Mad about the boy

People Like Us

"It may not be our daughter," said my wife, "but you should be honoured that my cousin from out of town has asked us to meet the potential groom's family for her daughter, and so you must put your best foot forward." "The only reason she's asked us to represent her is because we live in Delhi and she doesn't," I clarified sarcastically, "besides this primer is 288 pages thick."

At any event, I looked through its pages. It informed me that, besides having my nails clipped and my shoes shone, I needed to be polite but firm, serious but good-natured, formal but inquisitive, and to avoid all discussions that were of political, religious or other controversial nature.

This put a bit of a dampener on our conversation when we met the boy's parents at their house. We had been asked to lunch where, in less than five minutes, we had exhausted our cache of safe subjects. "That'a a lovely painting," said my wife. "Thank you," said the prospective ma-in-law. "Nice carpet too," she added. "Thank you," said ma-in-law again. "Er, nice ashtray," I added my bit to the effort. "I think we should have lunch," said father-in-law-to-be.

Lunch was followed by dinner at our house. We now had something more to say. "Nice lunch," murmured my wife appreciatively. "Thank you," said our guests, "we're sure dinner will be nice too." Since our repertoire clearly included little else that was permitted by the primer, dinner was hastily served, and our guests left just as quickly.

But the ordeal was by no means over yet. We were invited once again to a "thank-you" at the parents' house, and were asked by my wife's cousin to respond similarly. Clearly help was required, and collectively we reached for the primer. "Use positive body language," read out my wife to me. "Body language is very well," I pointed out, "it's the lack of verbal communication that bothers me."

"The men'" she continued to read, "must discuss male issues such as the stockmarket, or property prices." "I know nothing about the stockmarket," I said, "and even less about real estate." "That is a problem," she agreed, "but you could memorise share prices from today's papers, then throw them at random into a conversation, which should do the trick."

"It says here," I said taking the primer from her, "that women must conduct themselves in a manner that is feminine and does not threaten men. Won't that be difficult for you?" My wife glared at me and said if I was to begin memorising the prices of shares, I should get down to the task right away.

With those meetings now behind us, it's time to finally meet the "boy", whom we hope to clear so that, under our strict chaperonage, the "girl" can be invited to Delhi. "I'm going on a diet," said my wife to her cousin on the phone, looking at her expanding waistline in dismay.

"You dare not," said the cousin, "because if you don't eat proper meals with the boy's parents, they'll think you're insulting their cooking, and may call off the wedding." "But what about my weight?" moaned my wife.

"If everything works out fine, I'll pay for a diet plan of your choice," said her cousin, "but if it doesn't, you'll have to start meeting other families all over again, and that'll only add to the problem of your weight."