January 1, 2004

It seems like it was only yesterday that we were celebrating the new millennium — the beginning of the 21st century. What a momentous occasion it was; all the speculations and excitement as to what lay ahead. On the eve of the fourth year into this new era, has anything changed? There will be a dichotomy of perspectives on this one, I’m sure. But, certain hard cold facts do not change by denial or camouflage; regardless of the relativity, subjectivity, interpretations, or opinions.

The reality is that we are neck deep in weddings, although some of us are in way over our heads, quite disoriented and fairly disturbed, not to mention disgusted. I shall try to spare you the hackneyed and redundant rhetoric; the extravaganza/opulence, double standards/charade, the dreading those umpteen functions in one evening and so forth.

But, there is one, shall we say aspect, that has metamorphosed from a maggot into a special species more commonly referred to as ‘match makers’. They are easy to spot even in a crowd of hundreds, as they evaluate the marriageable maal from the expired items which have run out of their shelf life.

There was a time when frail grandmothers would discreetly go about the business, barely letting anyone know what their designs were, and whose fate they were sealing. While they chewed on their paan, they would whisper something to each other with a sweet smile on their faces that gave away nothing. Now, you will find yourself under the scrutiny of some 18-year-old, obviously on the prowl for her bhaijan, who’s probably lurking around the corner anyway, ‘checking out the goods’ himself.

There is another breed of ‘match makers’, more appropriately called ‘marriage marketeers’; this lot consists of extremely eligible bachelors. They possess the: looks, personality, money, cars, class, etc. Now this lot congregates in a corner, at a safe distance from the ‘crowd’. They have an unassuming air about them and seem to be entertaining themselves with casual banter; the butt of their jokes being the poor chaps they know who got caught in the web of commitment.

You see, many of these men have commitment phobia — they think a marriage contract can be made without it having the connotations of what’s meant to be a life long relationship. All this time they check out prospective brides/wives, as they get a low-down from each other on the lady being eye-balled.

I do believe these men are quite confused — they want modern and liberal women who should somehow also be conventional and conservative — mind you they have their own versions of the definitions of these attributes.

I overheard a remark and the plot thickened. One chap said to another, “There aren’t any decent chicks at shadis even yaar.” I have deduced that there is some truth in the fact that there isn’t only the SWOT (single woman over thirty) phenomenon, but also a term that I have coined i.e., SMOT (single man over thirty). How’s that ladies, is 2004 beginning on a good note for you?

Whether or not the SWOTs have an idea of what they want and how to go about getting it, remains disputed, but let’s save that for another column. Right now we’re more intrigued with these SMOTs, who really don’t know what they want, and even if on the off chance they do, they aren’t about to find it.

Reason being that such a strain of the female gender could only be created by unwinding the double helix, placing the spouse gene/chromosome in a petri dish, and then programming it to have the features suitable for the SMOTs’ spousal requirements and criteria.

Interestingly enough not too many SWOTs venture in the direction of the SMOTs, except for those who are not part of the chase. However, those who are, and who are very much aware of the fact that they are, prefer to be apprised from afar, who can blame them?

Either way whether a SWOT or a SWAT (single woman almost thirty), the pressure is smothering. Between the ‘match makers’ and the ‘marriage marketeers’ these events are nothing short of an MRI (Marriage Rating Index).

Well the search/hunt will continue on New Year’s eve, as far as I know there are two major balls in town, both charity organizations, tickets ranging anywhere between Rs 4,000 to Rs 10,000 — it’s interesting how we feel so magnanimous during Ramazan and at the genesis of the Christian New Year. I fail to understand why other organizations don’t host such functions — surely people wouldn’t stop to think twice about doling out the same for these tickets.

The highlight for me has been to buy 2004’s refills for my filo fax, the old ones were in tatters and I couldn’t wait to get the new ones. I almost feel the same way I did at the start of a new school year, when one buys new books and then wraps them in brown paper and plastic covers — overcome with anticipation mingled with apprehension.

It’s almost what you do with life really. 2003 will be history by the time you read this, and you will have a brand spanking New Year ahead; you’ve broken the seal, it smells good and looks promising. As for celebrating, make that reflecting, I’m just going to light some scented candles, curl up on the couch in my study, and reminisce and romanticize, as I become intoxicated on Ghalib.
 

Note: SWOT (single woman over thirty) can also be read as SWAT (single woman almost thirty).

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