The dehumanisation of the matrimonial profile
It's a preposterous title, I know. But, here's the thing – I blame this on the existence and proliferation of the 30-word matrimonial profile. Thanks to an entire segment in the daily classifieds dedicated to them, these brief, uninformative biographies have come to stand as an indicator of the kind of person you were going to marry, if you chose from a newspaper ad that is.
Here's my problem with those fucking ads. They've over-simplified the whole process to the point that some entrepreneur made an algorithm off it and started the hellhole of matrimonial process that is shaadi.com / bharatmatrimony.com and other such choice centres.
Despite my contractual obligations to be nice about online matchmaking / matchfinding, these sites are the root cause of my problems in life today. You have read, at length, the drama that my family has been putting me through in order to get me married.
As of 2011, things have become absurd. You know, where I go to temples and pray (I try to!) and my mother looks suitably anxious, my father feigns concern, my aunts chide my “negativity”, and other assorted nonsense.
This morning, it got epic. My father tells me
“A proposal's come. The boy is from Canada. His brother in America called. What do I tell them.”
I was drinking something at the time, so I couldn't do much. I didn't want to choke or anything. So I calmly gulped down my Horlicks and told my father
“Canada is too cold.”
Dad : “Even that skinny Mini survives Canada. You don't want London, you don't want Canada, you don't want Kerala, you don't want Dubai, what do you want?”
I was tempted to say – I want to marry a human being not a place or a social status, but he's my father and he's rude when he's defied. I don't have to deal with it at 27.
I just left for work.
Apparently – Engineer, MNC, Canada, and “they called me, I didn't call them” is enough of a basis for marriage.