The Arranged Marriage — Act 2, Scene 2
Setting - A large, air-conditioned convention hall filled with people in festive wear, typical south Indian wedding. There is a nadaswaram band playing in the corner in full gusto, while the stage with teak pillars and an extravagant canopy (of coconut leaves, mango leaves, and orchids) is packed with middle-aged women and young children, trying to get as close to the bride and groom as possible. The latter are one one side of a blazing sacred fire pit (homa kundam), the bride (overflowing with diamond jewelry) seated ceremoniously on her father’s lap, and the groom holding the sacred yellow thread with an M-shaped gold pendant high up, his face looking like his life was on the line as he repeated after the stern-looking priest.
At a moment’s notice from the priest, the nadaswaram band breaks into high trumpeting (understandably alarming to anyone unfamiliar with South Indian weddings). Amidst the din of hooting, clapping and cheers, a shower of yellow rice grains and rose petals lands on the stage from various directions (blessings from elders). The groom has tied the sacred thread with three knots around the bride’s neck, and they are now officially married as per Hindu tradition.
Savitri: Ennanga, this was so beautiful, no? The decoration, the way the rituals just flowed, everything. Seems that the wedding planner has done a very good job, we must ask for their phone number. I have never seen an inter-caste wedding with this much coordination. So much sync. And these velvet chairs, wow. Must have cost them a lot.
Shankar: Yes, very well done. Nothing that a large vat of money can’t achieve. Rajesh is an IAS, after all. Where will he find a better place to sink his hoard of black money than his only daughter’s wedding?
Savitri: (chooses to ignore Shankar’s statement, continues speaking) Ranjani is very lucky that her daughter chose a Brahmin boy, after all. Does not matter that he is from a fish-eating Saraswat Brahmin community, it seems his family is mostly vegetarian. Still, I don’t understand why it took so long — she tells me they were friends from seven years.
Shankar: Friends, my foot.
Savitri: (raises her eyebrows) They’re married now. Nothing else matter. Does not worry anyone, anymore, if they were friends or more.
Shankar: It mattered to everyone, somehow, who our daughter was dating, and for how long, regardless of him being a vegetarian non-Brahmin. If our lot hadn’t backed us into a wall, getting us to force her to raise the marriage topic with him, maybe they’d still be together. They were friends, too, Savitri, in your own words. I didn’t care who he was, whether he belonged to our caste or not, as long he kept my daughter happy…
Savitri: (Crossly) Behave yourself, Shankar. Just because this is my sister’s daughter’s wedding, you do not have to show your other-ness. If this was on your side of the family, aaha, ooha, you would have been the polar opposite. Smiling like your teeth would fall out, greeting everyone from the watchman to the groom’s father’s cousin’s brother-in-law.
Shankar: (sighs) We are two very different people at heart, Savitri. (glances at the stage, where the bride’s mother is shedding copious tears, and a gaggle of women is trying to soothe her)
Shankar: If the bride’s mother is a stoic woman and does not cry, you all gossip that something is wrong somewhere and she is happy to see her daughter off. If she cries too much, you gossip then, too, something or the other. No end to your nonsense. No need for Ranjani to cry at all, really. It’s not like her daughter is moving to Antarctica. Did you know that Rajesh is building them a 3-storey house barely half a kilometer from his place?
Savitri: (upset) I am going to the stage. I need to console my sister. You are free to accompany me if you behave yourself.
Shankar: (swats his hand irritably as if shooing a fly) Carry on, do. I have no place in such drama, I cannot pretend to empathise, then you’ll say I’m being rude again.
Savitri walks to the stage and hugs her sister tightly, tears in her own eyes. Shankar immerses himself in a Kannada newspaper lying next to his seat.
Ranjani: (fresh round of sobbing) I can’t believe Sukku is married, Savi. My little girl… All grown up! Such a fine girl, Sukanya just like her name, so cultured… She did not give us any trouble. May all parents be blessed with a girl like this —
Savitri: There, there, be strong, Ranju. She has married into a good family. Look at the boy’s parents, so happy to receive her —
Ranjani: Gautam will keep her happy. They’ve known each other a long time. Did you know, Savi? They were in the same university in London, where there are co-ed hostels and all (makes a disgusted face). But my daughter stayed with girls only. No sin of living with her boyfriend!
Savitri: (looks impressed) Wow, that’s remarkable, Ranju. Considering how fallen our children’s generation is, your son-in-law and daughter are truly golden… Did you know Ramakanti’s son is travelling across Europe with a ‘boyfriend’? They’re in love, it seems. She’s having heart problems ever since he told them about this madness. (looks to the heavens as if in need of assistance to digest the state of the younger generation) Soon, we’ll have to make do with being glad if girls marry boys, forget caste or sub-caste.
Ranjani: Speaking of boys, I have a brilliant match for Kritika, if you are willing to consider it. Has she…moved on? I hope, for her sake, there was no kacha-mucha (mimes kissing gestures with her 10 fingers). This is a very cultured joint family with no concept of love marriage, and the boy is a diamond. No girlfriends. 2 sisters, married into wealthy Brahmin families in the US. No dowry expectation, though they will not refuse if you insist.
Savitri: (hesitates) I’ll need to speak to Shankar on this, Ranju, if you don’t mind. He has some strong opinions about all this. After all, he has to finance Kritika’s wedding with a loan.
Ranjani: (makes an irritated tchk-tchk sound) Which is why this is so perfect, Savi!! They are willing to spend on the entire thing. The bride and her family will be their guests. Such a wonderful thing, no?
Savitri: They’re that rich?! I don’t know if it will suit us, Ranju —
Ranjani: Rich as hell, but extremely down-to-earth. They don’t even want their future daughter-in-law to travel for work, since they make crores in their saree business. Imagine, Savi, Kritika does not have to take on the burden of earning, also. She can be a queen!
Savitri: (eyes distant and hazy, already swayed by the prospect of a wealthy alliance and how she will rise in the eyes of her relatives…) I’ll make Shankar see reason. Pass me their contact details, Ranju. I’ll take care of it. (nods grimly)
Ranjani: (beckoned by the groom’s family for the gruhapravesam ritual starting soon. Rajesh is already there, frequently looking at his watch and looking thoroughly annoyed) Come, Savi, call Shankar too. It won’t look good if he is sitting there all alone while your niece is entering the groom’s family room —
Savitri: He will not budge now even if a Yama Paasha tries to drag him to us. He is with his first wife, the newspaper.
They make their way towards the far end of the stage, where tall banana plants overlaid artistically with 24-karat gold foil flank the entrance to an open room that looks like there has been an explosion of flowers and silver. A tall brass tumbler of rice, topped with betel nuts, is perched on the doorstep.
The bride is led to the door by the groom who is holding her pinky finger aloft, and at the priest’s indication, the nadaswaram goes wild again, as she delicately kicks the tumbler into the room, spilling the rice ceremoniously (towards the north-east, thankfully). She takes a step into the room with her right leg in the same stride, and the people inside erupt into cheering.
Savitri is holding Ranjani by the shoulder as they make their way inside.
Savitri: (longingly) I wish my Kritika also finds such a loving family. Look how they’ve decked up a chair for Sukku to sit on! May she lead a long, happy married life… Dheerga Sumangali Bhava!
Ranjani: Ah, Savitri, there’s someone else I want you to meet. This is Kamala mami, Rajesh’s sister-in-law’s mother— (leads Savitri a few steps away to a seated obese old lady with two giant nose studs and 2 hearing aids inlaid with uncut diamonds) — mami, this is my only sister, Savitri, do you remember her daughter, Kritika?
Kamala mami smiles blandly in return, it is obvious she has no idea who Savitri or her daughter is.
Ranjani: (over the noise) Mami, Savitri’s daughter is of marriageable age, we are looking for your guidance in getting a wonderful groom for her.
Kamala mami nods, excited. If there is one thing she is good at at the ripe age of 86, it is matchmaking. She is proud of the fact that she has brokered matches across four generations. She had lost her voice to diptheria in the ’60s, but got married to a good man, nonetheless, who accepted a handsome dowry as compensation for her muteness only after everybody insisted.
She summons a woman seemingly out of thin air, and gesticulates wildly, pointing at Savitri and Ranjani in turn.
Ranjani: I need to go, I am needed for some rituals. You’ll manage, Savi? (she disappears before Savitri can answer)
Woman summoned from thin air: My mother tells me you are looking for a match for your daughter? I am Padma, Angirasa gotra. Which gotra are you, and what is your daughter’s D.O.B? (takes out a notepad and pen)
Savitri: Bharadwaja gotra, she is March 9th 1994 born. Who do you have in mind? Someone you know well? My daughter is highly qualified, so we are expecting the groom to be at least a computer science graduate from old IITs. We are not ok with giving dowry.
Thin air Padma: (looks disappointed) Oh, she’s 27 already! I’ll see what I can do. I was actually looking for a match for my son, but he’s 28. Age gap is not enough, though we are also not ok with dowry. He is an IT engineer, graduated from Mallappa Engineering College. (proudly) Has been onsite in South Sudan since last 3 years through Infosys. If you know any suitable brides please let us know through Rajesh or Ranjani — we want a modern but traditional girl under 23, slim, fair and good looking, 5.5 foot height thereabouts. Preferably Anuradha or Mrigashira birth-star.
Savitri: (smiles fake sweetly) Of course, of course! I’ll pass on any lead I get to you all. (takes her leave and walks back to Shankar in a huff. Plonks down on the chair next to him, which unfortunately has some classifieds section of the newspaper he was reading)
Shankar: GET UP, GET UP, you sat on the paper!!!!
Savitri: (utterly pissed) You and your bloody newspaper can go to hell. (gets up partially, rips the paper from under her and hands an irregular half to him)
Shankar: (stunned) You….tore my newspaper. Savitri… You tore my newspaper!
Savitri: (gets up again and hands him the other irregular half) Here, now you have everything. Happy? Join it and read. No big deal. (snaps) Here I am, trying to find some good setting for our daughter, and getting shamed by families of utterly useless boys and their parents with misplaced entitlement —
Shankar: (angry) Who was it, Savitri? Did they speak ill of Kritika? Just tell me who it was — (gets up)
Savitri: (wearily) Oh, sit your bum down, old man. It was some random relative of Rajesh’s. Wants the moon and stars for her son who probably does not even deserve a dish rack. Oh you just wait, stupid Padma, let my son graduate from IIT, then you’ll see what kind of young, fair and beautiful bride I get for him —
Shankar: (sarcastically) Did somebody say entitlement? Why, Savitri, why are you behaving just like the rest of them? Your son is as dark as you and me. Just because he MIGHT have a good degree, why do you expect the girl to have no melanin?
Savitri: You don’t understand, leave it —
Shankar: What is there to understand? When it comes to our daughter, you want people to ignore her age, height, complexion, pimples, nose, everything. (laughs harshly) When the society around us is made of people like this who flip preferences like a dosa, in what universe will Kritika find a good-natured family with all their faculties intact?
Savitri: (angrily folds her hands into a namaste and bows to him) Ayyo, it was my mistake to assume I could tell you anything. just forget it —
Shankar: Does not answer my question, Savitri. Tell me something. Do you think your daughter will be able to find an arranged match based only on her brilliant education or earning? Among people with THIS sort of mindset? This might be 2021, but like you rightly said the other morning, lots of us are still in 1947. (looks at her pointedly) Including you, my dear, when it suits you.
Savitri: (tersely) It is time for lunch. I will eat with Ranjani and Rajesh later. You go down and eat now before the seats fill up. Take your diabetes medication, don’t forget.
The dining area is downstairs. Shankar nods, takes his satchel, and walks to the elevator. Savitri stares absent-mindedly, upset, in some abstract direction. She changes her mind and walks to the elevator just as it is beginning to close. Shankar smiles, holds it open, and waits for her to get in. They hug, fight finished. The elevator door zooms shut.
