Indian matchmaking - has nothing changed?
20 years later, the memory is still vivid. He sat on a Neelkamal chair, rocking gently on the wobbly hind legs while I worried of what would happen if he tripped and fell. I wouldn’t be able to control my laughter then, would I? His right leg was rooted firmly in a Bata slipper while his left leg was folded in a lap resting on the other. He massaged the resting left foot, plucking the cuticles around his big toe with his fingernails. I could see him peeling some off, playing with the barked skin turning it into a tiny ball, until he got bored and flicked it to the ground. I hid my disgust and tried to distract myself. The pedicure continued. He spoke with authority like he was a Vijay Deenanath Chahuan. Question followed question, and with every passing moment I felt more uncomfortable and hid deeper into my shell, like a nervous tortoise. The next day they called to say the Kundali did not match, a common excuse when the ladke-vale were convinced the skin color didn’t match (their exp...