Marriage on the mind*

*Disclaimer: Mind- not mine.

The First.

 There was palpable excitement within me. The canopy of the huge tent was still being tied to the poles and yet to be lifted from the ground. The moment I was waiting for was another two hours away. The team here was scurrying about giving final touches to the preparations and decorations. It could not have been a better day, the weather pleasant, the sun bright and a cool wind in the air. Twenty days of restless wait would see its climax in the lawns that was to seat about two thousand people. A folksy Haryanvi song was being tested on the sound system and the gates were just pushed open. Came first, a woman, alone, in a bright red saree. Her smile, even brighter. A shy 'namaste' to me, the stranger at the entrance. Came next a tempo, seven women descended with three kids jumping out after them. A curious glance at me, the beaming Madrasi at the registration desk. And then, one by one they trickled in, tempos, cars, mini-trucks and buses of Haryanvi women. The Aam Sabha was getting a festive feel about it.

I was at a desk the whole ten days before it, studying about NREGA, RTI, Panchayati Raj Act and SCRIA's approaches. This was to be my first interaction with the villagers. There was a definite apprehension about the moment, but a whole lot of eagerness too. When the count of women was just about a hundred, it was evident to me that I was their amusement. Some unabashedly pointed fingers at me and gushed to their friends, others simply followed my movements with their gaze. Slowly the nudges were noticeable, and then the occasional smirk or nod. Finally, one of them picked up the courage and asked me that one question.

The Second.

Twenty days at SCRIA and I had met few dynamic and empowered women. Some of them were SCRIA's success stories themselves, and all of them were SCRIA's change agents. It was a two day residential training camp on leadership amongst women and the role of a woman leader in a Panchayat. I gave everybody my quick introduction- name, place of origin and qualification- right at the start of the camp. At lunch time, about five of them paced up with me on the way to the dining area and earnestly began to question me about what I was doing in a village and why so far from my family. Quickly chipping in each one of them spoke about their family too. Just as the conversation was petering out, one of them shot the same old question and doubled the salvo with a powerful new one.

The Third.

November was two weeks old. Sanjay Park's benches were still cold. The sun teasing us from the behind the clouds, was a kill joy on a misty morning. It was a day of purpose. There were women from seventy villages of Rewari assembled. "Phool nahi chingari hain, hum Bharat ki naari hain." The slogan raised like a war cry definitely opposed their image as a flower (phool) and established the presence of a spark (chingari) in them. The 150-odd women took out a rally and submitted a memorandum to the District Commissioner asking him to order the timely announcement of Gram Sabha meetings by the Panchayats. Exhausted from all the sloganeering and tiring walk, I was slowly making my way back with the women. After holding a conversation on how courage matters to make a difference, the topic steers to how far my home was, how many people I had at home. Of course by now I knew that the best was yet to come. Question no.1, question no.2. No surprises, been there, asked that. But wait, there was a third too!

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In a bus. In a train.

On the road again.

In October. In November.

On every field day, I remember.

In sincerity. In enquiry.

On top of their mind, a worry.

In workshop. In campaign.

On a hunt for answers. Again.

"Madam! Aap ki shadi ho gayi?"

"Jiji, Aap kab shadi karoge?"

" Ki Haryanvi chhora se thari shadi hovegi?"

Now nearly two months in rural India, I consider it is routine questioning. Funnily, I had assumed it to be a woman's preoccupation only. Men too have asked me these questions! Sometimes even before we are introduced to each other. Sometimes just after hours of conversation. Sometimes girls of my age put forth the question out of curiosity. Sometimes old men do it to express their disapproval. Some middle-aged women do it with business-like fashion. Some reticent young men obviously do it with bashful indulgence. 

The final question is the worst. "Will/can/would I marry a boy from Haryana?" If I answer affirmative, I have horoscopes of eligible young men neatly lined up before me. If I answer negative, they take it as an offence and immediately ask if I do  not like the Haryanvi people. If I remain silent or laugh away the question, some suggest that I probably have someone in mind. Unless they do know of a guy with George Clooney looks and a Rajinikanth persona, I am not keen to indulge their interests in my matrimonial prospects! Over the couple of months, my answer has evolved to an awkward skyward gesture and a "nothing is in my hands". The pleased fatalists recede with satisfaction.

However these funny everyday moments made me wonder in retrospect, why every conversation of mine had to have this component?! Why marriage? I have been asked about my caste. Understandable, in India's every divisive society. I have been asked about my finances. Understandable, in today's need to categorise the marginalised and the powerful. What has my marital status got to say anything about me, my work or my family?

According to the census report in 2011, Haryana has 871 women for every 1000 men. Girl children between 0-6 years for every 1000 boy children is a miserable 840. This effectively means that there is indeed a shortage of brides in the state. According to few other reports in the media, brides are being "b(r)ought" from other states, sometimes even as far as Assam and Kerala. The child sex ratio is a sharp indicator of things to come. In another 15 years, the bride-shortage problem in Haryana is bound to worsen. This piece of analysis comes after the observation that the sex ratio has bettered over the last decade. Statistics apart, the prevailing situation speaks something about women's situation in the state.

If chowmein and mobile phones are good reasons for a girl to get raped here, the society is composed of nothing but "desperate" young men in the 20-28 years age group. This is not to imply that women above this age range and men above this age range are any less the victims or oppressors, respectively. Every mother is keen to get her son married. Every father is tensed to keep his daughter safe. So they make a deal- engage or get their children married as early as 15-16 years. Sometimes 10-12 years! The son has a wife and the daughter is away from "society's malevolent gaze". An unmarried girl of 20 is a rarity in the villages here and as the elderly women sharply remark, "Aapke umar mein toh do-do bachche honi chahiye!" Tragically this also translates to a girl child being pulled out of school by fifth standard, eighth standard if her parents are slightly more liberal. Once married she is shackled by household chores and choked by the ghunghat. Can she even dream of a good job elsewhere? And finally, marriages have to be splendid affairs. Even the economically backward save for it all their lives. The girl has to have all the "stri-dhan" at the time of her wedding. A girl child, then, is a liability for the villager. A case of equal right to property or prevention of women against domestic violence is simply not even in the same pin code.

And hence, the wretched cycle continues. Statistics to tragedies to statistics again. Marriage is an uneven playing field for the gender debates. My South Indian looks do not make me an alien here as much as my 'abnormal' status of being unmarried and away from family. I cannot read minds but when I am asked if I am STILL unmarried I can see where the line of thought comes from. The mind is a mine-field, treasures and treacheries co-exist. When the questions pop these days, I see the elephant sitting in their living room. It is marriage on their mind. Always.

Postscript: My sunset curfew keeps me safe from the 'unsafe elements' of the society. Any concerned/over-worked kith or kin is requested to show full graciousness and leave this matter un-debated. Also, I am not accepting any proposals, yet.