The Agents of Disaster - Matchmakers

Put two perfectly independent standalone words together, and you have all the trappings for a potential debacle.

Case in question – the words ‘match’ and ‘make.’

Place them adjacently in a sentence, and the result is guaranteed to induce one or all these symptoms - unbridled squirming in the seat, characteristic awkwardness, cringing, and a flood of painful memories that make you wince each time you walk that path.

The matchmaking is usually done by well-meaning friends and relatives, with the latter of course, wrestling ahead by a clear, authoritative margin. Notwithstanding the high rate of divorce among couples who are clearly not meant to be with each other in the first place, these shining examples of frontrunners, committed to wipe out all traces of singledom from this world, trudge valiantly on this chosen humanitarian mission...

The results are disastrous, to say the least, much more perhaps than a recipe gone awry.

Leaving the matchmaker with guilt, sadness, a red face, and ears that have smoke billowing out of them – thanks to the unparliamentary language they have been subjected to. But the matchmaker in them intact – already spinning the next ‘knotty’ venture...

The quotient of matchmaking increases by leaps and bounds in social gatherings, with marriages topping the list. Almost every single guy or nubile girl who strolls into a marriage is sized up and down, and pounced upon in various degrees of swiftness by relatives - dowagers in particular. Parents are called for, heads are seen bowed together in hush-hush discussions, fingers are pointed innocently to the unsuspecting victim, and winks and grins are exchanged with gleeful abandon.

Those parents who are reluctant to go along with this matchmaking are slyly recounted horror stories about the dejected (and rejected) girl who wheeled in her twenty-fifth tea-trolley to a prospective groom’s family, only to be turned away yet again. Or the crestfallen 30-something guy who had disconsolately submitted to the arms of the friendly dancer with the heaving bosom at the cushy private lounge and the charms of the beckoning-invitingly bottle of heady spirit. The customary shudder post this narration is enough to make even the most assertive of parents think of the ‘no-harm’ clause that this matchmaking illustrates. And give a nod of approval, casting looks of pure gratefulness to the well-intentioned relative that God has bestowed upon them.

Big mistake.

Awkward coffee meetings and drives to the nearest mall are suggested. And worse, organized meticulously! The two disoriented victims are literally bundled into a car, nudges are freely doled-out, and as the car disappears around the bend in a cloud of dust, relatives and family go into a collective ‘Awwww.’ Hands clasped, these relatives go into an orgiastic overdrive about what a pretty picture the two make, predicting happy endings, exchange of wedding rings and garlands, and of course - a brood of healthy children. A few more discomfited meetings are arranged, under the loving eyes of family and friends. All seems to be going well. Just when the candyfloss romance and pink balloons look geared to become a reality, the drama begins –the victims proclaim irrevocable incompatibility, and absolutely refuse to step out for yet another drive. All hopes are dashed in one swift, fluid movement. And while the relatives scream ‘Foul’ in indignation, the victims breathe a little easy, and look up at the sky in gratitude.

Cut to another month – the marriage season is upon everyone again. ‘Pandits’ have red-lettered several days as being auspicious for nuptials. While relatives smack their lips in sheer ecstasy at the prospect of all that matchmaking, youngsters this time are smarter. As they say – once bitten, twice shy.

So while the guy – Victim #1 from last season, swears bitterly about the every-increasing truckload of work that has ‘suddenly’ descended upon his hapless neck, Victim #2, the girl with sparkling eyes who's partial to showing-off her ethnic drapes, makes a mental note to not arrive at any wedding unchaperoned. Help is at hand - in the form of her friend’s brother who (after his palms were greased with a much-sought-after invite-for-two to a hugely-hyped party in town),
performs the role of attentive beau, to perfection. That he just came out of the closet is information that only she is privy to, and she smiles at her very own private joke cum secret.

She’s ready for the wedding season – fabulously armed!

Looking gooey-eyed at her chaperone, she blows him a kiss (knowing that this will send the onlookers into a frenzy). It does! He does the much-practised and perfected sighing-grinning-from-ear-to-ear routine; she blushes, drapes her sequinned scarf tightly around her embellished attire, and walks with her fingers knitted trustingly in his.

Matchmakers be damned!

Another wedding.

Thankfully, not her own.

She sighs in relief.