“Seeing The Girl”

In our society marriages are arranged by families. These are known as arranged marriages. In contrast there are love marriages also wherein the boy and the girl know each other well before tying the knot. Now there are various permutations- combinations of these two types of marriages like arranged-cum-love marriage wherein families arrange the match and let the boy and girl meet often so that they can get a chance to know each other. There is also vice versa wherein lovers inform their respective families about their choice of partner and the families meet and give their consent for marriage. In pure love or arranged marriages there are chances of opposition from either the families involved in the former case or the unwillingness of the concerned boy/girl getting married in the latter. So, midway where a consensus can be reached is always preferable.

In our times, it was mostly arranged marriages where the boy’s family came to “see the girl” and her family to assess whether the match was suitable or not. In my grandparents’ time the custom was more rigid. Girl and boy saw each other’s faces only during the matrimonial ceremony. The elders of the groom’s family came to see the girl. The girl’s family was considered inferior or secondary in the social ladder. It was the groom’s family who initiated the process of selection. If the girl’s family ever approached the boy’s family first, it would be like moving in an application for the latter’s consideration.

“Seeing the girl” was a significant step if the family was found acceptable. It was more than a veritable interview. The girl would be asked to walk around to ascertain whether she had any physical handicap. If she had long hair the strands would be pulled to make sure they were real. If she was not fair enough it was a shame. Education was not important rather a problem. If the girl was too knowledgeable and questioned the status quo she was trouble. It was more important for her to know how to prepare the most difficult dish to perfection. How to garnish a particular curry or distinguish between two delicacies by the ingredients they were supposed to be tempered with. I have heard that my maternal grandmother was ‘chosen’ by the shape of her feet!! Her face was not seen or must have been adequately covered which was required to be lifted up by the elderly ladies of the girl’s family to ‘show’ to the other party.

In short, the entire exercise was a massive and glorified system of commodification of women. I always felt ashamed of this ritual. It was like marketing a product. There was an automatic resistance in me to this paraphernalia even before I could analyse my antagonism towards it.

But like all other girls, I too had to go through the process whether I liked it or not. More so because I was a fatherless child without any substantial means staying at that time with my paternal aunt and uncle. My father’s younger brother whom I called kaku was my self adopted guardian. I had a lot of respect and a very good rapport with him. We had many memorable times together though for a very short time.

Coming back to the match. The matchmaker was my cousin whom I had never been in close touch. She and her husband were settled in Sweden as research scholars. Then they decided to shift to Kolkata. Somehow she got in touch with mother who was in Delhi and proposed a match between me and her erstwhile colleague’s son. She was all praises for him. He was about to go abroad for his Phd and the family had very little time to select a girl and marry him off before he left – kind of putting him within bounds.

On the pre fixed day the family arrived to “see” me. Father, mother and son – all three of the same height. The boy looked like a school kid. Father was very affable and nice. Mother was snooty with a sizing me up look. She boasted how all her offsprings (daughter and son) were super accomplished in studies and other curricular activities. Both were disciples of renowned musical gurus. The boy was made to sing as a proof of his mother’s bragging. I had to reciprocate next by singing a Tagore song which my paternal uncle had taught and had me rehearse quite a number of times prior to the ‘meeting’.

I started well but after a few lines I went off chord and even after trying hard could not get back in tune. They listened to my off key ditty politely. The father of the boy graciously commented that they would tutor me to their level, of course, after marriage. We were given time to speak to each other alone. The boy impressed me with his deep knowledge in Physics (which I could not make head or tail of) and other subjects but never asked me whether I had a passport to accompany him abroad.

Well I did not. To top it all I had the gumption to “reject” him on the ground that he was not interested in me. The boy also got the impression that I was not very excited about the ‘project’.

Aftermath ?

A lengthy discussion on how I could get off everything after so many rehearsals, especially, on uncle’s precious scale changer harmonium which was one of the many proud possessions of the household.

A barrage of resentful commentary over phone from my stranger of a cousin who was wild at me having had the audacity to disagree to a match which was almost made in heaven. She foresaw that my life would be nothing but a desert full of cacti letting go off my hand such a promising prospect and that she was quite sure that I would never get another such golden opportunity to get married, which to her credit, came true.

After many such mishaps, loud debates , acrimonious exchanges, finally my sister advised mother to leave me alone.

Though I did get my own way I could never explain my feelings about the whole circus to my mother. I didn’t think she would have understood.

But my paternal aunt, suffering in a marriage between unequals, sympathized with me and kaku, of course, supported me. Perhaps they heaved a sigh of relief too not having to go through the rigmarole of a big fat Indian wedding.

In all such matchmaking mishaps I always landed up liking the would be grooms’ fathers. If only they were to replace their sons.

I am sure Freud would have much to theorise on such symptoms. 🤪🤪