|
Chennai is one city in
India which boasts of the advantages of a metro city and yet retains
the charm of a smaller place as yet unspoilt by intense modernity.
Over the years the negating factors of a harried pace of life have
been kept at bay and in quite a few pockets orthodox lifestyles are
still intact not only with the Brahmin community as is popularly
imagined but among the non-Brahmin communities as well.
Take one facet of
existing orthodoxy- the system of arranged marriages. However modern
or emancipated they might seem as far as external appearances go,
parents of eligibles suffer from one big preoccupation –
searching for a life partner for their son or daughter.
Society has already
branded them (the parents) as progressive, they are seen at important
social events, clubs and theatres. Drawing room conversations help to
define them even better.
They are not straddled
with the barriers of caste, community, language or for that matter
even religion.
Mr. Rajan dabs his brow
most self-righteously. “Barriers are all created by men”,
he expounds. “ We are all children of one God”. Mrs. Swamy
swirls the amber liquid in her glass and peers at him thoughtfully.
“That reminds me, darling, why don’t you consider the
paperwallah’s son for your daughter? He works in a
multinational, is a lovely boy, only son of his parents……”
Mr. Rajan touches his bald pate apologetically. He clears his throat.
“Er yes – why no? I must ask Sushila.”
Sushila, his wife hisses
back- “Are you mad? A Gujarati son-in-law!” “Shhh!”
Mr. Rajan wipes his face with his large handkerchief and gets up to
leave promising to get in touch with Mr. Swamy after he consults the
daughter. The next day the Rajans are getting set to view a bride for
their only son (M.Com, MBA, U.S. returned). They have dispensed with
the question of dowry. You see they are progressive and emancipated
and not diehard traditionalists.
They are seated in the
‘adequately furnished’ drawing room of a middle class
family. Mrs. Rajan’s eye roves restlessly over each detail, the
wisps of cobwebs fluttering in remote dark corners, the family
heirloom, a magnificent Tanjore painting, hung askew, a pair of worn
out chappals hidden cleverly under a chair, small but relevant
details recorded meticulously in her mind for a memory recall later
in the precincts of her own home.
The girl’s people
are simple, even charming. Would this factor over ride the others?
Ah, the girl at last. A
pretty girl no doubt, but the long plait? That could be lopped off if
Subhash so wished it. She wore a simple cotton sari, a pair of
unobtrusive pearl ear studs and a thin modest gold chain. Outward
strappings did not indicate that the parents would generously endow
the girl with jewellery. “Could I visit the toilet please?”
Sushila stood up purposefully. It was her usual gimmick to enter the
sanctum sanctorum unannounced, to record the state of the rooms.
Well, this one passed muster! Besides it afforded her another glimpse
of the girl. Goodbyes were bid formally with kumkum, haldi and betel
leaves and horoscopes and photographs exchanged. “Good
(Achoo)-bye, Aunty” said the prospective bride, her hopes
soaring at the sight of the gleam in her future mother-in-law’s
eye.
The most mortem begins at
home. The people are alright, the standard of living not too bad. The
bride satisfies their requisite - fair, pretty and a trifle
generously endowed with curves. The horoscopes match perfectly so all
that it requires is a go ahead from Subash. “Can we make the
next move?” asks Mr. Rajan somewhat nervously. “We could
have”, replies his wife in a garrulous manner,” except that
something very inauspicious happened when we were leaving. The bride
sneezed once and just as we were leaving.”
The family astrologer is
a rich man in Madras. No major decisions are taken without his leave
and if a family is hooked on to him, then he hones their desires to
perfection. Firstly, each day there is a good time and a bad time-
“Rahu Kalam” in the mornings (the timings differ each day
of the week) and “Yama Gandam” which is milder and in the
afternoons. Nothing of importance is conducted during these
inauspicious hours, certainly no bride (or bridegroom) viewing, no
inaugurations or launchings. Why, a very famous surgeon I know
postpones his surgery till after Rahu Kalam, and he has made it a
point to step out of his house each day at an auspicious hour. His
wife has made a study of the various timings and the panchagam (Hindu
calendar) is to her a Bible which is ever by her bedside. I have no
doubts that her husband’s enormous success is largely due to his
wife’s care and concern.
The astrologer assumes
the role of a family counsellor whilst his clients pour their hearts
out on issues of health, property, family feuds, matrimonial
alliances, et al. He is never demanding, mind you, and the fee is
modest, ranging from five rupees. Occasionally, they recommend
expensive pujas to propitiate the gods and to ward off the evil
thereby giving destiny a little nudge.
| 
