Love in the time of strong dislike

I watched 2 States last night. I'll admit I didn't expect to like it as much as I did. When you read a book or watch a movie that sings your lifesong, you tend not to give a fig about negative reviews; you review it with your own view. I found this movie cute, even though I found some of the things silly. I may not watch it again on the big screen, but I'll be happy to watch it a few more times on the telly.

The movie was more or less about Fatty and me (and maybe the Bhagats). More, because the couple had a beautiful traditional wedding while Fatty and I got married in court (our wedding photos look so fake it's not even funny). And less, because our story is of 3 states - Maharashtra, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka (which can be perfectly equated to three other states of solid, liquid and gas).

Since my earliest memory on the subject, I've always wanted to have a Love Marriage. I'll blame my father's parents for setting this benchmark; theirs (I hear) was a revolutionary love story in the time when love stories were only read about, not acted out. In fact, in those days, not too many people read anything at all, because illiteracy. 

The possibility of an Arranged Marriage never even crossed my mind, because it (my mind) was steeped in hardcore romanticism. A knight in shining armour was to come live in my neighbourhood and  sweep me off my feet when no one was looking. Sadly, by the time I was 25, I realized the chances of getting struck by lightning were higher. Nonetheless I was quite disturbed when my relatives started arranging things (proposals, wedding venues, etc.) for my marriage. The last thing I wanted was to marry a Mangalorean boy (and acquire a Mangalorean monster-in-law). Fatty was already in the picture then, so I ran away with him. You should hear him tell The Tale of Seven Plastic Bags (which was what I walked out from home with).

At the time I had no idea what I was getting into. I ran away from the lion's den, and straight into the bear's cave, so to speak. In retrospect, I can see we completely lacked foresight. We had only one one-track plan, which sat right in our combined blind spot. We were to get married, move to London, adopt their culture, and live happily ever after.

I must say we started out beautifully; I even left my old blog behind, started this new one (in 2008) and called it The Times of London. However, the ever after was short lived; in a little over 3 years, we were required to relocate back to Mumbai. We were thrown into Situation B without a plan, and this blog got its new name that would fit all locations, heaven included.

You may think an inter-caste marriage is difficult to deal with, but you'll have to think again when it comes to inter-religion marriages. It is a different ball game altogether, and is like comparing Golf against Quidditch. In India, you don't just marry the boy or his immediate family, you marry even the distant 11th cousin. While Fatty and I have no real problems with our immediate in-laws (for lack of a better term), the culture clashes do boggle our minds. We are constantly falling short of cross-cultural expectations. For instance, Fatty never attends funerals, which upsets my side of the family; and I wear very little gold at weddings, which upsets his side(s) of the family. Sometimes we end up looking London talking Tokyo (minus the steak and sushi), because relatives are vicious enough to point your wrongs out rather than inform you of the rights beforehand.

I could go on and on for all three states our families collectively represent, but after six years of this cultural hodgepodge, I have begun to strongly advocate Arranged Marriages instead.

- L for Love in the time of strong dislike (My A to Z Challenge)