indian marriages are made on websites

introducing a typical indian mom of a typical indian eligible bachelor or bachelorette-

she chooses who we like. she decides why we like who we like. if we like someone else but she doesnt like who we like, then its understood that we dont like that someone either. she decides which of these someone we talk to and what we talk about. and then when we still decide we dont like that someone, she tries to discuss it, analyze it, hoping to find a way of convincing me that actually we do like this someone. we still dont. oh then she just switches gears and decides what we should say when we say no.

this is one of the frameworks of finding a match through the indian matrimonial websites. ask anyone who is going through this and you will find many such frameworks. they say its all about finding compatibility and adjusting. family background goes a long way in ensuring certain basic elements of compatibility. but what about personality differences among people with the same background, with the same family? just as siblings differ and fight, so we also differ and fight? they dont have an answer. what about love? we cant bring myself to even ask that question. some people will ask - what about sex? we have never even thought of considering that question.

there are three main types of non-indian responses to this, as i have discovered in my very international and very unbiased research. so here goes:
1) this system restricts choices - in indian societies girls get married at an average age of 21, and these young girls barely have a say in who their partner is going to be. even if they have a say, they barely know what they are doing. and after a list of prospective grooms is produced, they can say no to only so many before they eventually have to say yes to one of them. without knowing whether they love them. without giving a chance to falling in love. its like love has been arranged for them. if they insist on waiting, whispers start going around to speculate why this girl hasn't been able to find a match despite looking for so long. there must be a problem. she must be wanting a james bond to fall out of the sky for her.

2) this system is convenient - i search and my parents have the veto power, whereas in this system, parents search and i have the veto power. i dont need to do anything, just relax and let people work off their excitement. i get to see a list of people, whose education, lifestyle has been pre-evaluated for compatibility and all i need to do it pick. even a thorough background check has been done already, which is even more helpful, because at times i have had crazy girlfriends. in fact twice i had to call the police, so that they could be taken away.

3) this system is unreasonable - i dont understand, can never understand. i can never let such a big decision of my life lie in someone else's hands, even if they are my parents. what if they make a mistake? do i want to live with their mistake? do i want to blame them for their mistake? even if things dont work, it will still be my responsibility. if i chose myself, at least it will be my mistake, my responsibility. even if it doesnt work, i will only have myself to blame. because falling in love is not a guaranty to a lasting marriage. there are probably as many stories of failed love marriages as there are stories of stifled arranged marriages.

there are more theories. love is a choice. love comes after marriage. (the latter is what the founder of one of india's biggest matrimonial websites believes -http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-13144028) i believe that there this no better or worse framework. the key is to make it work. love might be an infatuation that fades away after 5 or 10 or 15 years. arranged marriage might just lead two people to meet and feel "that spark". i believe that both are just different search mechanisms. and falling in love is a ideal goal that everyone would like to achieve, but no-one would know if they have found their soulmate, like they do in movies. soulmates should still be given it a chance. i would still give arranged marriage a chance to accept a chosen compatible person as my partner for life. and keep an eye out for love. may the better search mechanism win. the rest can then follow happily ever after.

chick chica chicita

it is always interesting to profile the average traveller from one destination to the other. the few times that i have been to madrid, i have found serious looking people, often in suits, carrying folders like the one i had in my hand, with the i-will-change-the-world-if-i-have-to-and if-time-permits expression on their faces. in the metro, everyone is composed, concentrating on gearing up for the day's work ahead, reading a book, or looking forward to a good night's sleep. once i saw someone in an elegant olive green suit, with matching accessories - shoes and bags included. she looked like i was watching her from behind green shades. and blue shades for the one dressed in the blue denim skirt and matching heels. even the revolutionaries protesting for (one normally protests against, but thats just the beginning of what i dont understand about the spanish revolution) democracy are organised and controlled with a balance between gathering suggestions for proposing change, logistical arrangements and recreational activities in the camps. not like the hippies in placa catalunya with a lingering stench, or the locals banging utensils in gracia balconies with no consideration for babies trying to sleep in nearby apartments. treating the criticism above as a digression, i move back to observing the differences among travellers' profiles. barcelona has an air of fun, energy and friendliness. the average number of colours you see in the travelling crowd increases significantly. the footsteps are somehow more lively, formal shoes giving way to sandals - casual, funky, pretty, folders giving way to luggage for a relaxing vacation by the beach. even the suits realise that they have to give-in and allow unbuttoned cuffs and rolled-up sleeves.

i was on my way back to barcelona from madrid. my visit had been short and efficient, i was the traveller who had gone to the us embassy in madrid and i fit the profile with my folder and formal serious looking appearance. but i clearly stood as the odd one out here, surrounded by tourists or just spaniards in a holiday mood heading to barcelona, not returning to it. as i joined the queue, she suddenly skirted past me with her friend, whispering something in her ear. the first one turned around, kind of surprised realising that she was cutting in ahead of me. apologising, she said i should go ahead. i could see the excitement in their faces, in their funky flowery tops with matching capries and cute skirts, coloured sandals and flowing accessories; and i was in no hurry anyway, so i said, "no its fine, please go ahead." i did not realise they were a group of 6 and not just 2 who had walked ahead of me earlier. i reminded myself that i was in no hurry and smiled to myself seeing their excitement about the upcoming holiday. after all i get to catalogue their colours too. they kept bustling ahead of me all along till the end of the platform. it turned out that we all had our seats in the last coach. the luggage was the only thing that could have dared to pull down their speed, and my sprained-knee-induced-limp pulled down mine. and then of course they had to put all their luggage into the shelves just by the door. i heard the 1st one whisper to her friend, the same two as the last time, as they noticed me behind them. again. guess we were thinking the same thing, them embarrassed, me amused. "deja le pasar, la chichita aqui!" then she repeated her request, thinking i was irritated rather than entertained watching them fumble with their heavy bags. and this time she called me nina. as the rest of the 4 four also buzzed around, i walked to my seat and settled in with my book. i could still hear their giggles, i was so sure they were playing cards and comparing their make-up and manicure. soon enough after the train was racing in the meadows, they were walking across the carriage. more like stumbling across, heavy random footfalls matching the rhythm of the train, their embarrassed giggles ringing out loud. they seemed to be having an infectious effect on the people around. some fun those old women were having!

yes old women. did you think abuelas? think again. they were the original chicas . more like chicks actually. chicks who were at least as much fun as when they were younger, or perhaps age had built up the fun quotient in them. i roll my eyes now, thinking back about them - they were calling me chicita, yeah right!! (allow me to explain - chica is girl and chicita is just a cute and adoring way of addressing a girl. sara becomes sarita, richa becomes richita.. a pampering suffix) of course i looked like a little girl to them, trying too hard to be all grown up and serious in my formal clothes and leather folder and fat novel. they must be thinking to themselves, don’t grow up so soon. have some fun. look at us. learn from us.

i will chicas. throw my limp away, not be scared to risk, and fly again. till then you have fun in barcelona, and inspire some more people in need of a rescue from their eventless lives. maybe I catch you on the beach sometime!

high and dry

yes, sometimes i wonder why they make it so complicated. locks and switches. all sorts of sensors - laser, heat, distance, pressure. i dont know what.

sometimes they just shout out loads of too hot air at your hands. as if more heat would work things faster. at other times they just run out of air because you got out of their way by so much as 1.5967 mm. as if you were blocking their access to oxygen or something. oh and then they get back at you by blowing on your back. "how would we know its your back", you can almost hear them. "go queue somewhere else!" i am imagining hand dryers in common washrooms talking ofcourse. what were you thinking?

then there are these new dryers i came across recently. this works on air pressure more than air temperature. the air blows out on your skin with such force, that you can see the water droplets crawling back. "ok, ok, we are leaving!" you even get an insight into how losely your skin is wrapped over your knuckles. it does take about 10 secs though, just as the sticker claims on the face of the machine. maybe this one is not so bad.

oh but i forgot about cloth rolls?! you pull at the roll, dry, pull again. not going to get into the whereabouts of the rolls, how they are maintained etc. any thoughts on the cloth napkins, soaked in hot boiling water, offerred in restaurants. hmmm. never mind.

wash basin taps are more difficult. once i looked around the basin for a full two minutes trying to figure how to get the tap going. the woman behind me took pity on me and waved at the tap. waved at it! since when were we in magic world? turns out sensors can do magic too. i had just figured another switch before this one. i flush to even talk about flushes. oh and india is a different story altogether. its all a game of touch me not. in many ways wiser, in many ways not.

after all that i don't mind waiting just to make sure i understand the various mechanisms before getting trapped by all this sensitive technology. or just carry the very reliable cleenex everywhere. i have to admit it makes me happy to see paper tissue stacks in washrooms. no tissue, no tushy - as rachel would say. just keep it simple. no prizes for technological innovation.