her married off to some DOG. After much cajoling (and arm twisting by her mother…I think she fractured a few bones, in the process) she arrived in the hot-spot verandah of the club. The to be groom is a friend of mine and who due to peer and parent pressure has become of the most celebrated indecisive boy of our generation. He is a thorough gentleman and no pun intended. He has an equally imposing mother and by the end of the session both Ms. and Mr. were dog tired and embarrassed. I believe the mother of Mr. is still looking for a prospective demure bride. She was found inquiring about the pretty daughter of a prominent bengali industrialist. As for the mother, grandmothers and aunt of Ms., please read on.
The mother of Ms. is a desperate lady. O you sinful people with dirty mind…she is NOT desperate that way, but is desperately looking for a SIL. In exuberance to get the beautiful Ms. married, she was considering the proposal of getting Ms. married to a trade union leader’s nephew. So what even our present FM was a trade union leader at one point of time. But this trade union leader from Calcutta is known for his ability to lie. Dumb people LIE as not to tell what is not true but LIE as in LAY. My dear 9th floor friend, please do not squirm with jealousy for this man lie on the road to halt traffic. I sympathise with you Ms. One fine afternoon, the aunt of Ms. called me (she was about to board her flight) to find out about this “smart and intelligent” LOOKING business news channel anchor. Mind you her aunt was clueless about the boy, but decided to inquire for prospective matchmaking because she and Ms. mother liked him. I think they were interested because of their hidden love for him. The other day while speaking to Ms. grandmother, I was asked to provide information about a certain kiddo who is a practising (keep guessing….I will NOT divulge). I was quite stumped when asked about his year of birth. I stammered and stuttered most apologetically and gave her a certain year. I received a rather rude call from Ms. mother, informing me that my information pertaining to the kiddo’s year of birth was incorrect and that they were crestfallen. I recommend Lady of Girth and Mirth to please consult a certain lady in the club who resembles (pardon my language, dear readers) a bulldog.
But it is not only about prospective matchmaking that is quite tiresome, my chance meeting with a friend’s mother and mother in law (SAME LADY) was quite draining. I spoke to her …correction listened to her for about 15 minutes and out of which she praised her son in law for 13 minutes. Even the boy’s mother never spoke so eloquently about her son….it is quite challenging to have a MIL like his. I wonder what he does, when she actually visits them….and I am told that happens at regular intervals. No respite from MIL even abroad.
I just hope that the mother of Ms. does not read this….AMEN
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Sure the GMs of Cal C will not be kind to you when you apply for your membership. Just by the way, i am meeting BULL DOG's daughter tonight and will make her read the blog
First marry then write on the issues
In the words of Ms. Desai (Jr.):
It is necessary at some point for every family with a son to acquire a daughter-in-law. This girl who is to marry the son of the house must come from a good family. She must have a pleasant personality. Her character must be decent and not shameless and bold. This girl should keep her eyes lowered and, because she is humble and shy, she should keep her head bowed as well. Nobody wants a girl who stares at people right in the face with big froggy eyes. She should be fair-complexioned, but if she is dark the dowry should include at least one of the following items: a television set, a refrigerator, a Godrej steel cupboard and maybe even a scooter. This girl must be a good student and show proficiency in a variety of fields. When she sings her voice must be honey-sweet and bring tears of joy to the eyes. When she dances people should exclaim ‘Wah!’ in astounded pleasure. It should be made clear that she will not dance and sing after marriage and shame the family. This girl should have passed all her examinations in the first division but will listen respectfully when her prospective in-laws lecture her on various subjects they themselves failed in secondary school.
She must not be lame. She must walk a few steps, delicately, feet small beneath her sari. She must not stride or kick up her legs like a horse. She must sit quietly, with knees together. She should talk just a little to show she can, but she should not talk too much. She should say just one word, or maybe two after she has been coaxed and begged several times: ‘Just a few sentences. Just one sentence.’ Her mother should urge: ‘Eat something. Eat a laddoo. My daughter has made these with her own hands.’ And these laddoos must not be recognizable as coming from the sweetmeat shop down the road. The embroidery on the cushion covers the prospective in-laws lean against, and the paintings on the walls opposite, should also be the work of her own hands. They should be colour-coordinated, with designs of fruit and flowers.
She should not be fat. She should be pleasantly plump, with large hips but a small waist. Though generous and good-tempered, this girl should be frugal and not the sort who would squander the family’s wealth. A girl who, though quiet, would be able to shout down the price of vegetables and haggle with the shopkeepers and spot all their dirty tricks and expose them. Talk of her husband should so overcome her with shyness and embarrassment that she should hide her face, pink as a rosebud, in the fold of her sari.
Then, if she has fulfilled all the requirements for a sound character and impressive accomplishments, if her parents have agreed to meet all the necessary financial contributions, if the fortune tellers have decided the stars are lucky and the planers are compatible, everyone can laugh with relief and tilt her face up by the chin and say she is exactly what they have been looking for, that she will be a daughter to their household. This, after all, is the boy’s family. They’re entitled to their sense of pride.
Now I'm sure you'll appreciate the travails of the unwilling female participants of the cattle... I mean marriage market.
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