Bride viewing
Nowadays in India, at least in middle class families, arranged marriages begin with an introduction betweeen the families and the prospective bride and groom. Both individuals and their families are more or less on an equal footing. In the old days, the groom's family clearly had the upper hand. They would go to the bride's house to "see" the girl and give her a sort of oral exam to assess her education and household skills. If she claimed to have musical talent, they might ask her to sing. Her mother might proudly show off her needlework and swear, sometimes mendaciously, that the delectable snacks the examiners were biting into were made entirely by the expert hands of the bride-to-be. In even older times, they would ask the girl to walk around to make sure she was not hiding some kind of deformity. But by the time my mimi (the name I called my mother's youngest sister) was ready to be "seen", things had improved to the point that, instead of being regarded as prize cattle, girls were treated more like prospective employees.
Mimi was the last girl left to be married off in my mother's family when I was a kid. Whenever we visited my mamar badi, she was my temporary caretaker, round-the-clock companion and best ever friend. She fed me and bathed me; she adorned my face in powder, eyes in kajal and hair in red ribbons every evening. She taught me to sing, acoompanying me with her soft melodious voice and a harmonium. I refused to go anywhere without her, be it the zoo or a movie; if mimi was not going, neither was I. Every night before bed, she faithfully rubbed Boroline cream into her face and arms (see Boroline song video here). (Even now, the scent of Boroline can conjure up my childhood mamar badi days in a flash.) One momentous day, a strange family came to see mimi. I have no recollection of what they said or did, only that, lying next to her that night on the common bed (made up on the floor of the main room), I had this feeling that she wasn't my old, familiar mimi anymore; she was different and magical, a bride-in-waiting.
I missed mimi's wedding and the wedding of almost every aunt and uncle on both sides since we lived far away from Kolkata, two and a half days by train. (I had no idea I was missing anything but I feel so sorry for my poor mother when I think of it now. It must have felt unbearably lonely knowing that the whole family, innumerable siblings, cousins, children and elders, would all be together except for her. I only remember attending the traditional wedding of one of my mother's cousins. The bride in red, sitting on a wooden plank and covering her eyes with two betel leaves, was carried by her brothers seven times around the groom.) When it was time for my older cousins to be interviewed, however, I was back in Kolkata and present on a few of these occasions. There was nothing magical about it this time. The aunts were worried that a suitable groom hadn't been found for their niece who was moving into her late twenties even though she was light-skinned, slim, educated and had managed a household ever since she had lost her mother at twenty two. Would things be even harder for the darker, younger sister? Both sisters eventually got married, had children and lived reasonably happy lives. But at that time, it was worrisome and, frankly, mortifying as the younger sister told me once. "Don't ever let yourself be seen and rejected multiple times like this", she said. (I managed to avoid having a marriage arranged and so did most of my younger cousins; we arranged matters for ourselves and I think most of the parents were relieved that they didn't have to take on the responsibility.)
To round off the story of my experiences with bride viewing, here's an account of the time I was on the other side. As a teenager, I went along with the groom's party once on a bride-seeing visit for my cousin. I was excited to go on what I saw as a "romantic" outing which was sure to involve tasty, sweet and savory snacks. But the whole visit turned out to be extremely uncomfortable. It wasn't because the hosts weren't nice. The problem was that they were too nice. I was used to going along to places with elders and being mostly invisible. But here I was part of the power group and the family went out of their way to be extra nice even to me. It felt like we were demeaning them just by being there. It seemed unconscionable that we, random strangers, wielded the right to approve or reject their beloved daughter based on a cursory meeting. I couldn't wait to leave and am happy I never went on such a visit ever again.
I'm glad the process of marriage-arranging, at least in some parts of society, is a lot more egalitarian these days.
Mimi was the last girl left to be married off in my mother's family when I was a kid. Whenever we visited my mamar badi, she was my temporary caretaker, round-the-clock companion and best ever friend. She fed me and bathed me; she adorned my face in powder, eyes in kajal and hair in red ribbons every evening. She taught me to sing, acoompanying me with her soft melodious voice and a harmonium. I refused to go anywhere without her, be it the zoo or a movie; if mimi was not going, neither was I. Every night before bed, she faithfully rubbed Boroline cream into her face and arms (see Boroline song video here). (Even now, the scent of Boroline can conjure up my childhood mamar badi days in a flash.) One momentous day, a strange family came to see mimi. I have no recollection of what they said or did, only that, lying next to her that night on the common bed (made up on the floor of the main room), I had this feeling that she wasn't my old, familiar mimi anymore; she was different and magical, a bride-in-waiting.
I missed mimi's wedding and the wedding of almost every aunt and uncle on both sides since we lived far away from Kolkata, two and a half days by train. (I had no idea I was missing anything but I feel so sorry for my poor mother when I think of it now. It must have felt unbearably lonely knowing that the whole family, innumerable siblings, cousins, children and elders, would all be together except for her. I only remember attending the traditional wedding of one of my mother's cousins. The bride in red, sitting on a wooden plank and covering her eyes with two betel leaves, was carried by her brothers seven times around the groom.) When it was time for my older cousins to be interviewed, however, I was back in Kolkata and present on a few of these occasions. There was nothing magical about it this time. The aunts were worried that a suitable groom hadn't been found for their niece who was moving into her late twenties even though she was light-skinned, slim, educated and had managed a household ever since she had lost her mother at twenty two. Would things be even harder for the darker, younger sister? Both sisters eventually got married, had children and lived reasonably happy lives. But at that time, it was worrisome and, frankly, mortifying as the younger sister told me once. "Don't ever let yourself be seen and rejected multiple times like this", she said. (I managed to avoid having a marriage arranged and so did most of my younger cousins; we arranged matters for ourselves and I think most of the parents were relieved that they didn't have to take on the responsibility.)
To round off the story of my experiences with bride viewing, here's an account of the time I was on the other side. As a teenager, I went along with the groom's party once on a bride-seeing visit for my cousin. I was excited to go on what I saw as a "romantic" outing which was sure to involve tasty, sweet and savory snacks. But the whole visit turned out to be extremely uncomfortable. It wasn't because the hosts weren't nice. The problem was that they were too nice. I was used to going along to places with elders and being mostly invisible. But here I was part of the power group and the family went out of their way to be extra nice even to me. It felt like we were demeaning them just by being there. It seemed unconscionable that we, random strangers, wielded the right to approve or reject their beloved daughter based on a cursory meeting. I couldn't wait to leave and am happy I never went on such a visit ever again.
I'm glad the process of marriage-arranging, at least in some parts of society, is a lot more egalitarian these days.
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