Sima Auntie’s Inconvenient Arrangements
Superfluous, dispensable, and restricted, Netflix’s Indian Matchmaking is as (Un)necessary as arranged marriage itself. An analysis into the flaws of the docu-series—and the deeper flaws it exposes in contemporary Indian culture.
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife”, began Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, published in 1813.
Two centuries and thousands of miles away, this opening sentence eerily mirrors the opening scene of Indian Matchmaking, an eight-episode docu-reality web-series streaming on Netflix. Right at the onset, we are transported to an upscale and posh drawing room, where the woman of the house—Preeti—lists her preferences for a potential daughter-in-law. The single man in possession of a good fortune is her son, Akshay, an awkward, somewhat reluctant, and almost insignificant participant in the conversation which is dictated in most parts by Preeti to ‘Sima Taparia from Mumbai’—a globetrotting matchmaker who has been assigned the divine task of matchmaking by none other than the Almighty (as she would have us believe).
The most striking aspect of the conversation is how the choice of an ideal daughter-in-law gains primacy over that of the choice of a life partner. The scene is also significant because it introduces us to the most crucial determinants for an arranged marriage within the Indian community: age, height and education (the episode is titled “Slim, Trim and Educated”). Akshay’s mother, Preeti won’t even consider a girl below 5’3” for the apple of her eye.
And before the uninitiated get a mini shock at the supposed atavistic drivel, Sima adds much-needed context.
In India, marriage is a very big industry…a very big fat industry. Marriages are between two families. The two families have their reputation and many millions of dollars at stake. So, the parents’ guide their children and that is the work of a matchmaker… They want tall, they want fair, they want from a good family. They want everything. In India, we have to see the cast, the height, the age and the horoscope.
Early reactions to the show on social media—always ready to rage—painted Sima Taparia as the villain, but I felt differently. Sure, she very much resembles the pesky neighborhood auntie, one who is always on the lookout of unsuspecting singles. But above all, she is an astute businesswoman with a network spread across Bangkok, Hong Kong, America and India. She has an entourage of assorted colleagues, comprising of a face reader, an astrologer, a horoscope reader and a life-coach, all assisting her at any given point in time. She knows the machinations of the arranged marriage market, agrees to the demands of her clients, and delivers what is expected of her.
One could have ethical and moral disagreements with her choice of profession, but does she deserve to be crucified as the sole bearer of these regressive traditions and centuries-old patriarchy, that have long subjugated women in our culture? A close analysis of the show possibly can help us answer this question.
Enter Aparna: Lawyer, 34, fiercely individualistic, has traveled to 40 countries, itching to go to the 41st.
When Aparna puts forth her preferences for a future life partner, Sima retorts by saying, “Many of these things are not very important for a happy married life.” What does Aparna want? For starters, she doesn’t want a lawyer. She doesn’t want the ‘funniest guy in the room’ either and wants someone to have passions outside of work, among other things. These demands are as plausible or implausible as those made by Akshay’s mother, Preeti. But their reception is drastically different. While Sima didn’t seem to find an issue with Preeti’s demands, she is quick to label Aparna as “the hardest type of candidate to match, because she thinks finding a life partner is like ordering from a menu”.
The contrast cannot be more jarring, because women are expected to be flexible and diffident when it comes to marriage, as opposed to men who are made to believe early on that it’s their birthright to have their partner make compromises for them. It is okay for wealthy NRIs to come to India to search for brides and even organize pageants to select the best candidate (think Amazon Prime’s Made in Heaven, episode 5, “A Marriage of Convenience”), but when Aparna gives a 55-minute window to men to impress her, we frown upon her for being too demanding or too ‘greedy’.
If anything, I found Aparna to be extremely self-aware and even compromising. She says at one point, “I’m 34. Really at this age, there is not a wide huge pool for me”, which shows she is also aware of her environs. She agrees to go on dates with Sima’s suggestions, despite not being completely convinced of their suitability for her.
This is directly opposed to Pradhyuman, the man who didn’t even bother to open half of the biodatas Sima had sent him. He is a self-professed ‘eligible bachelor’ who has already received 150 rishtas. The most interesting thing in his life, he exclaims, is his closet which has a fingerprint lock, “A place where the magic happens’. He is supremely obsessed with clothes not just for himself, but also for gods in his home temple. Attraction and family compatibility are crucial to finding a match for him. He feels his criteria is valid, something he won’t compromise on.
Aparna’s criteria isn’t much different; but while Pradhyuman gets a thumbs up, a barrage of pejorative adjectives are hurled at her, from ‘negative’, ‘picky’, and ‘stubborn’ to ‘adamant’, ‘rigid’, and ‘rude in speech’. Indian Matchmaking has a gender discrimination problem, shadowing the larger issues of Indian society.
Meet Nadia: Business owner, Bollywood dancer, tall, ‘pretty’ and confident… and Guyanese
At the face of it, Nadia ticks all the checkboxes necessitated by an arranged marriage—except that she does not. She is Guyanese, and most men she has met so far have either wanted to marry a Gujju girl or a Punjabi girl—two of the dominant communities representing Indian culture abroad. Nadia says that she struggles to find a match because of her heritage, as the community often doesn’t accept Guyanese people of Indian heritage—a perfect example of rigid caste and clan rules that dictate matrimonial alliances.
We love to believe that things have changed for better, but even today, young people struggle to make their own choices. The indoctrination begins from a young age... The biases against inter-caste, inter-religion marriages are so strong that we wouldn’t shy from turning our back against the partner of our dreams should they not check this mandatory criterion.
No matter how hard we try to position ourselves as a modern society, caste dynamics are intrinsically weaved in our very socio-cultural fabric. Marriages outside the prescribed caste norms have the potential of meeting catastrophic consequences, and it’s a transgression few can afford.
While most transgressors end up becoming cautionary tales, only a few manage to be celebrated as disruptors. This is precisely the reason a film like Nagraj Manjule’s Sairat gets hailed as a phenomenon, for its choice of a brave subject (rich upper-caste girl falls in love with a poor lower-caste boy). The roaring success of Sairat led to a Bollywood remake that ironically sanitised the central theme entirely, choosing to not engage with the caste politics of the original at all.
In India, caste dynamics dictate everything from elections to marriages. What else explains the insistence of Nadia on finding a guy who accepts her for who she is?
You can take the Indian out of India… but not India out of the Indian
Rupam, who we meet towards the end of the series, insists of marrying a Sikh man—like Nadia before her. For all the criticism directed at Indian Matchmaking, my main gripe with the show was that it hardly engaged with issues dictating arranged marriages at a deeper level, particularly considering caste. We still have a culture where newspapers are lettered with yards of neatly compartmentalized adverts by families looking for someone from the exact ‘gotra’ or caste. Once the essential criterion is met, therein begins the search for the perfect candidate by deliberating over the desirable criteria which varies from family to family. But community ties and rigid ideas of kinship continue to shape sensibilities of the Indian and South Asian community, regardless of their residential status.
The show shines a spotlight on many a non-residential Indians (NRIs)—Aparna, Nadia, Rupam, Vyasar—who nurse imaginary attachments with a land they have left long ago. There is a certain ache for belonging, nostalgia for a past that in reality wasn’t. All of Sima’s international clients, despite clearly identifying as Americans, have clear preference for marrying a fellow Indian, extolling more often than once the moral superiority of Indian culture. Despite Rupam’s failed marriage, her father is content with the fact that at least she was married to a man from the same community. He is also vociferous in his rejection of a potential non-Sikh suitor for his daughter. One of the reasons why Vyasar Ganesan has approached Sima Taparia, he says, is because through her ‘there is a better probability of meeting someone from the same culture’. Though he has dated ‘white’ girls, the fact that it didn’t work out with any of them was confirmation enough to seek the services of an Indian matchmaker, with the desire to meet someone from a similar cultural background.
The show portrays many NRIs as carrying the baggage of an imagined home rooted, in an abstract idea of family life. It is not merely a fascination with the faraway homeland, but a requirement necessary for the performance of Indianness and to maintain a sense of community in a foreign country.
All the four singles from America are in a precarious, yet plush situation. While they want to meet someone from the same background, none of them would actually be comfortable in moving countries or exhibiting the degree of flexibility required from an insider—no question of women leaving their careers or expecting a life in a joint-family. One of Vyasar’s dates even nonchalantly asks him how they would make the geographical adjustment if they were to move ahead.
This would be a non-question in a typical arranged marriage scenario in India, something well documented in the 2018 documentary A Suitable Girl (also by Smriti Mundhra and Sima Taparia’s screen debut). Amrita, one of the three subjects of A Suitable Girl, moves from Delhi to a small-town after marriage, quits her job, and undergoes a humongous sartorial evolution conforming to the draconian diktats of convention. In a quiet moment of introspection, she says, “You lose your identity when you get married. That’s one thing I never wanted to.” A Suitable Girl also features an actor who happens to be Sima’s client. When Sima asks her if she plans to continue work after marriage, she says, “As in, if allowed, I keep doing reality TV or something. I won’t continue with a permanent show where I have to go to work every day. I mean, it is on their convenience.”
Either this or that: Ankita walks the tightrope
The seemingly similar yet vastly different experiences of the ‘insiders’ (Pradhyuman, Akshay and Ankita) in comparison to that of the ‘outsiders’ (Aparna, Nadia, Rupam, Vyasar) is best exemplified through Ankita. She is a Delhi-based entrepreneur who decides to focus on her career, dropping her plan to get married. In India, there is either this or that. If you are lucky to get both, the scales are expected to be disproportionately tilted in the favor of the latter.
Ankita sums up this conundrum well, “I think nowadays what makes dating difficult is the fact that the basic interpretation of a woman who is independent and lives life on her own terms is that she cannot get married, because she won’t know how to adjust.” This is perhaps the reason that she chooses to quietly move away from the rigmarole, in an attempt to retain a modicum of sanity.
Perhaps Aarti from the 2017 film Shaadi Mei Zaroor Aana was being a tad bit overdramatic when she chose to run away on the day of her wedding after getting the result of the UPSC examination. The probability of her being an IAS officer and a daughter-in-law of the Mishra family is almost non-existent. One cannot help but rationalise this impulsive or rash decision.
Unfortunately, it is not just the mothers-in-law who play the villain, but also men who refuse to share the burden of responsibility. In Indian Matchmaking, when Akshay’s fiancé expresses her desire to work after marriage, he retorts, “I would want my future partner to do same things in the house that my mom does, because I am not like that. And if she is busy with her work, who’s gonna take care of the kids and all?”
“It’s all about loving your parents”
Akshay is a man-child, stunted under the weight of parental expectations. His decision to get married is heavily driven by his mother’s incessant nagging and her ever-rising blood pressure. He remains firmly rooted in traditions and family values. Marriage is a rite of passage he cannot escape. He expects kids in the future and a wife that will take on the role of the primary care giver.
While Akshay’s inconsistencies make for excellent fodder for memes and jokes, the subtext is tragic. It confirms that the traditional stronghold of the ‘family’ continues to tighten its grip on generations of Indians, despite the growing clamour of modernity. There is enough evidence in the series to quash the criticism that the show glorifies an outdated and primordial concept of arranged marriage. By contrast, it paints a woefully painful picture of contemporary India which has learnt to euphemise with precision patriarchal notions that do not belong in the times we live in. Why must a girl become a self-effacing creature in exchange of ‘exquisitely crafted hand-pieces’ made in real silver, real emeralds and real pearls? How does being independent translate into being non-marriageable? Why must Preeti (Akshay’s mother) dictate the optimum time to her elder daughter-in-law to have a baby? No matter how terrible these things sound or look, anyone familiar with the machinations of Indian joint family will attest to them being an everyday reality facing several women and men in their own unique ways.
“Just find me someone”: Why do perfectly ‘woke’ Indian go down the arranged marriage rout?
Why do single people who have enough options at their disposal—dating apps, networks and connections of their own—or arranged marriage, given the highly problematic nature of the process? “The benefit of having a matchmaker is that they make you meet serious suitors, as opposed to dating when you don’t know how serious the other person is,” says Nadia. And for these young people who already have unlocked the secret to a successful career and financial comfort, the only thing remaining for a picture-perfect life is companionship, something that could get sidelined in the pursuit of other goals.
Almost everyone on the show unanimously exudes the fear of loneliness, among other factors, as a driving force behind the decision. The fact that the society and culture almost lulls one into believing that arranged marriages are more stable and more durable weighs heavily on one’s mind. This is perhaps why many millennials still subconsciously seek the services of a matchmaker. Besides, arranged marriages offer a kind of safety net to fall back on should things go awry, a prospect seldom available to those who transgress societal norms to choose their partners.
This is precisely the reason Sima repeatedly insists on keeping the family thoroughly involved in the process. Any meeting just between the boy and the girl is bound to be a ‘flop’ meeting, she says. Furthermore, our society has not completely warmed up yet to the idea of dating; with every failed relationship, one is a step closer to being labelled as inept in choosing a life partner. Rupam’s father’s reaction to her enthusiasm or openness in meeting a boy suggested by Sima testifies this. He is quick to remind her that she has already made a mistake, and that she better not repeat it.
Years of social conditioning that has privileged the collective wisdom of parents has a pertinent role to play. This ‘wisdom’ magically gains legitimacy after a failed relationship. Almost all of Sima’s clients have gone down the dating route and the ache of heartbreak has somehow convinced them that it is best they stick to the conventional way of finding a match. For others, ‘the rules of love’ set by society are too rigid to be transgressed.
We love to believe that things have changed for better, but even today, young people struggle to make their own choices. The indoctrination begins from a young age, and when the time comes, we become interpellated subjects, unwilling to cross certain lines of our own accord. The biases against inter-caste, inter-religion marriages are so strong that we wouldn’t shy from turning our back against the partner of our dreams should they not check this mandatory criterion.
Most importantly, social media and a departure from the lifestyles of our parents’ generation might have made us busier than ever, but loneliness still lurks inside. Unsurprisingly, loneliness is an endemic affecting young people worldwide. In India alone, 8% of young people (aged 15-34 years) reportedly feel lonely quite frequently according to the findings of a 2016 survey conducted by the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies in partnership with Konrad Adenauer Stiftung. There are yet other studies which second these findings and foreground the anxieties of self-assured, ambitious and confident people like Nadia and Aparna to find a match before they run out of time.
Unfortunately, the structure of the society we inhabit is such that these anxieties get amplified manifold by consistent nagging and pressure, as that exemplified by Pradhyuman’s sister or Akshay’s mother. The parallels made with the life trajectory of an older sibling (the fact that Akshay’s mother got married at 23 is repeatedly referenced), a friend (as with Pradhyuman) or the older generations (Sima herself who prides on being happily married for 36 years), are not just misinformed but also misplaced. Nonetheless, they successfully cajole one into believing that they are headed for an impending doom if they don’t act at the right age or the right time.
It is ironic, then, that the best advice on marriage comes from a woman married for 52 years, “Don’t be in a hurry to get married”. She adds that men may want submissive wives, but girls today are independent and won’t fit the traditional mould.
“You haven’t been to India until you have been to an Indian wedding”
This is the tagline of Join My Wedding, a startup selling tickets foreigners to attend Indian weddings. What they refer to as an ultimate cultural immersion is only another form of exhibitionism. From once being touted as a land of ‘snake charmers’, India is now repositioned as the land of the big fat wedding. It comes as no surprise then that we Indians are upset over a well-guarded secret of our arranged marriages being displayed in full glory to the world.
Despite often perpetuating cruelty and injustice, arranged marriage can still exist in its archaic form in India, which is a telling indictment on the society we inhabit. We need deeper reflection and rearrangement towards this practice, to prepare ourselves to deal with the hard reality.
At a time when the world is reeling under the crushing impact of a pandemic, the Indian Matchmaking jokes and memes offer a good momentary distraction, but Sima Taparia cannot be made the poster girl of all that is wrong with arranged marriages. Unless the heated arguments and impassioned pleas on Twitter lead to a wider conversation outside of social media, the joke’s on us.
In the time of this writing, Sima confirmed to The Hindustan Times that her business has been booming since the show’s release, “I already had so many clients before the show, and now I’m getting so many more inquiries.” What this means essentially is that while we have no qualms over the massive abetment of this practice, we don’t want to be judged by an international audience.
There are countless young people and families who continue to participate in this practice without push-back. Many see ‘dating’ as fun and marriage as a serious issue to be decided only by the elders in the family. We still have marriages driven solely by business interests where two families enter into an alliance.
My grouse with the criticism of the show is the expectation to only see a progressive side of society, when, in fact, they are still brutally outnumbered by conformists. In fact, the show just manages to scratch the surface of the arranged marriage ecosystem. The reality is far worse. For instance, the show glosses over the dowry issue entirely which is often an inseparable part of arranged marriages. These discussions are conducted like shady backroom dealings wherein the inability to meet a certain ‘demand’ is a deal breaker. The height, complexion and education are all secondary; the higher the class, the more exorbitant the rate-card.
I can never forget Episode 4 of Made in Heaven, where the groom’s parents make a shameless demand for dowry, saying, “Malum hai UP Bihar mei ek IAS officer ka kya rate hai?” The structural problems in India go deep; Indian Matchmaking refrains from confronting the ugly, and sticks to entertainment, sparing further embarrassment. We are not even told how much Sima charges her clients. Even the discourse relating to destiny, stars and horoscope is packaged in a fun manner to elicit chuckles and laughter. In reality, these can become issues of contention, harassment and bullying. In some rare cases, women are even expected to marry a tree to get rid of their so-called ‘doshas’ (defects).
Smriti Mundhra, the executive producer of the show calls it an “unscripted, fun, crazy, light look on the surface of the Indian marriage industrial complex.” Regrettably, for a vast majority there is nothing fun or crazy about the process. This perspective reeks of privilege at best, and ignorance at worst. The illusion of choice that the show repeatedly hints at is equally naïve. It ties closely with the argument I made about the need to distinguish the experiences of Indians and Westerners: The Nadias and the Aparnas of the world have a choice to reject a match which is oblivious to several women sacrificing themselves at the altar of arranged marriages on a daily basis. They are coaxed in what could be a loveless marriage and often, without an escape (a worthy explanation of India’s abysmally low divorce rate in comparison to the West). Even for Ankita, the choice to say ‘no’ drives heavily on her privilege and the class she comes from. What if she wasn’t an independent woman with a business of her own?
This is precisely the reason A Suitable Girl is a more insightful foray into the world of the great Indian arranged marriage. With a deft interweaving of narratives and clever choice of subjects from different backgrounds—both in terms of class and caste—the documentary manages to make a more coherent statement on arranged marriages. By following the journey of Dipti, Amrita and Ritu (Sima Taparia’s daughter), you get a closer look on the bigotry that plays out at each step.
For women from less-privileged backgrounds, the process is nothing short of a nightmare. They are ripped completely of any agency and are expected to marry the first person who is kind enough to accept them for a life partner. Stories such as this, however, rarely educe an outrage; it becomes more a matter of ‘us vs. them’. A show like Indian Matchmaking, however, can turn an impartial gaze of the camera on the ‘performative woke Indian’, one who has friends and acquaintances across the globe and social media to connect with them.
The biggest flaw of Indian Matchmaking is not that it glorifies or perpetuates stereotypes (it is far too confused in its approach to do that), but that it fails to give a complete picture. For one, the show is extremely non-inclusive. Though Sima Taparia constantly tries to position herself as a modern matchmaker, we aren’t told if she would be open to taking non-Hindu clients or couples looking for same-sex partners. What about Indians of different socio-economic classes and other castes?
Secondly, while Taparia confesses that her job is to only make two people meet, she often ascribes the failure of the meetings to ‘destiny’ and the alignment of stars, absolving herself of blame.
To top it all, the constant juggling between Sima’s clients and ‘happily married’ couples from an older generation sends mixed signals. On one hand, we are told that today’s matchmaking is a truly modern enterprise with the final decision resting with the participants; whereas, on the other hand, we are handed sweet testimonials from matched couples paying unfiltered homage, as an endorsement to the very institution. By employing this daft juxtaposition, the series fails to achieve what it sets out to, i.e. a documentation of the arranged marriage process. Instead, it ends up imposing a uniformity, which by default suppresses individuality.
Though none of the participants end up together, we are made to believe that it is due to them being uncompromising or inflexible—a fact exacerbated by the presence of ‘success stories’. This dichotomy between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ is not just superficial but also shortsighted. There are enough unsuccessful marriages in the generation of our parents, too, and many a beautiful, thriving marriages in our generation. But the fact that the show cherry picks successes from an older generation belies all claims of modernity and gives enough ground to critics.
What the makers conveniently ignore is the fact that our mothers didn’t have the same choices that we do. They didn’t lead their lives with the flexibility afforded to us. Many of them didn’t lead professional lives outside of home. With time, one half of the population has become alert to the systemic injustices meted out to them, and is raring to stake claim to its share of freedom. This would inadvertently lead to friction and demand flexibility unavailable to their predecessors. That the show doesn’t seek to dismantle patriarchy and refuses to take a reformist position is its greatest undoing.
As for those that hated the show, the truth is that Indian matchmaking is destined to look the same till we recognise the complexities within the Indian family system: in addition to being a repository of conventional ideals and values, it is also often a site of unimaginable violence and oppression, particularly towards women. Despite often perpetuating cruelty and injustice, arranged marriage can still exist in its archaic form in India, which is a telling indictment on the society we inhabit. We need deeper reflection and rearrangement towards this practice, to prepare ourselves to deal with the hard reality.
Arranged marriages are only the top of the iceberg; there is a problematic structure upon which the tenets of our culture are built upon. If your conscience allows you to make peace with that, you better make peace with the Sima Aunties of the world!
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Harshita Murarka is a communications professional currently associated with a UK-based firm. She holds a Master’s in English Literature from the University of Delhi and a Master’s in Media and Communications from the London School of Economics and Political Science. She has an inclination towards arts, culture and Hindi cinema which leads to occasional stints in writing. You can find her on Instagram: @nectar_in_a_sieve and Twitter: @HarshitaMurarka.
