Mission Driven Life

Mission Driven Life

I am on a mission. There is too much inequality and injustice in this world. Why should some privileged individuals keep on having a wonderful time while others suffer in ignominy? I envy all the carefree, cheerful, happy-go-lucky people in this world. My only mission in life is to make them as miserable as folks in my situation are.

Oscar Wilde had suggested a long time ago, “Bachelors should be heavily taxed. It is not fair that some men should be happier than others.” And if they are not ready to pay the extra tax, I suggest that the government should make marrying compulsory after a certain age. Their revelry cannot go on forever.

We the married ones want them to fall into the rut as soon as possible. Whereupon, they can reproduce, spend the best days of their lives raising their progeny, and then get them into the rut too, asap. This is the rule of life.

It is against all norms and all philosophical principles to remain happy and single. Not only me, I bet, your parents, relatives, and friends have also been asking you to surrender your freedoms and rights to live like normal wretched human beings. And mind you, we do not simply ask, but use all the tactics up our sleeves and other parts of our garments like sweet talk, emotional blackmail, tears, comparisons, carrots, sticks, etc. etc. Only the highly obstinate ones can survive such pressure.

I used to fairly succeed in my endeavors while I was in India, but after moving here, I found the problems of the NRI and the American-born-confused-Desi (ABCD) kids too difficult to solve.

A few months ago, I met an Indian couple at the swimming pool of our community, which is located in the midst of beautiful gardens alongside a sprawling lake, where I go for a walk whenever someone upsets me by commenting on my weight. When the lady told me that her daughter was in a college and her son, an electrical engineer, was working for a software company and that both were unmarried, I felt as if some divine power had led them to me. They were in the right company.

And now it was my responsibility to see her children well settled. Immediately, we walked back to my house, and I showed them the thick albums and presented a fine dissertation on the suitable matches. I could tell she was extremely pleased with my knowledge repository. After that she invited me to her midtown home two times—once to meet her son and the next time to speak with her daughter.

Oh God, give me the strength to carry on with my mission. Both the meetings turned out to be disastrous, shocking eye-openers for me. I’m now planning to send my daughter to India so that she grows up learning about Indian culture and traditions.

The son was a young man in his thirties, though he looked ten years younger. He had boyish charms accompanied by an air of confidence and curiosity. He looked at the pictures of all the girls with keen interest and even asked questions about their religion, caste, education, and the ability of their families to shell out dough for the dowry and a lavish wedding. He looked quite satisfied, but as soon as his parents left the room, he transformed into something reminiscent of a wimpy straight-C student begging his teacher to tell his parents that C is the new A.

“Please, please, Auntie, only you can save me! I’m in a relationship with a white woman for the past two years and my parents don’t want to hear about her.”

I was shocked like never before, not because he called me Auntie, but to see how far the new generation could degenerate. I declined to be a part of his charade, and tried my best to discourage him from bringing home a woman who is not conditioned to manage an Indian household. There was no match for a cultured Indian girl, who would respect his parents as well as cook and clean for them without any murmur.

“Desi girls are not for me,” he said. “I can’t tolerate their nakhras. I’m very happy with Keira. Please make my parents understand this.”

I wanted to warn him that those white girls were devoid of morality and they were like pests. His girlfriend's name literally meant insect in Hindi.

A few days later, when I went to meet the daughter, I was under an impression that I was past being shocked. But, oh my God…

Arjun and Lord Krishna

Oh God, it is about time you reincarnated as an adult Kaliyuga Avatar to save this goddamned world. We don’t have the time for you to be born and then grow up....

The girl said she had nothing against Desi boys. The only criterion was that she would have to be in love and that they should be compatible. Yes, I assured her, we would obviously make sure the boy she married was compatible by getting their horoscopes matched by a priest or an astrologer.

But no, the defiant brat was not even willing to look at the pictures. And I gathered that in complete ignorance of her parents, she had been dating since high school. Either she managed to fool her parents the whole time, or they had been feigning ignorance to save their faces. Ironically, the mother had bragged to me about how her children had not been corrupted by American culture. I could not stand the girl anymore. After that day, I began to doubt my mission and gave up on Desi girls. They were beyond salvation.

But then the Internet happened, and I found in it a huge sprawling tree for my bleak creeper. Now, I keep registering on various matrimonial websites in different names. Dear bachelor and bachelorette friends from Facebook and Twitter, if you discover your profile on any of these sites, please do not panic. It is a small effort on my part to bring e-quality to this unfair, unjust world.

PS: @Mayank: You are under my radar. @All: Mayank Sharma is our friend’s son. He is one of the most eligible bachelors in New Delhi. I want to see him settled down, so that he stops playing Mafia Wars on Facebook, and starts participating in real family wars, face to face. He says that he is also into blogging. I didn’t get the time to visit his blog, though.