Marriage meets modem in modern India
By Rohit Gupta
MUMBAI, INDIA — The cryptograph above, one of the many matrimonials that keep afloat The Hindu ("India's national newspaper"), contains more information about the subcontinent than all the Lonely Planet guides put together. I will try and decrypt the same for the international reader and future tourist.
The tongue twister (Tirunelveli Saivapillai) is an indexed and ancient referral to a sub-sub-caste in a sub-sub-sub-sect of the Hindu religion, specific to peoples originating from an uncharted village in the heart of Southern India. Twenty-seven is the prescribed age for 'arranged' marriage of a 'well-settled' Hindu bachelor, and well past the same for girls. One hundred sixty centimeters is the height of the girl on sale.
The height of the groom must be at least two centimeters more than this to
qualify, so he does not have to "look up to" the women. There is one more
conceivable reason — ease in procreative activity. The prerogative of
everything rests with the parents, and the boy is lucky if he gets to
see the girl prior to wedlock. Upwardly mobile metropolitan households
allow the eligible man to take his pick from a selection of photographs. The
bride mentioned in the above ad is a prize find, since fairness is
subjective and rare in the land of Tamil Nadu, a prominent southern
state over-endowed with melanin.
"USA-based vegetarian groom" may sound like "carbon-based vegetable life-form," but not without reason. Typically, cows are holy mothers and beef is taboo. This is a fundamental reason of conflict between Hindus and Muslims in India. A staunch Hindu, in addition to not eating beef, will punish others who do so. However, keep in mind that the ad above has been written by the parents. If a boy or girl puts out an ad for himself, you can rest assured that the parents have expired by accident or age. "Love marriage," or marriage of couples dating (not by parental consent), is so rare that they actually have a neologism for it. The fat nagging aunts always predict doom in such cases.
[Note: "Box. No. JHF6273672" is an anonymous ID provided by the newspaper. When an ad like the above appears, parents get a lot of spam...]
I have no idea what Punarpoosam is in the above extract, but I suspect it refers to some stellar alignment at the time of birth. You may forget to attach the curriculum vitae, but do not expect a reply without sending a horoscope. Faith carries karmic belief on a platter and God wrote human destiny in Sanskrit, or so it implies. Not surprising — Hindu scriptures provide 3.6 million gods to oversee about 800 million Hindus in the world, at home and abroad.
There is a lot of talk about the globe becoming a village. Conversely so, I am nagged by the observation that the village is becoming global. Online, things have become even more awkward. One would expect the Internet to be a melting pot of cultures. The problem is, it has made it easier for the orthodox parent to zero-in on his groom with the perfect geography, ideal family, compatible income and exact disability — anywhere in the world. Caste and creed taken care of, that is.
The selection process takes hardly any time now. Earlier, many a groom married a less suitable match out of fatigue. Typically, the parents prefer to "set the boy up" before his hairline starts receding like the lowering tide. Now the entire shebang is wrapped up in a fortnight, and the parents leave for a pilgrimage. An increasing number of these marriages are across borders, because an increasing number of eligible matches are living outside of India.
Every year, about 200,000 visas are alloted to software professionals migrating to the US with skills in web technologies. Most, but not all, of these migrants have a prior Baccalaureate in Engineering, and work experience. $6,000 US monthly is about 46 times as much in Rupees. This conversion is a favorite past-time in Indian families with a son/daughter abroad. Parents may not know the value of pi, but they know the exchange rate.
These sons of India mingle freely with the developed world, and also do things considered "dirty" in Indian tradition — premarital sex, ladies' bars, the works. However, they tend to remain vegetarian and claim virginity by some divine interference. In most cases, it is not discussed, for fear of talking about it. No one wants to open the closet and watch multiple skeletons fall out.
Besides the small talk, the discussions are limited to the financial well-being of the groom. Dowry, though less rampant, operates in a new paradigm. If a boy's ideologically progressive family refuses to take a dime, the girl's guardians suspect treachery is afoot. They assume the boy has a 'manufacturing defect' — some mental or physical disability — impotence, epilepsy... whatever catches their fancy or aunts suggest. Also, many traditional young women are seen abandoning rewarding careers after marriage, because a successful marriage with a well-to-do man is the career plan! More often than not, the man himself suggests that she sit at home for various reasons — less interaction with other men, kids, housework, etc. All in all, a match made in heaven. I hope my sarcasm is crystal clear.
My parents are both doctors. My father has a lot of friends from med-school. Their wives are all doctors. These wives are the friends of my mom from med-school. Indians prefer to marry within the profession — engineers prefer engineers, businessmen prefer housewives. The belief is that, in this manner, both can add to the same business and prosper better, much like similar frequencies resonate. In fact, ideally, my father would have loved it if I had become a doctor, too. Alas, I would have loved to, Dad, if it were wounds of flesh that are killing mankind. That reminds me.
As I write, I am getting late for a wedding, and not making this all
up. This marriage coalesced after the placement of a matrimonial insert similar to the one you have seen above. The groom is my father's friend's elder-brother's son (eldest of the five). My presence is compulsory and any breach of conduct would be a social suicide.
Excuse me.
E-mail Rohit Gupta at fadereu@gmail.com.
