Marrying Anita

Anita Nair's Jain's Marrying Anita is poignant at times, funny and sarcastic at times and quite realistic at others.

Marriage, stands as a testimony to the cultures and customs of any society. There is no denying the fact that it is an integral part of Indian culture. Have you as an unmarried Indian woman, around and above 20 years of age, at some point or the other, faced both covert as well as inquisitive questions about getting married?

Family celebrations, any visits to relatives and you are showered with queries that range from the direct “So when are you getting married?” , the veiled ”So what do you plan to do next?” , the emotional “Your poor parents are waiting to finish off their duties. Hope you understand and be a good daughter to them.” and even the seemingly helpful and friendly “Tell me what kind of boy you want. I will search for you dear! Trust me-you will be married within a year without fail!!” Never mind the fact that you may or may not be interested!

Your parents are bombarded and you are constantly probed. The more the delay, the more suspicious and worried are the kith and kin, resulting in a more vicious groom-hunt. So what happens if you are a 30-something Indian origin lady, who has lived the most part of your life in the West? This is the basic foundation of ‘Marrying Anita’ by Anita Jain.

The story is told from the protagonist’s viewpoint (in this case, presumably Anita herself) and it follows her as she travels from the USA to India in order to find a suitable husband. Of course, she has gone through the dating routines of her adopted country, but has yet failed to find ‘that special someone’ due to varied reasons.

Anita finds Life to be quite different and yet interestingly similar to Life, as she knew it, back in the States. She can draw many parallels between both. She is introduced to several prospective grooms but somehow things still don’t fall into place.

While on this journey, she meets many people from different walks of life and each one seems to have a different way of handling their respective marriages. Some appear to be mere compromises due to societal pressures; Some seem to be genuinely happy and content while still others seem to be hiding behind fragile facades, which may come crumbling down at any moment and catch you unawares. She realizes that the set of rules that were applicable to the previous generations of our mothers and grandmothers, seem to no longer satisfy the young and urbane Indian woman. Anita comprehends that today’s modern Indian woman is smart enough to set her own rules, bold enough to follow them and what is more, suave enough to pull it off too.

She understands also that an increasingly large number of young women are no more satisfied with playing second-fiddle to their husbands and in-laws. No longer does marriage mean abandoning ones’ dreams and aspirations. Rather she expects and in fact, sometimes even demands that her marriage be aligned with her goals.

In an era when, even home-grown damsels are increasingly feeling uncomfortable with the idea of an “arranged marriage”, the NRI has her own issues. But then does she really? Are her problems and dilemmas actually very different from that faced by the middle-class, educated, working and independent desi girl of the modern and ever-developing India?

These are just some of the questions that arise while reading this engaging book. It has an open and light-hearted air, without being condescending or presumptuous, which makes it a pleasant read. Does Anita find answers to all her confusions and a solution to her problem? Is she successful in meeting the man of her dreams? Read ‘Marrying Anita’ to find out! Chances are that you will relate to it.

Have you already read it? Please share your thoughts with me!

A Letter….. From a Mother to a Daughter

My dearest chickoo,

Today, our neighbor Swetha delivered a baby girl. Mother and child are doing fine. I had gone to visit them. Seeing that cute little miracle reminded me of the very first day I held you in my hands. Oh you smelt so sweet! The fragrance of pure, unadulterated Innocence.
You clasped my hand with your tiny fingers. Even the most expensive silk, the lightest feather or softest fur could not be compared. Something stirred in the very depths of my heart. Was this what they call ‘Love at first sight?’ I wondered.

With every small step you took, with every teensy inch you grew, with every fussy mouthful you ate, with every wink you slept, with every new word you spoke I fell more and more in Love with you. Your divine face was what I saw every time I was tired or weary. I plodded through my average job in a average day, in the hope of seeing your sunny smile in the evening when I returned home. It helped me bear my superiors’ egos, the crowded buses, the hot afternoon sun, the mornings when my body begged for a few more minutes of blessed sleep, the times when my Vanity wanted to throw away some money on that beautiful sari instead of buying you some sweets or trinkets or dolls and so much more. A lifetime of mediocrity was made brilliant only by your presence.

As days went by, you grew and blossomed into such a beautiful person-both inside and outside. I could see the envy in everyone’s eyes, but you always treated them kindly.

Is that what you found finally unbearable my dear one? To be kind and gentle in such an unkind and harsh world? Could you not bear to see the Beauty inside you rusted and corroded by this unfair Life? Could you not tolerate the destruction of the dreamy, ideal world that you built, by the uncaring people you met?
Could you not find one soul who could help you?
When you were young, you fell down often. You always used to come crying and running to me with a bruised knee. You trusted that I could wipe away your tears and heal your wounds- Could you not have trusted me to at least soothe, if not heal, your broken spirit? Could you not see the one person who would have forgiven you of anything, absolved you of everything and loved you with all her existence no matter what?
Why did you not confide in me my angel? Why did you not pause, one moment, on that beautiful November evening to spare a single thought for your mother?
What were you so afraid of that you had to leave me in eternal agony?
I lived for you-is that why I deserve this cruel punishment?
When your tender leg kicked my womb, I delighted in it; When your rosebud lips spat out food at me I wiped it away without complaining; When you were angry with me childishly, I bore it; When you were ashamed of my hugs in front of your teenaged friends, I just smiled to myself. I only wanted the best for you. Were these my mistakes? Was I a failure as a Mother? Is that why you decided to push me away and desert me forever?

So many questions.
But the only answer I get, no matter how persistently I ask them, is Silence.

When I hear of Mother’s Day and Daughter’s Day and even Valentine’s Day I think of you, my lost Love. When my colleagues’ daughters get married, I am haunted by the dreams I once had dreamt for you. When I see a mother and daughter shopping together or enjoying a movie or sharing a joke over some coffee I miss you. The womb that housed you has shriveled up, the heart that beat for you is aching, the shoulders that you slept on are heavy, the hands that cradled you are limp and the Life that you lit up is now dark and empty.
I never knew why you quit that fateful day and will never know either.

Sweetheart I can no longer cry; all I can do is wonder.

With Love,
Mommy.