'We could watch the Filmfare awards again, they showing a repeat telecast'. I offered, willing to follow this literary bonanza with a visually equivalent treat.
'I mean what do you want to do in life now?'
'Huh? What? Huh? Who? Me?!'
'Do you want to go back, or do you want to settle here? Or do you want to get married and go back with the guy to the US?'
'Huh? Which guy??'
'Naana sambandhalu chustunaru ga, emayina nachithe chudu. [Dad's been looking for matches. See if you like any.]'
And as if on cue, my Dad steps in and starts rambling about some random guy.
'-And they want the wedding by March, but only issue is that the guy is 31.'
'Dad, please! No.'
Just as easily my Dad leaves, shaking his head at the hopeless talks with his beloved first child.
'We could have the wedding by May'. Ma ponders deeply looking at the latest Kalamandir ads in the newspaper, next to a news article of Jr. NTR getting married in summer. Is the universe conspiring against me?
'Mom! To whom?! You could probably get wedding shopping done by May! Not a wedding! I can't know a guy enough to get married to him by May!'
'How long does it take for that. You would have your entire lifetime afterwards to get to know each other. What is it that you want in the guy?'
At this point I just cannot believe how ridiculous this conversation is becoming. I want to roll my eyes, but you have to know this. I-am-shit-scared-off-acting-out in front of my Mum. So, I just mumble a completely senseless reply.
'I dunno. He should be taller than me. I don't wanna have short kids'.
My mind is screaming at me to shut up.
'And he should definitely read'.
-Of course that sums up my expectations from a guy, a Neanderthal who can string together a sentence!
'Read what? What will you both discuss in life? Books? Literary reviews? Stop being such an elitist'.
I look dumbfounded. OK. So apparently these are a little too pricey expectations.
'I am telling you right now. You would never find a guy like that in our community. What about looks?'
Images of a cricketer, an English Hons student and Prabhas pop into my mind.
'I don't care about looks, amma. You know that'.
'Couldn't you be a bit more specific in what you have in mind?' -My Mum groans, all exasperated at the workings of her first child's mind.
I am drawing a blank here, and now the Flicker stream in my mind has taken a turn to Talaivaland!
'Pink Floyd. He should be into Floyd'.
Absolutely no clue why I set this criterion. Or any criterion at all, for that matter. My mind flashes back to all those movie scenes where the hero-heroine meet before an arranged marriage and ask each other pseudo intellectual questions, before they grope fall for each other.
'Floyd aa? That's it? It doesn't matter if he's short or dark or weird looking, as long as he is into Floyd?'
'And he should have clean, short nails'.
It's Mum's turn to roll her eyes now, and oh boy, does she ever! I have no idea why I started mumbling such random nonsense when she was trying to talk to me about something so "serious" in my life. Well at least she dropped it after that, and we started discussing Floyd and Duran Duran and the new Audi A8. Sigh.
 |
| Something on these lines, perhaps.. |
