She’s a foodie. He, I can’t say for sure. When he met Priya for a dinner date in Hong Kong, they ordered some prawn stir-fried noodles; chicken in bean sauce and oysters. It was all flowing well, until:
He: These noodles are yum.
She: Yes, they are.
He: Can you please pass me the brown sauce?
What?! He called soya sauce, brown sauce? A cardinal sin was committed. He was rejected then and there. She said she could never marry him -- he didn’t know the difference between brown sauce and soya sauce. We all laughed. She was 24 then.
Scene 2
Priya meets an Indian engineer settled in England. His pics show a handsome young man. We’re all hopeful this one will work out. They meet for coffee. She orders a latte, he an Americano. It’s all going well, until:
He: I’m really passionate about my job.
She: What kind of engineer are you?
He: Electrical. You know, I sort out electrical CIR-QUITS.
The engineer was rejected then and there. “I can’t believe he called circuit, CIR-QUIT. I can’t marry him, his accent’s terrible,” she said. We all laughed and agreed that pronouncing circuit as CIR-QUIT was indeed unacceptable. She was 26 then.
Scene 3
Priya is now on shaadi.com. This website seems to work for everybody, so it should for my British-born distant cousin, too. Kurien looks like a good match. He lives in Canada; been there since he was a teenager so at least his accent won’t be a problem, she says. A Skype meeting is arranged. It’s all going well until:
He: I rap in my free time. Wanna hear some of it?
She: Sure.
He raps about Priya:
You’re so cute and chubby
You’ll make a great mummy
I love how you’re fat
Maybe you could even be a doormat!
Kurien is rejected then and there. The feminist in Priya couldn’t stand the word doormat. This time, we didn’t laugh. We tried to reason that rap’s about rhyming and maybe that’s all that came to his mind at that moment. We talked about how he was pleasant-looking, well-spoken, accent not a problem. She disagreed with us. She was 28 then.
Priya’s rejection of men who would on paper make good companions, continued. Reasons varied -- from something flimsy like the guy didn’t know that Brazil was in South America; he hasn’t read Harry Potter; he doesn’t listen to Ed Sheeran but Yesudas; he is balding; to, I don’t like his mop of curly hair.
We were exasperated. We asked if she couldn’t ignore the small foibles and focus on the bigger picture instead. Things like, would he make a good father; would he look after her; does he earn well, is he from a good family. But she was adamant. She ignored us all. We didn’t understand what she wanted. She was 30 now.
Her profile was put up on more matrimonial websites- m4marry.com, chavaramatrimony.com, bharatmatrimony.com. The clock was ticking. Her parents were worried -- all other girls her age were getting married and settling down. Priya was being invited to her own friends’ wedding. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, her mother sighed. Priya was not bothered in the slightest.
One day, we set up a dinner date with someone who didn’t seem compatible with her on paper. That’s how desperate we were. He was a teacher, son of immigrant parents from Kerala, not tall, dark, average looking.
But he could play the piano, cook, talk about food, watched football, enjoyed going to the pub, loved animals, and most importantly, pronounced circuit as just that.
It was Priya who listed all of the above reasons to marry Bigil. She agreed his name was “terrible”, but he was perfect otherwise.
The wedding has been fixed for the summer of next year. Priya will turn 34 then.