Dad has seated me down on a couch for a conversation very sweetly. Yikes I dread those times. A creeping feeling is coming over me.
'Sandhya, I'm ok with anyone who's a Brahmin. Marathi, Bengali, Kannada..but let him be a Brahmin please.'
'So what are you doing about it? We are very tired of trying to find someone of your specifications.'
Dad I'm not allowed to date, am I, with your permission?
'Everyone says you're too short for them.'
Talk about adding insult to injury. What about Gulliver being too tall for Liliputians?
'And then you don't want a Software Professional.'
So there is no other profession in the world now that Indians are taking up? The whole lot of Indian men don't have to be software engineers. What about physicists and artists or professional wrestlers or TV weatherpersons..? (And no offence to software professionals, I have been one myself fleetingly.)
'Plus you're not really getting any younger...I mean you look young, but the clock is ticking...'
This is just getting worse isn't it..
'So basically you're telling me that I should find a guy of your specifications because you're too lazy to do it?'
And then Dad shook his sweet disappointed head. Sideways. Two times.
'Sandhya, why can't you be like other kids, who want normal things? Why do you want to be rebellious? Why can't you want a husband and a family and want to settle down?'
Doorbell rings as a welcome reprieve. It's Mom.
'Poor girl. She comes home only so often. Let's speak to her later.' She says to Dad.
Wow, but beware...I told myself. This is the calm before the tempest. Wait for somebody younger to get married and voila, there I'll be on the couch again...