My marital blot from the blue
After my father passed away in 1969, my mother took over the reins of familial administration. She was bold and an able homemaker. Even at 88, the age she breathed her last, she was mostly hale and hearty. She had an amazing presence of mind. Our kith and kin loved her a lot, so much so she could be seen in functions swarmed by invitees. Her specialised area that drew her close to all was her commitment to finding alliances for waiting boys and girls and uniting them in marriage. She was fondly called ‘Matchmaker’.
A poor relative, a girl who lost her mother at a young age and whose father pursued asceticism discarding material life, was being looked after by her paternal uncle (my sister’s husband). One of my nephews, a school dropout, spent his days as a driver in our rice mill. This scenario was more than enough for our Matchmaker to swing into action in her typical style.
After due deliberations, my mother fixed the wedding between the girl and the boy. When only a few days remained for the function, it hit our family like a thunderbolt. Discarding the innocent girl about whose life my mother had dreamt big, my nephew vanished leaving no clues about his whereabouts. All marital arrangements came to a grinding halt.
My brother-in-law felt terribly sad since his niece’s future had become uncertain. He developed huge animosity towards us and said that none from his family, including my sister, would have even a glimpse of the geographical coordinates of our family’s location. This caused my mother huge shock and pain; her immense love towards my sister’s family drove her to opt for an extreme way out. She assured my brother-in-law that the wedding would at any cost take place as originally scheduled and consoled all not to get agitated.
Who was, then, going to become the groom? A boy aged only 19, too immature to realise marital life’s salience and responsibilities. It was none other than I. No horoscopic speculations or matches, no printed invitation except a few postcards, no decorated dais, no nagaswaram accompaniment and no sumptuous meal. My mother ordered; I obeyed. My marriage with the girl was a low-key affair.
Come December, we will witness our 50th wedding winter, with sons, daughters, their spouses and grandkids. Have I, in a sense, given life to a girl parentless and deserted? No idea. Proverbially, marriages are made in heaven. In my case, heaven itself fixed and made it. Yes, to us all, mother is heaven-like. Isn’t she?
E Sethuramalingam
Email: esrlingam@gmail.com