Romance in High Gear- Pt II or PLINBH!

Dear All,

So I left you all at the point where I had agreed to meet PLINBH. Before I get to the actual meeting let me tell you bit about matrimonial profiles on these (hideous facilitative) websites. There is a section where the lamb to the slaughter person writes about themselves, in which they describe their physical appearance, cultural background and family according to a template; then there is the empty field in which they can say whatever drivel they like about themselves; finally there is a section about what they would like in their desired victim partner; oh and of course, how could I forget?- the photograph album! The problem with all of this, of course, is that everyone would like to put their best foot forward and I, being the critical (you would never guess, would you?!) person that I am, tend to read all these profiles with a generous fistful of salt, always attempting to decode and deconstruct the language of these matrimonials, breaking them down to their true meanings- if indeed there is such a thing. I am always amazed by the monotonous same-ness that they tend to display; but that shall be material for another rant post.

You might recall my saying that there was no photograph on PLINBH's profile. I was never quite sure how to read this. I mean how can you possibly have any chemistry with someone if you don't find the person attractive and to that end the photograph is quite crucial; and of course, I am convinced that anyone without a photograph is definitely hiding something! So, no photograph; he said about himself that he was five feet-ten inches and his build was average- as I said nothing objectionable there. At some point I requested a photograph, pointing out that as he had already seen mine it seemed only fair that he share one too. The response that I got went something along these lines 'Let me surprise you!' Oh dear, in my experience surprises usually did not work out well for me. I asked him, only half-jokingly, whether he was hiding something to which he asked, somewhat defensively I thought, if I was worried that he was ugly! I wanted to say 'YES!' but being the nice, and not always critical, person that I am, I refrained from being so honest; honesty in any case being a highly over-rated virtue in my most humble opinion. I did try once more on the photo front asking how I would recognise him when we would meet to which the predictable response I got was 'Oh, don't worry because I'll recognise you.' Don't worry? Don't worry?!


I was now beginning to have a really bad sense about this upcoming meeting I had committed myself to. What's that saying about acting in haste...? Friends whom I had informed about this meeting-  you know, just so they would know to inform my parents and the cops in case he turned out to be an axe-murderer and I didn't resurface in a couple of hours- tried to reassure me that it would turn out fine. One kept insisting with a completely misplaced sense of optimism that he would turn out to be- and I quote- 'drop-dead gorgeous' (wasn't sure if that meant that I would drop dead); another friend asked why I was worried that he might not be attractive when I had clearly not chosen to accept his interest on the basis of his looks; and still another said I should look at the bright side since he was at least good at communicating. And these were my friends! By now, however, in good Indian tradition I had resigned myself to my fate.


And so on a lovely sunny late winter's afternoon at the end of February- the kind of somewhat cool afternoon you can still enjoy before the dusty winds of March engulf Delhi- I set forth to meet this man who seemed by now convinced that he would make me his wife. Since we lived at opposite ends of Greater Delhi (and anyone who knows Delhi knows that I actually mean opposite ends of the world) we agreed to meet halfway at a popular marketplace. He said that he would be waiting close to the cinema in said marketplace, keeping an eye out for me and I was to give him a call once I was there. I got there and as I entered the marketplace, where half of Delhi had descended to enjoy the last of the good weather but really also to witness my ordeal (which by now I was convinced was what it would be), I gulped one last time, still wondering whether I should make a run for it.


As I started getting closer to the cinema I kept my eyes peeled for a single man who looked like he could be waiting for me- optimistic I know, but I was pretty certain that I would know, just don't ask how. I remember this very vividly so indulge me while I go into graphic detail. Since he had said he'd be near the cinema I dialed him as I got closer and just as I did that I saw this one man- paunch hanging over his jeans, balding, about an inch shorter than me and very grim looking with his eyebrows meeting across the bridge of his nose. What gave him away was the oh-so-sinking sensation in my stomach... and I knew, I just knew that it was not to be my lucky day. The only coherent (!) thought in my head was 's**t! s**t! s**t! Please let it not be HIM!' And at that very moment three things happened; he saw me (why? why?); he made eye contact with me (why, oh why?); and he looked down at his phone to see that I was calling him. He looked back up and said 'S'; it wasn't a question- he knew, and I felt rather like a deer caught in the headlights. I tried to smile- I could feel my face breaking with the effort because all I felt right at that moment was anger- and said 'Hi, yes. You must be PLINBH.' And all the while my only thought was 'You liar, you bl**dy liar.'


I felt like I was walking in a daze as we decided to go to a cafe and chat, all the while thinking that this was my nightmare come true; I felt as though the entire crowd was watching me (and him) and the thought made me cringe. It was all downhill from there. The conversation was sparse, he barely laughed and when he did he still looked grim, and he talked again about family values! I, on the other hand, felt as though I was going to howl at any moment. At one point when he excused himself to go to the men's I frantically tried to send an SOS to a friend but he was too quick. I endured this mind-numbingly boring conversation for over an hour, telling myself that I had to be sure I was going to turn him down for the right reasons, because the turning-him-down part was no longer in doubt!


He did say at one point that we would have a lot to talk about on the phone that evening to which I could only bring out some strangling noise. He got the hint though and said we could talk the next day when I said that it would be good for both of us to think about things properly. He called the next day to ask whether I saw 'a road ahead together' but I was happily preoccupied with work (probably the only time that has happened) and I said I would call him back; as I was staring at his number, thinking of how I could phrase what I had to say without causing offence, my phone beeped with a message- 'You have not called. I take it that is no!' Ouch. Since this message immediately put my back up I refrained from replying that very minute but I also felt it unfair to not reply at all- everyone deserves to have some sense of closure because every encounter does raise your hopes. Although my mean side wanted to say in response to his 'road ahead'- 'no we have reached a T- junction and we should go in opposite directions!', I knew that was uncalled for. I finally replied saying I was sorry that I saw no future with him and wished him the very best. 


...And that was that.


Yours, in very low gear indeed!
S

Kewl is spelt cool, with a C!

Although I have said earlier that I eventually decided to give this 'thing' a go I was never quite sure that it was going to work (prescient words?!) for me. My fears were borne out by the very first message that I got and it came in quite soon. The parents once they knew that I'd actually put up a profile were impatient to hear how it was going and when I said that there were a number of responses I could almost see their smug, triumphant 'I-told-you-so' over the phone. 

Before they got too carried away, however, I thought that I would read the message that I had received, which, as you will see, was quite a task. So quelling their excitement I quoted 'Hi, u sm rly kewl, dat mak 2 of us... if u fl da sm den gt in tch'. There was a name signed at the end of this cryptic message though that is neither here nor there.  Although I had resisted this process, now that I had started it I was keen to see how things would pan out. Imagine my utter joy when I saw this, the very first of my interests! I stared at the screen for couple of minutes in a complete daze because I really couldn't understand the message at all. No matter, I thought, let me have a look at the profile.

Mr. Kewl (as I had by then named him) turned out to be a 24-year old, whose parents had posted this profile for him. His age, of course, explains why he didn't know the real spellings of any of the words and my age, I suppose, explains why I couldn't understand any of them! Clearly, we belonged to different worlds. His parents belonged to a still more different world since they wanted a 'pious (aaargh!) daughter-in-law who would give respect to elders and love and affection to youngsters' (like whom, their son?!). Clearly, parents and son had set out on different paths and I couldn't help but wonder where, and when, they would collide. I thought I would put Mr. Kewl out of his misery soon and taking advantage of his paid subscription and the fact that he'd sent me a personal message I replied in kind, if not in kindness- 'Kewl is spelt cool, with a C that is!' 

No, there was no way I could marry someone who didn't know how to spell cool!

The Parade of Donkeys

I am watching a parade of donkeys, which is to say I am in the unenviable position of looking for a husband at this somewhat late stage in life. What got me started on this on task you ask? Well at some point, two odd years ago I though it might be nice (I hate that word- it manages to be rather insipid!) to emulate the marital bliss (!) that some of my friends seem to have achieved and if I could find a like-minded soul who would not tire of me I thought, 'why not?' Which is not to say, mind you, that this was a 'let's-get-this-out-of-the-way' kind of a notion; on the contrary it was, and is, very much about companionship and that at once oh-so dreaded and mythical idea of romantic love. I have unfortunately, or otherwise, much as I may pretend not to have, been brought up on the myth of love.

This is not completely unnatural considering that our public imagination is submerged in it. In my case this myth was even closer home, and therefore far less of myth and much more real, since my parents had a (yes, here it comes) love marriage way back in those days when these only happened in Bollywood movies. In fact, well into my teens when people heard of my hybrid origins (think strange mixture of North and South India) they were often both shocked and fascinated. This awe was then followed by a question that usually had me cringing and I quote- 'Hawww, your parents had a luuuve marriage?' Since I usually did not think of my parents in terms of Bollywood heartthrobs melodramatically defying their families, this question embarrassed me no end and my standard response to this was, 'Well as far as I know they didn't have a hate marriage!' My then nascent sense of irony was usually lost on them and I would be faced by confused looks of 'your parents hate each other?' followed by the shortest possible explanation of my hybrid origins. So there in a nutshell is why it is so difficult to get away from the myth of romantic love.

My parents of course have always assumed the sibling and myself would follow in their footsteps so that they would be saved the trouble of doing any spouse searching on our behalf. Since the sibling dutifully obliged, everyone- myself included- naturally concluded that I too would one day walk gob-smack into love and sort my life out. This, as you might guess, has not happened! So at some stage my parents had the 'talk' with me and suggested that they could look (unsuccessfully as it turned out, since they didn't know what they were supposed to do!) and then followed this up with the internet matrimonial idea (and I'm not going to name sites here so that you can go look me up!).

My initial reaction was a blunt refusal. After all, surely I would walk into someone one day and see stars! But upon a more rational revaluation I reluctantly conceded that the idea had some merit. After all I had managed not to meet anybody through college and while there had been the odd fanciful idea of marrying someone in the now distant past, that too had fallen by the wayside, and in hindsight thankfully so. Moreover, I work and will continue to do, in a sector that is dominated by women; in my last two jobs I have been part of 10-member teams with a single male each, which does tend to rather stack the odds against me! At this stage I was completing a master's degree, which too I had embarked upon after much delay and contemplation and it seemed as good a time as any to renew my (thus far unrequited) search for love. In any case, my father left me with the ultimate threat- 'if you don't post a profile, I will and you know you don't want that!' Eventually the idea grew on me and taking a deep breath I took the plunge into the unknown and dare I say, what an unknown it has been!