My search for Mr.Perfect

My search for Mr. Perfect started when I was 10. I was basically this “good girl”, who used to obey my parents (literally), never bawled or wailed at public gatherings, studied well, topped my class, and had quite a normal life. My childhood was never boring, for I had a wild imagination that was bigger than me (which is not saying much as I was only five feet). I ventured out sometimes, but there was a deep-rooted shyness in me that prevented me from rolling in the mud with the kids on the street.

As I grew up, my height remained the same, but my imagination expanded like an inflated balloon. I discovered the joy of fantasizing about guys through Hindi cinema. Every time Shah Rukh Khan aimed a sizzling look at the camera, with his dimples poking out, my heart sighed and melted like ice cream in the Chennai heat. By the time I was fourteen, I had already had my third infatuation. Maybe it was the initial lack of interaction with boys or my over-sized imagination, but I used to spin dreams around every male character outside the family I knew for more than a month. And, they were not always what you might call James Bond look-alikes. The last crush I had in school was on a guy who looked like someone who’d been bench-pressed from both sides, but to me, he was John Cena himself. My appalling taste continued to baffle and mystify my friends all through college- they could not see what I could see in the guys I liked.

When the time came to sit down and choose the right guy for me to settle down with, however, my mom decided to take matters into her own hands. Though the decision brought out shocked looks from my dad (“but she’s just a child!”) and a snort from my brother, my mom was very firm that it was high time I started looking. She was afraid, I think, that I might run away with a guy who looks like a chimpanzee, just because he had an Einstein-like brain. She wanted to be able to introduce her son-in-law to the public as a human being, she told me, not some primate that escaped from the Amazon.

When a girl turns 21 in an Indian household, it causes a stir, and brings out the gossip-loving, jobless ‘aunties’ sniffing like wolves. Dad starts poring over account statements, while mom starts poring over jewellery brochures. Every function you go to, people give knowing looks, and hint heavily and very obviously about prospective grooms, silk saris, jewellery and food. It didn’t take much to make me put up a profile on matrimonial websites, consent to have my horoscope written up and say ok to circulating it. I don’t know what made me agree to it. I’ve always been easily swayed and not exactly a champion decision maker. I shrugged off the comments made by my friends on how medieval that kind of thinking was, and how nowadays all women give importance to their career, and how I was wasting my brains and talent. As long as I didn’t know what I wanted, I was ready to be steered in what course my parents decided was best.

My mom was very excited about it, more than I was. She sat with me, while I filled up the profile forms online, giving suggestions, and giggling with me. I agree it was fun in the beginning. I was dragged along to family functions and weddings, forced to put up a ‘good girl’ image. Every third step I took, there was a relative, looking very important, waiting to advice, admonish or approve. One of my many unknown relatives came up to me, teary-eyed, and spoke vehemently about how she would make it her life’s goal to find me a suitable husband, and then blew her nose loudly, causing a few people to frown at me. I was introduced to people I didn’t know and had to stand with a wide smile pasted on my face, as they gave me the once-over. I put up with it for a while, till it became irksome. My mom had to give me inconspicuous jabs to stop me from shooting off my mouth or rolling my eyes. But it did feel nice to be the centre of attention at the gatherings.

Apart from socializing, I started taking care of myself, going to the gym, increasing my beauty parlor visits to 2 per week and staring at saris displayed on shop windows, wondering if green made me look fat. I found myself asking my cousins for pedicure tips, stopping at every ‘sale’ sign, and worrying about my tummy. My dad became moodier while my mom became more exuberant. Sometimes he looked wistful, probably still imagining me in a pink frock and pigtails. I was ambivalent, but decided to go with the flow. Besides, my mom’s excitement was infectious.

It was exciting at first, going through the guys’ profiles, laughing and commenting, picking and choosing. And I had to admit it gave me a thrill to receive a couple of messages through the website. My excitement stopped short when I saw the kind of profiles that I got messages from. I immediately realized why some men have to resort to matrimonial websites to find a girl. If they had been more ‘worth-a-second-look’ or smarter, they wouldn’t need a website.

As the days went by, I became increasingly frustrated. Most of the profiles wanted ‘simple, home-loving traditional girl with modern values’. I don’t get it. What do they mean by simple? I asked my friend about this and he said, “Probably just means she should say yes to whatever the guy says.” I shook my head in disgust. What’s the fun in being a simple girl? Complexity meant intrigue and more fun anyway. I was also starting to get a headache whenever I saw the oxymoronic statement “traditional with modern values”. And there was the fact that hardly any of the profile descriptions were properly phrased. One guy had written “I want to make love with the girl I want to marry”. My mom and I rolled on the floor with laughter when we saw this one. Occasionally, a few profiles sounded impressive, but the photos made them look mentally retarded.

Somewhere along the line (I think it was after the 102nd profile that I saw and was disappointed yet again) I realized my search would never be complete anyway. And then I hoped fate would displace all my plans and maybe unexpectedly make me fall in love with someone. At least then my mother would have only the saris left to worry about......