Not The Wife Material
The routine finding-a-suitable-boy exercise turned me in to Lady Mr Yogi* for a couple of years. It gave me exciting encounters, interesting revelations and a name for this Substack account.
This was during a two year period when Udit and I were ‘on a break’. He had his IAS exams. I was trying to become a journalist while doing radio, cable news and interior designing.
My parents thought the time was right to begin the hunt. So matrimonial sites and relatives were activated. My mum, who had met Udit once had already set a high bar for her future son-in-law.
It’s another matter that ‘being’ a son-in-law was not even in the horizon of his horizon. I played along for fun. Perhaps dad was the most keen and we often joked that he loved playing “Beti ka bechara baap” (The poor father of a daughter). So we let him, sat back and enjoyed. The smelling salts were brought out only when he went deep into his character.
So I played Mr Yogi for two years.
I don’t remember the names of the eight guys I met but this is how I distinctly remember each one of them:-
Tulsi Virani: The first was the spitting image of the then country’s favourite Bahu. When he smiled his lips did a pirate ship. One of those oscillating rides in amusement parks. Just that this pirate ship was stuck at 90 degrees. The lips slid up the right cheek, the tip touching the eye, well almost, and stayed like that for the longest time. He spoke like that. And he spoke a LOT. He was a new joinee in dad’s team and I think dad was just testing waters with this one.
Navy Guy’s Momma: He was a lovely guy. Soft spoken, sharp features, dark and handsome. The problem was that I had spent three hours with his mother while he was on his way from Bombay to Pune (for our first and only meeting). Her sentences began with “My daughter…” and these were followed with “…knits”, “…sews”, “…cooks”, “…works at a Pharma company” and so on and so forth. If I had been daring enough I would have told her that she should get her son married to her daughter.
The Sly Guy: This was in Bokaro or Dhanbad. They were relatives of relatives or friends of relatives. The parents were cordial. The son had cunning, sly, beady eyes. He was fair and he knew it. I had zero interest and I knew it. His first question was “Do you pray?”, I said “No” and he went “Oh my mum would like someone who prays. I don’t. But Fridays to Sundays I party…” and on and on he went for an hour. I stood next to a window distracted and bored to death. I had lost him at “pray” but feigned interest till ‘party’.
The Horny Bastard: Him I only spoke with once. He thought some form of phone sex would help us know each other better. I bailed after doing a slow sultry moany version of his name a couple of times. His name was Ujjwal or Uttam or some such. This was both ridiculous and annoying. The only upside—I found my sexy voice!
The Gora Ladka (The fair guy): My folks visited his folks in Patna I think. The first thing they said was “look at the two photographs, do you think the pair will look good. Mere beta itna gora hai aur aapki beti…” (Our son is so fair, while your daughter…). My parents and grandparents left immediately.
At this point I would like to explain that the photo they were referring to was the ‘conventionally pretty’ version of me — saree, hair in a bun, pearl necklace, gloss lipstick, loads of make up and a couple of shades brighter. The version was so disparate that when I had gone to collect the photos, the studio guy had asked me “Yeh aapki kaun hai?” (who is she to you?) “Yeh meri mein hi hoon” (This is me). He looked up, evidently disappointed!
The Girlfriend Guy: Him I met at the Birla Temple here in Delhi. I was already pissed at being made to wear lipstick. It further angered me that the rendezvous was at a temple. I finally blew the lid when the guy ‘from Australia’ turned up with his current roommate, who was also his ‘ex-girlfriend’. The blowing of the lid was quiet, in my head, and (even, might I add) hilarious. I started enjoying the whole thing. The expressions on my mum and a few others faces changed. I kept chatting with the two of them while my family wanted to leave immediately. I was thrilled. Not quite what you expect with the expression “blowing a lid”.
The Dead Guy: I came to know about him only after he was shot dead in front of his house. It was perhaps some dispute at work that got him killed. My parents had considered him as a prospect once upon a time.
The White Guy: He visited our home with his parents. He was WHITE (very very very fair) and his whiteness was further accentuated by the very orange t-shirt he wore that day. He was so white! As we started talking, I spotted a lizard on the wall and then for the rest of the conversation (and for some very unimaginable reason) I imagined him as the lizard. His dad was in the air force and he was in the marketing division of a leading newspaper in Mumbai. The parents weren’t very happy with either my going to Delhi or my journalism career, especially the TV job that I had just taken up and was about to join in a month. The white guy’s father believed that I would end up having an affair because two leading reporters-turned -anchors did. I remember telling him “Uncle, ye toh kahi bhi ho sakta hai” (Uncle, this can happen anywhere).
Now this is where my dad really slipped into his “bechara baap” (poor dad) avatar. He asked me if I could resign from the job (that I had not even started yet). “NOOOOOO”.
The smelling salts were brought out. And before Mum and I could launch into a full fledged tirade, dad backed off. He was now out of the character. I left for Delhi. Joined CNN-IBN.
The Tall Guy: We met in Mc Donalds in Noida. He was very tall and dressed in different shades of brown. His grandmother was a famous writer/poet, I cannot recollect now. It was clearly a bad idea to meet someone at a fast food joint. Burger and French fries was all that I could think of.
The White Guy I continued speaking to till after a few weeks of coming to Delhi. He finally said “no”. He said, “You can be a very good friend but you are ‘not the wife material’.”
The White Guy’s “No, Sorry” was the end of my Lady Mr Yogi phase.
I don’t remember outraging over any of this. But Udit and I have never understood why a good friend cannot be a good wife and what makes for a wife material!
We still laugh about this, though. By the way, it has been 23 years of being Udit’s friend and in May it will be 18 years of being his wife.
(Once again thanks to
, & the #OchreSkyWritingCircle for helping me articulate this Mr Yogi phase of mine through one of their prompts.)*For some Millennials and all of Gen Z, Mr Yogi is a story of a USA-settled Indian boy YI Patel (Mr. Yogi) trying to arrange his marriage in India. Starring Mohan Gokhale. This show aired on DD1 between 1988-1989.
I'm so glad I got to read this a second time. And the photos in the end 😍
Gosh you guys are so adorable!! And I loved Mr Yogi! My dad used to sing the title track all the time, I remember we used to all sit together to watch it!