Trained to WED!

For most girls in Kerala, especially those belonging to communities who believe in child marriage, twenty something is the age when you experience a mid-life crisis. Because, according to our wise elders, twenty is the age when a properly functioning female is supposed to be fully prepared to give up her whole life and start anew.

I kid you not. It’s like there’s this switch that flips when you hit twenty and suddenly, you go from a clumsy, socially awkward teenager to a mature responsible adult, the epitome of grace and sophistication. You go from gawky and tousle haired to “wifey material” to all the eligible bachelors out there. You go from faded jeans and old tees to sarees and bangles and long earrings. In other words, you go from fun and spontaneous to ditch water dull.

Which is all well and good. If you ever achieve that level of perfection straight from the beat. There are those cutesy girly girls who are very much suited to this Herculean task. It’s like they’ve been waiting their whole life to embrace this sudden attention to their every action. Uncles and aunts gushing over how you grew up so fast, how you were in diapers only the day before (hell, I know I still am!). Constant reminders to stop slouching, to learn to cook and walk with poise are issued, military style. Endless streams of marriage proposals from balding old guys (who could pass for your father in poor lighting conditions) pelt you left and right.

Then there are the poor sods like myself who are in for a rude awakening as soon as we cross over to the other side of twenty. We realise that while our comrades flit hither and thither like graceful little butterflies, the zippers of our caterpillar costumes are stuck. Oh no, no metamorphosis for us! Nada! We’re going to be gawky a while longer. A considerable while longer; because our caterpillar-suit zippers seem to have vanished altogether!

There are a number of definitions for a mid-life crisis. Google defines it as “an emotional crisis of identity and self-confidence that can occur in early middle age”, “a period of psychological stress occurring in middle age”, “a period of emotional turmoil in middle age characterized especially by a strong desire for change”. All these definitions basically stress the same words; middle age. But that is not a luxury afforded to many young girls, even in this supposedly progressive era. You’re born, you’re twenty, you marry, you make babies, and you die. Hush, child! No back-answering!

I like to get up late on weekends (and college days too, unfortunately) and rush about half dressed while my mum tries to shovel some breakfast into my mouth. I like taking my time to laze about and driving my mum up the wall trying to find a pair of matching socks. I like fighting with my little brother for no reason whatsoever, other than the satisfaction of punching him just to make him chase me around the house. I like to wear the first thing that touches my hand when I stick it into the cupboard and I find my mum’s consequent reproaches endearing. And boy, do I love to spend half the day stuffing my face while watching reruns of old cartoons and F.R.I.E.N.D.S and the other half sleeping like a log!

Now they want me to give all that up to cook, clean and wash the underpants of a total stranger? No, thank you, I say! I’d rather spend the day driving everyone around me nuts.

It’s sad that my parents want me to get married so soon. Life begins after college. After getting a job, the excitement of moving into my very own apartments, partying all weekend long and slogging through the work days and getting a fat(hopefully) cheque at the end of the month. There are so many places I want to travel to, some with family, some with friends and some alone, to contemplate. And this I want to do without having to lug around the extra luggage that says “hubby” on the label. I want to meet new and exciting people and go trekking and white water rafting and parachute diving. I want to make mistakes and learn from them, and then make a few more just for the heck of it. I want to stumble and fall and bleed, if only to rise up stronger and more confident than before. I want to be myself, simply me, and not be judged. I’m not saying I want to die alone, but if I choose to stay single, I should be given the option to. I would love to get married, I really do love reception food and it’s a great big party with pretty lights and all the people I love in the same room. I mean, who wouldn’t love to get married to the man of their dreams? But hey, give me a chance to find myself before I find him.

All my life, I live trying to please my parents and after a certain period of time they hand me over to another guy with a fat dowry(an evil I will in no way tolerate) and a bucketful of blessings. So I spend twenty years of my life the way my parents want me to(which is fine, I love them that much) , a few more trying to get my bearings in a new family and the rest of my life trying to raise a family of my own. Isn’t that rather unfair? I mean, when do I get to fulfil my dreams and chase my own happiness? Where is the big break between living for my parents and starting a new life where I get to enjoy some “me-time” and discover just how big the world is?

The responsibilities that come with marriage are mind-boggling! Especially for someone like me, who can’t tell the difference between turmeric powder and coriander leaves. Yes, I’m that bad in the kitchen. So if I were to marry right now, the only options are to eat out every day and die from obesity or watch the telly all night, while slowly dying from starvation.

Why can’t I worry about grades and scabs like normal people my age all over the world rather than snubbing the throngs of annoying relatives who are dying to burden me with a guy whose hairline has receded more than the shoreline of the Lost City of Atlantis, with “boring “tattooed all over his face?

I’m worried all this worrying will cause me to wrinkle prematurely. And I haven’t even begun my life yet.