THE TRUE COLOURS OF THE INDIAN SHAADI BAZAAR

By SHAGORIKA EASWAR

With the plethora of viewing choices, it’s rare that a television series gets everyone across the board excited – fans tend to be concentrated based on genre or split along gender or generation lines.

But suddenly, everyone is talking about Indian Matchmaking on Netflix. Not just those who are familiar with the concept, but second-generation youth who claim to be disgusted by some of what they are hearing and seeing, but who admit to being hooked, nonetheless.

There’s something so voyeuristic about watching a bunch of young people – and their families – put themselves out there for public scrutiny and acceptance – or rejection – by complete strangers.

There’s no “winner” at the end, no season finale, and so one can excuse oneself. “I’m not watching a cheap reality show, this is slice of life, it happens.”

Which begs the question: Should it happen?

In her just-published book Bread Cement Cactus, Annie Zaidi writes that “matrimonial advertisements sometimes included ‘convented’ among the list of feminine virtues such as ‘homely’ or ‘beautiful’. The word signalled a measure of discipline, a decent education and, of course, English” in a ‘convent’ school.

If an employer ran an ad that stated a preference for tall, fair, slim candidates in a specific age group, belonging to a particular ethnicity or community within that ethnicity, they would invite the wrath of all kinds of human rights activists upon them. They would be accused of racism, ageism, casteism and every other ism you could think of. And yet, somehow, it’s okay to go out and boldly state all of the above in a so-called matrimonial ad with impunity. For there, it gains respectability and social acceptance under the guise of a wishlist.

There, it is couched under statements such as, “A marriage is not just between two individuals but between two families and this helps match common backgrounds”. Being from a different caste bans one from the club. A dark-skinned girl’s chances are next to nil, no matter how accomplished or wonderful a person she is. 

And this is not something that played out in ancient societies, back in some remote corner of the world. In Indian Matchmaking, Sima Taparia, who describes herself as Mumbai’s top matchmaker, and is a globetrotter with clients across India and the US, admits right off the bat that it will be difficult to find someone for a girl with Guyanese background.

Hello! I want to shake her. In this day and age, here? But the girl, Nadia, herself says that while she’s looking for someone with an Indian background, she is not seen as Indian because while her ancestry is Indian, her family is from Guyana.

Taparia asks each client for their “criteria” and promises to send them “bio-datas” of those that match. But she decries a client’s propensity to list attributes she’s looking for. “Like ordering from a menu,” says Taparia. But aren’t they all doing that?

A young man from a wealthy family in Mumbai says, “Show me the girls, the more options the better”. His mother lays down the law: The girl has to be flexible, height not below 5 feet-three inches.

A mother pressurises her 25-year-old son with talk of her blood pressure shooting up because he is not getting married.

“We have to see caste, height, age,” says someone.

Ankita, a young businesswoman, says she was body-shamed when she was younger and told she’d never find a husband if she didn’t lose weight.

She discovers during the show that the person she had been matched with by Sima Taparia’s Delhi associate is divorced only through an online search her friend does. That, in and of itself is not the problem, she says, but not having all the information going in, is.

Just goes to show that even a matchmaker who’s supposed to help you tick all the boxes can hold back significant information.

Where does that leave those looking for love?

I am deeply disheartened. Looks like nothing has changed since the days I gave a friend a hard time for going “shopping” for prospective brides.

Back then, he justified looking for a fair girl by pointing out, virtuously, that he wasn’t “asking for a dowry”.

So he and his family enjoyed the hospitality of a series of anxious families who served them lavish meals and paraded their daughters in the hope of landing a suitable boy.

That’s how it used to be. Girls were paraded. Boys chose. Or rejected.

The only thing going for this modern matchmaking exercise is that now, girls can reject candidates, too. They, too, can swipe left.

Oh, and there’s another unforeseen advantage. Those featured in the hugely popular series are being viewed as stars.

As Season One ends there’s no word on whether most of the hopefuls have found a life partner. But Aparna Shewakramani certainly finds stardom. 

I received an e-mail a few weeks ago about “Indian Matchmaking star Aparna’s participation in They See Blue’s phone banking event”.

Reflecting on the nature of the show, Aparna created her own Presidential Criteria referencing Joe Biden, the e-mail informed me. “This is an important moment: Texas is a key battleground state and They See Blue Texas is rallying the South Asian community to volunteer. The organization plans to increase voter turnout and registration and is seeking new volunteers for September and October initiatives.”

Her criteria were smart and fun.

Here’s hoping others agree.

Speaking for myself, I feel sad watching all these young people on an increasingly desperate search for a partner. Placing themselves in situations where a stranger walks into their homes and tells them that they have to compromise a little. How can a relationship that starts off with someone thinking he or she has compromised hope to last?

I hope they find the one they are looking for or that they find contentment within themselves, in their own strengths.

I want to say to them, “Be happy.”

It’s really not that complicated.

Or it shouldn’t be.

Postscript: Media reports suggest that none of the couples featured in the show found a match — even Akshay and Radhika who played dress-up for a roka ceremony are no longer together.