Wednesday, July 23, 2014

The Great Menon Wedding: Introduction

Yes, there was no Christmas post last year .There was also no New Years playlist.
Easter bounced by in a flurry of fluffy omelets and dust -bunnies. Spring gaily sprang into Summer  (which, somehow, seems to be going on forever...) All passing without comment.
(By the way, A belated Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Easter and any other festive occasion I missed)

The World According to Me has been languishing in prolonged stasis- a state that I sincerely wish to remedy. However, the world around me was and is performing rigorous cartwheels, somersaults, high tragedy and comic farce . And we are not merely describing the political-social entertainment that has been the trend of 2014. 
In either case, I wish to remind myself and my faithful readers (most of whom have given up on me already) that this blog
a) exists
b) is still active. albeit irregularly.
 And while I may become as erratic in my updates as some of my more distinguished brethren seem to be, I assure you, The World According to Me is never forgotten. And just to make my sincerity clear...

Parents of a Marriageable Age.

     While my views on marriage have been widely publicised within the blogsphere and any circle that has come within a meters radius of self, my idealism did not take into consideration the presence of two very radical variables: my parents.The fact is, my parents were ready for marriage at least five years prior to the Great Event. And while sterling individuals in every count, they are not above some emotional strong-arming. To err is human. Long and rather unpleasant story short, I decided there wasn't all that much to lose. As a wise woman once put it, don't run, you'll just die tired. Once the difficult task of wrapping ones head around a previously inconceivable future is taken care of, things become surprisingly easy. It also helps if the man you decide to marry is not half-bad. (in case the man in question is reading this- understatement is the new black). But I am ahead of myself. 

     The prospect of  possible nuptials brought about some disconcerting knowledge. A cursory self-assessment revealed that I was not only a pathological friendzoner, I was also as dense as stale doughnut. A cousin of mine was narrating the meet-cute of a relative who met her spouse at an airport. There they were, two strangers at the baggage carousel, unaware of cupid's quivering arrow racing towards them. The guy accidentally picked up her bag and in the confusion and the exchange of sheepish grins their eyes met, a lot of sappy violins played and the rest is history. Now, If the same thing were to happen to yours truly, the hapless hero would be summarily yelled at, glared at, derisively laughed at and dismissed as nincompoop and/or thief. The sound you hear in the background is romance staking itself in the chest. Bottom-line : I wouldn't recognise a pass if it danced the hula in front of me wearing nothing but a neon sign.

    It was glaringly apparent that any true-mind marriage that dear Will espouses would happen only through parental liason. Having had twenty-six years of exposure to my particular brand of cluelessness, the parents were not surprised. In fact, they were chafing at the bit.(To those individuals unfamiliar with the concept of an arranged marriage, it's not the slave trade it's made out to be. Honest. In fact, for individuals like self, it is often a helpful modus operandi.) No sooner had the grudging 'yes' passed my pursed lips than the progentitors (and one sibling) jumped to the task of finding Mister More-or-Less Right with rabid enthusiasm. Apparently, my parents were waaaaay past marriageable age.

     A note to all children, if you think you know your parents-- you don't. They are like three year olds , one minute they are obsessed by a certain shiny object, the next they sprint off in the opposite direction. But again, I am ahead of myself.

     The man groom hunt was a rather entertaining exercise given that half the candidates that cropped up were hilariously unacceptable. (A notable specimen openly stated that his only qualification was his enormous wealth. Another said as baldly that he had nothing to declare but his optimism) The other half was further whittled into nothing by astrological mismatches. And the few that remained were comfortably shot down by my father and brother. Mother on the other hand tended to have a very liberal view of human fallibility and age appropriate hairlines. So, they plowed through multiple possibilities drawing blanks. Meanwhile, I let out a relieved sigh-- it didn't look like I'd be getting married anytime soon.

Less than a year later, I was handed a proposal worthy of consideration. My parents pulled the carpet from under my feet in more ways than one. Not only did they actually locate a possibility that had both mental acumen and enough hair on his head (a rare combination, as the hunting logs proved). They also blithely hummed consent to someone who was only half-Mallu and didn't even speak the language! This after years of demanding that the female offspring refrain from even looking in the general direction of a non-Mallu male. Is there no certainty in this world?! Apparently not.

Thankfully, I was saved the indignity of the long walk-of-chai service, popularised by so many movies. The acid test came in the form of a rambling conversation with the hapless he where the author made no attempts to tame her loquacity. At the end of which, the candidate did not keel over and die. Rather, not only was he still lucid, he was still pleasant! A real sign of endurance, if any. Apparently, my parents (and one sibling) did know what they were doing...
In either case, cute half-Mallu boy seemed worth the effort and he on his part seemed ok with throwing caution to the winds and his lot with mine. Consequently we got engaged. The family smiled in satisfaction. "We've got her half-way, now we just need to get her married"
And that is a story for the next episode of The Great Menon Wedding.

Statutory Warning: Posts that follow in this series will be longer than average. After all this is no average mallu wedding. Keep your glucose close at hand.