Splendidly Single!

‘For the last time, Mom, I’m not going to the wedding with you!’

‘And for the last time, you’re coming, and I don’t want any arguments!!!’ she stormed. ‘Wear the fawn and saffron tussore silk saree and the gold and tulsi beads. NOW!’

Jeez! She forgets I’m more than twenty-five years old! I try again. ‘But I’m exhausted, Ma. It was a very, very busy day at office. I had two interviews on the other side of Delhi. I’m totally pooped! Please!’

‘Oh! You mean your father doesn’t work in office?’ she asks sarcastically. ‘And what about all those other people attending the wedding after work? Are they useless idiots? Are you the only one in the world who works hard?’

I know when I’m defeated, and go to have a bath and deck myself out like a Christmas tree on display. It’s no use telling her that when you are under thirty, female and single, it’s a trial of nerves mingling with the extended family, especially on wedding-related occasions.

I realize that my attending these functions is as important to her as it is abhorrent to me. This incident took place about fifteen years ago, when a twenty five year old single daughter was a social anathema. So, for Ma, such an occasion is an opportunity to prove to the world that if her daughter is unmarried at twenty-five, it isn’t because she is ugly, or jobless or any such thing. Plus, there is also the unexpressed hope that someone in the family might pass on word of my ‘eligibility’ to an interested party!

And that is precisely why I shy away from all this … relatives, especially old, female ones, have a tendency to peer at you, and wonder aloud in your presence: ‘She’s not bad looking … well educated, good family, and has a good job too … why isn’t she married as yet?’

Must be involved with someone …,’ some other gossip monger would whisper in scandalized tones. And I would be barred by my upbringing from telling them that if I were involved with someone, I’m sure my parents would support me.

Suddenly remembering a cousin in a parallel situation, I ring her up quietly and ask: ‘Are you coming to the wedding?’

‘As if Mom would let me skip it’, she retorts, ‘even though I utterly loathe all this, and I’m dead on my feet!’

‘Same here,’ I reply gloomily, ‘but hey, it won’t be so bad if you’re there too … we can always sneak away into a corner’. I hang up, somewhat cheered.

Duly presenting myself to mom in said saree and jewellery, I’m instructed to ‘hold myself up and smile pleasantly, for God’s sake!’

SMILE PLEASANTLY!!! I’m not scowling or making faces, or anything … so why am I expected to simper? We reach the venue and are greeted with: ‘Oh! Welcome! So glad you could come … and bitiya (daughter) too … are you very tired?’

‘No, aunty,’ I lie through gritted teeth. We move away.

‘See? I told you to smile, but you have sworn never to listen to your mother.’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake, mom … look! I’m smiling! Okay?’

My eyes search frantically for my fellow sufferer. I finally spot her, trying to be invisible between a pedestal fan and a potted plant. I excuse myself and head for her, followed by Mom’s instructions to ‘mingle, and not hide myself in a corner’.

My cousin sees me and hails me with relief, and we thankfully slink away into a corner where there are two chairs and no relatives! Bliss!

‘Did anyone comment on how tired you are looking?’ I ask.

‘What d’you think? It’s their stock-in-trade’ she replies. ‘So many people here look more tired than us, but they’ll pick on us because they want to imply that as independent career women heading towards spinsterhood, we must be fading blossoms, and that’s why we look perpetually tired’.

‘Hey, you’re exaggerating! It’s not as bad as that… it’s just the way they are,’ I say pacifically.

‘Then tell me, why don’t they comment on the exhausted looks of our male cousins?’ she asks.

‘Maybe they do?’ I say. She laughs derisively.

And, as if on cue, my grandmother’s sister and her daughter pass by:
‘Ma, bhabhi’s son looks really tired; he must have come straight from office … poor boy! And uncle’s grandsons too look exhausted … well, what can you expect on a weekday? The poor things have come directly from work and haven’t had the time to freshen up’. I look significantly at my cousin.

And then, in the next breath … ‘Oh Ma! Just look at those two madams … totally off-colour! Well, what do you expect! Growing older by the day, and not married yet … obviously the bloom of youth is on its way out! Poor things!’

‘Let them be’, I sigh, holding my cousin back, as she starts from her chair, presumably to tell them off. ‘Just let them be’.

‘You’re right’, she says, calming down. ‘Let’s go eat … I saw some wonderful kulfi!’