Sane and Single

According to the poet, WH Auden, “Great poems read us as much as we read them”. This observation is at once, profound, perceptive and pertinent. I’d like to extend it to life, perhaps, our personal experiences that project vignettes of life itself, unravelling to us snippets of this enduring and endearing mystery.

If my recent rendezvous or a shot at what is deemed an essential aspect of human experience is anything to go by, I’d probably ‘poke’ dear old life on its nose and crow at all the awe surrounding it. Why, You ask? Well, the experience, as some might have guessed is that of marriage, rather of (finding) a mate (the noun, not the verb), done to check the box of been there done that. 

The advancement in technology and a rather skewed ‘progress’ in our ever perplexing Indian context and values, my generation, the ones who were old enough to relish the transition from a pre-liberalisation to the post 1991 liberalisation, can confidently assert that we enjoyed a meaningful childhood and are now ‘paying’ to stay afloat in this globalised, urban jungle. Grappling with an inherited sense of values while juggling with our western affiliations and the younger generation, “living it up” could hardly be any harder! Worse still, trying to do it all: being independent, having a successful career, ensuring a six figure salary, paying off the EMIs and Credit Card Bills, de-stressing with the chaps on weekends and somehow, after all the dodging and staying aloof from the M experience (dear Chomi*, I hold you for treason here!)to secretly yearning for it, I guess we are doing it all! All wrong, I mean!

Now, notwithstanding all this pessimistic musings, if you’re wondering why you should read this, let me provide you with some profound insights at the outset. For, it will effectively nip cynicism and enable you to be more open minded about knowledge that can waft in from unforseen, even unheard of places! For instance, have you heard of Avinashi? No? Then, read on… I hadn't either, until ten days ago when I received an ‘invite’ to connect from this amiable gentleman! 

It turns out that I am at that stage in my life, very precarious, that if I do not meet someone soon or marry within the year, then I risk eternal loneliness, and exist in the bitterness of my presumed arrogance and folly at not having secured a suitable man in my entire life! Sordid enough even for the most hard hearted. A well-meaning aunt, recently reprimanded me albeit gently, to be more like a girl and settle down finally! “How long will you continue like this? Don’t you want your parents to be at ease, be relieved of their responsibility?” Her husband, my uncle, and an academic, was more curt and being a self-confessed realist, told me to “lower my expectations and be realistic”! Surely ladies, if your checklist looks as bleak as mine then maybe YOU MUST lower your expectations. The honourable Indian male is clearly at crossroads on one or all of the following:

Humour/wit, genuine, honest and sensitive, well-read and articulate, well dressed/classy and ambitious. The point to note here is that, my venerable uncle, just like my well-meaning friends and colleagues, did not know which of these ought to be ‘lowered’ in other words, whether being classy can be termed superficial and being honest can be prevailed upon, there was no consensus and all the solicitations and umpteen interactions with ‘prospectives’ only enforced nonsense! 

It is not that the Indian male was entirely devoid of ‘qualities’, I surely found men who were splendidly articulate, right from the first text, chat and first conversation they made their amorous interests very clear. A case in point was this refined gentleman who shares his name with the eponymous epic Ramayana. Hailing from New York, he was not the sort to skirt around an issue, he was very plainly interested in a skirt lifted high up! My harmless queries like how he spends his evenings were shot back with responses like, clasped in my arms! Even before he knew my name! Clearly, the man meant business. This other soul from Down Under, seemed perpetually under the weather, for he eloquently spoke about his love of rugby, his weekend binges and pointedly informed me that I would too, as soon as I am there! Hmm… presumptuous he seemed, but my genial aunt, who ‘knows’ the world told me that with his means and his physique, none can blame him for showing confidence! Nevertheless, if in life “the show must go on”can matrimonial, as it is commonly called in the South*, ever end? After all, isn’t the purpose of life defined by one’s marriage and then bringing forth a progeny? How can the bloodline end and dare lesser mortals like me defy traditions and time immemorial practices? So, it continued. This one from my beloved England! The incurable anglophile that I am, this prospective at least had something to offer! An impending migration to England perhaps? Mr. A, as he referred to himself, was articulate, well travelled, his friend list included nationalities that would challenge the knowledge of the most erudite. What then is my problem? Had I continued with Mr.A, I would be completing this write-up either from an asylum or from a brothel or somewhere in between.The word, progressive, took on connotations that befuddled even me, an English teacher! One juicy sample of his 'progressive views' begs mention here-“ You love travelling, right?” My enthusiastic yes was quickly lapped up by him. “You will enjoy going to Scotland with T…” and, “… when you’re home alone, since I am away most of the time, Greg… will definitely come over, he’s such a wit. He will keep you company in London”. Bemused, I enquired if any of his male friends were married, and if at all I wish to travel, why not with their family, or as a group of friends. Matching a Sampras’ ace, his response rocked my very being. “What fun in travelling as a group… the joy of discovering one at a time is the real thing!” Damn my liberal antecedents and belief in free living, I did not wish to sign up as Mrs.Pimp or whatever else he was into, supply man!

Time was running out, as far as my family was concerned, but after each meeting or interaction with the Y chromosomes, my patience was evaporating until… 'this is the one' finally made an entry, as always, out of the blue! Director at a multinational firm, successful, gentlemanly (at least he pretended to be), well read et al. Really! This seemed like he had read up my criteria list that I had handed to my exasperated father, albeit in jest. What I thought would put him off this goose chase, actually gander, going by the gender, only made my poor dad more eager and hopeful. Parents! When will they ever be realistic and actually interpret what you wish to state?! Anyway, many reams have already been spent on that subject by several others, this one of course is focused on the accomplished, prospective Y Chromosomes only. So, Mr. Y, in short, a manifestation of my list did appear on the scene. Witty texts, insights on finance and state of affairs of the world, was discussed eagerly, he even went ahead and super imposed my image on the cover of a TIME magazine, heralding me as a dream come true. Rather than preening in vanity, I marvelled at his digital prowess while being stumped by his knowledge of the fairer sex. Seriously, how many men can discuss the hues of pink and name them all! Fewer still would perhaps show the insights he had in, ahem… women’s clothing, well his expertise was lingerie actually. He could teach Zivame* a thing or two! That was my first clue by the way! 

Our multiple meetings, dinners and walks underscored the letters in bold. He’s aMamma’s Miserable Alter Ego, unreasonably emotional and entirely insistent on doing things his mother’s way! Now, to be fair, the first and last quality comprises 80% of the Indian males, he, in that sense, is surely normal. But for a single, independent, indubitably confident and self-made individual like me, who taught and breathed gender equality on a daily basis this creature deserved to be locked up in the Guantanamo for two reasons: one have a place of your own and two, the perverse, latent psychotic and desperate that he was, this is where he truly belonged. My patience, needless to say was exhausted by now and I insisted that we seek his mother’s counsel on our soon to be boudoir experiences, but our man apparently drew the line there, at the doorstep of his bedroom. He surely could manage that space without her guidance! Having helped him with this discovery, I ventured to elucidate on few more pearls of wisdom, what he heard from me, am sure will last him for quite sometime…

The prospectives list kind of hit a nadir after this, many gentlemen, unmindful of our specifications deemed themselves to be worthy, like this guy from Avinashi, who told me that this place was Scotland of the East! All along, I believed it to be Coorg* though. One final mention ought to be reserved for this chap from Chicago, who wanted us to be like rabbits henceforth and text all the time! I am as bemused by this analogy as you are. Maybe the smaller creatures, owing to frequent access to the labs and human company have become digital natives after all! 

But, hope springs eternal. The one man that I truly love, my very own, the Bard of Avon, in one of his immortal lines had pointed that the best place to hide a thing precious is to hide it in plain sight! Rightly so, epiphany hit me a week ago, as I sat in the backseat of my car marvelling the dexterity with which he drove, the stoicism he maintained despite umpteen provocations by the not so skilled at the wheels, the eagerness with which he ran all my errands, the courtesy he always displayed in all his interactions with me, the interest he evinced in sports and politics alike. Going by my aunt’s advice, if I have to compromise at all, then why not wink at the fact that he is no litterateur, nor a brahmin. Living in Bombay (it shall forever remain that to me) and in the times that I do, smaller things like being the ‘other woman’ or the ‘second one’ shouldn’t really matter, right? With glee at having finally found the one, I confided to my mom, what ensued is anybody’s guess! So, for all things done and said, I have now decided to stay sane and single! He continues to be my driver though, damn you, this is Bombay! Good drivers like him don’t grow on trees, I cannot say that about prospectives, husbands and boyfriends though.

Asha G Kumar

*Chomi - my cousin's nickname

*South - South India, where I hail from

*Coorg - A beautiful, serene place in South India known for Coffee, Cardamom and Pepper Plantations.