Rahul

It’s April of 2012, two years since my dad created a profile for me on bengalimatrimony.com for me. He'd been periodically browsing for matches so that I'd be set up for marriage the moment I completed my bachelor's degree. It would be particularly difficult to find a match for me: I'm tall for a female, and especially tall for Bengalis, who are notoriously height-challenged. I was also studying mechanical engineering - a "male" subject. Matches would be sparse, but they were hopeful. After all, I could cook (somewhat, but everyone inflates their abilities on bio-datas), and play the sitar (the real hook here).

I watch a gray Toyota Camry - the immigrant car of choice - pull up to my dorm building through my window. I went to school about an hour away from home so they would visit frequently bringing home-cooked meals. I hopped off my too-narrow bed, grabbed some empty grocery bags, and went downstairs to greet them. In between passing Tupperware of various sizes to me, my mom whispers something or other about a “Rahul.” What? I turn to look at her, her eyes bright and shoulders slightly raised in excitement. Who the hell is Rahul? “Your Baba and I have been speaking with Rahul’s parents. Would you like for me to give you his number? He’s an engineer, and he’s 5’10”.” Baba’s looking the other way, suddenly extremely invested in the Camry’s wheel well design. Surely my mother, who got three degrees (including a J.D.) before marrying my father, did not just tell me to talk to someone before I’ve even finished my bachelor’s degree. I point this out to her. “It’s okay to have a boyfriend, though.” I make a mental note to cancel all elicit romances forever (unless they’re with Muslim boys), because it’s okay to have a boyfriend while I’m still in school! I know how this works though - the moment I get a boyfriend, there would be talk of marriage. I firmly tell her that I’m not falling for this.

But my mom, who I *thought* was on my side about not getting married off ASAP, seemed to have been swayed by the natural musk emanating from this Rahul’s pixelated photo and biodata. It came up again and again, and each time I made excuses about needing to study, or not having time. Years passed. Even my dad said one whole sentence to me about Rahul: “Rahul is a good opportunity for you.” Rahul sounds like a job offer. Things are looking bad. It doesn’t help that Rahul himself is interested in meeting me. It really doesn’t help that he expressed a love for pets, and I have two.

I guess Rahul really had a hold on my parents because after seven years, our parents got back in touch with each other- they in pursuit of my overly long manly engineer hand in marriage (I believe this is what they call “something to write home about”), and my parents relieved at another chance with the famous Rahul. After seven years, I relent. I agree to let them give him my number. His icon, familiar to me from his biodata, pops up on my phone via WhatsApp within minutes. We talk about a shared interest in design, in travel, and at first I’m genuinely shocked at my parent’s ability to choose a suitor for me. He was definitely a decent guy that under different circumstances, I might even befriend. But as the conversation continued, I found myself the one asking all the questions. The chemistry just wasn’t there.

But it’s 2020, and I still hear about this from my mother. I didn’t try hard enough. How could I know from one conversation? Why didn’t I give him another chance? Ma, sometimes you just know. My dad lurks in the corner of these conversations, saying nothing, but making his agreement known with his presence. My parents themselves could not be a worse match for each other, but this is the moment in which they choose to take a united front. Rahul isn't the only one. There was a cardiologist, who was six feet tall. There was a med student who wasn't as tall, but had money. Then there was the engineer who came from a lower caste, but a very well educated family. The list goes on and on. I am constantly reminded of my failure to engage with any of these men. I am told I’m shallow for having preferences. I am told I’m the problem when I choose to focus on my career or personal life over talking to strange men they have found for me over the internet. These comments communicate to me that ultimately, I don’t know what’s best for myself. How can I be expected to take such a huge step in my life, if I can’t be trusted to know what I want?

I was talking to Anisha on our latest episode about her short film "He Comes From A Good Family." It's a horror film about the pressure of marriage. When I first heard the title, I wasn't expecting it to be a horror film, but marriage pressure IS a horror story. All logic goes out the window when a suitable match is found. The hairpin turns in conversation with parents to the topic of marriage; your worth as a woman tied to your marriageability; the comparisons to other people's kids. All of these things are exactly the stuff of nightmares - but it's real life.

The reality is that I can't have a conversation about anything more than 6 months into the future without my mother suggesting that I might find someone by then. I make myself busy so that I can avoid conversations with my parents about this or that auntie's son or nephew, who might make a good match for me. Comics everywhere have milked jokes from this insistence and while there is something funny about it, there’s also something horrifying about it. It's like they suddenly disappear into this cultish, indoctrinated mindset that marriage is a must, and must be performed at any cost - just like Anisha's film portrays. For a moment, my dad even considered a match who asked for a dowry. To them, it's better to get married to someone who is ill-matched for you than to be alone. In the back of my mind I hear echoes of my parents’ nightly shouting matches. After more than 30 years of being in a failed marriage, they want to pressure me into it. They talk of loneliness in old age, but fail to realize how lonely they themselves are.

It doesn’t matter that I just started on a career path I didn't dare to dream of even two years ago. It doesn’t matter that I can support myself. It matters to my parents that my sister just got married, so I’m next. It matters to my community that my friends are married, and I’m not. It matters to my family that my biological clock is ticking.

I dare to exist as a single woman nearing 30 years of age. But nearing 30 doesn’t mean that I should prioritize marriage above all else. If I get married, it should be free from any societal or parental pressure.

by Tanushree