CLEANLINESS FREAKS!

It’s common perception: A bachelor’s pad will be messy. And why not? The concept of cleanliness has been hammered into the chap since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. And ever since, his one ambition in life has been to let loose and not follow the norms laid down. Let’s be clear about it… One of the most-hated phrase/instruction a lad grows up hearing is “Clean your room.” These three words fester in him, to an extent that they can give him the rash. They spell doom. They spell misery. They spell drudgery. They spell an evening of imprisonment. They spell boredom. And most importantly, they spell the beginning of an evening that could have been spent doing things that are far more interesting.
Scientific arguments that messy rooms can lead to a myriad of disease mean absolute bollocks to him. Ergonomic arguments that a clean room means knowing exactly where things are don’t make sense at all. The only “tidy” he’s interested in is the packet he’s going to make at the football game that evening.
Trust me. I speak from experience.
I have never had to look at my room and wonder: “Now where do I start looking for my blue Umbro jacket with the red and white stripes running down the arms?” The moment I look into my room, I know where it is: Under the bed, towards the top left hand corner, behind that pizza carton, and on top of my tennis racquet which has 2 strings missing, which in turn, lies on a cushion made up of my old white socks with the Nike swoosh on them.
It’s simple.
Ok, you can’t find anything if you walk into my room… but maybe that’s the way I want it. If you need something, ask me. And if I want you to have it, I’ll tell you where to look. But don’t you dare walk into my room and try to pick through my stuff on your own… Not only do you end up making a mess of my living space, you screw up my entire life as well.
A bachelor has other things to worry about than a clean room. Sure, when you walk into it, he may be polite and say something along the lines of “Sorry about the mess.” But he’s just being polite.
And he’ll thank you for not shrieking like a banshee, if you enter the room and spy a cockroach talking a stroll. Believe me, he knows the little guy lives there. He may not necessarily be ok with it, but it’s his way of practicing a life where “Live and let Live” is the guiding force. Please remember, the roach has been walking around since before the Dinosaurs walked the Earth. He’s survived meteor showers, two ice ages, 2 world wars, the atomic bomb, the holocaust, the nuclear storm, and is likely to continue on his regular evening tours of the facility long after your bones are excavated and hailed as the biggest archeological find of the millennium. Such a resilient chap deserves to be saluted, not become the subject of your tonsils doing a hearty jig and breaking the sound barrier with their oscillations.
Yes, there are some chaps who live the “clean” life. But they are aberrations… freaks of nature… exceptions that cannot be used as examples. In all probability, they suffer from a mental disorder: maybe they had too many feminine influences during their formative years. Maybe they were the kind that got bullied at school and were told, on pain of death, that fighting back would mean being sent up to bed without dinner. Maybe they were given too much love as a child. Maybe they were not loved enough. Whatever the reason for their quirky behavior, it must be remembered that these specimens don’t belong in the real world, but in a museum, or better still, an insane asylum.
But I digress.
The room that resembles the site of the last War Of The Worlds, is heaven to a bachelor. And that’s the reason that when he finds such a place, he calls it home. And when he gets a pretty girl in there, and persuades her to stay a while, he calls it: “Getting Lucky.”

BREAKING TRADITION?

“That’s plain rot!”
“But it’s tradition… our tradition.”
“No, it’s blind superstition; nonsensical rituals… things don’t happen that way anymore.”
“No it’s not. There’s a logic behind everything.”
“Nonsense. The logic of the Neanderthal man does not hold true in the 21st Century.”
“It does… more so now, than ever before. And it’s the way we do things in this house.”
“Talk to the hand….”
“Don’t be flippant with me, young man”
“Flippant?!? You haven’t seen flippant yet.”
“I’ll talk to you about this when you grow up.”

So mum had the last word after all. As far as that discussion was concerned.

What’s this about? It’s about the son of a traditional (no, not orthodox, not conservative, just traditional) house talking about marriage. The said institution is daunting on its own. Add that inevitable dash of traditional practices, and it’s a mountain cracking up, with you standing at the peak, looking down.

The crack widen as you probe deeper. Inter-community marriages are one thing. And getting the parents to agree to one is comparatively easy. There’s a whole gamut of other aspects to consider. How do you tell all those elders in the family that the past year spent looking for a suitable alliance had better stop NOW? How do you explain to them that when you told them to go ahead and look at the myriad matrimonial columns, you were not in love? How do you get them to agree that the love of your life does not believe in some of the practices they think are of paramount importance… that she wants to exchange rings despite being from a community where rings are not the “done thing”?

These questions seem trivial. They never occurred to you… ever. While the issues seem trivial enough and hold no great meaning to you, what flummoxes you the most is why the old fuddy-duddies want to make such a big hue and cry about them… I mean, what difference does it make?

So I go back to the drawing board… call up the girl and try to get her to understand… maybe change her stand. High hopes I had!

So after a few calls back and forth, I see a light at the end of the tunnel. I convince her to meet my parents and persuade them herself. “Fine!!!”, she says. I’m thinking : “There goes sweet pillow-talk for the first month after we are wedded, if we get there.”

She comes. My parents meet her. They talk. She gives in…. She even agrees to wear a Sari and a bindi… She loves me too much! I’m in seventh heaven.

I meet her parents. They are happy, I am happy, She is happy, All’s well with the world!

But ---this ---is --- just --- the --- beginning.

We arrange for the parents to meet each other. There’s general nervousness. I’m nervous. She’s nervous. Her parents are nervous. Mine are bombarding me with questions I had not thought could exist.

Somewhat like this…..

Mom & Dad: “Are they nice people?”
Me: “Yeah they are.”
M&D: “What’s this assessment based on?”
Me: “They gave me the woman I love. And they have agreed to meet you guys.”
M&D: “That’s hardly a judgement criteria… We thought you were mature and responsible.”
Me: “I am… It is…. “
M&D: “Fine! We’ll judge for ourselves, when we meet them.”
Me: “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”
M&D: “We thought you were capable of this… now we know better.”
Me: “Ok, can we leave? We’re getting late.”
M&D: “Yeah…. Shouldn’t keep them waiting… Listen… will she be able to blend in with our family?”
Me: “Don’t ask me… you met her… make up your mind.”
M&D: “These responses make us believe you aren’t ready for marriage.”
Me: “Ok Ok… yes she will.”
M&D: “What’s this assessment based on?”
Me: “I love her… She loves me… She’ll do anything necessary… as will I, to make this work.”
M&D: “That’s hardly a judgement criteria… We thought you were mature and responsible.”
Me: “I am… It is…. “
M&D: “Fine! We’ll judge for ourselves, when we her again today.”
Me: “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”
M&D: “We thought you were capable of this… now we know better.”
Me: “Is there anything else you would like to know?”
M&D: “Yeah, will they agree to conduct the wedding rituals as per our tradition?”
Me: “Talk to them and figure it out… If I did everything, what will you guys do?”
M&D: “That’s not a proper answer. I shudder to think of you as a married man.”
Me: “I’ll deal with that at the proper time.”
M&D: “Yeah right… don’t come to us if things go wrong.. because you don’t know any better.”
Me: “I give up.”

And it goes on and on and on….

Cutting to the chase… The clans met… they talked, thay laughed, they joked… they agreed that the plunge should be taken… for the happiness of the “children”. And I’m thinking: “Why can’t they just admit they are happy too?”
And then it hits me.
They are! They just don’t want to get emotional over it and show how excited they are. So what rituals are they following?
Each party agreed to do it the other person’s way.
Wow!
And then she pointed it out.
“They are giving in on the little things so they can haggle over the bigger things.”
A conclusion arrived at using her woman’s intuition, no doubt – something I have no idea about.
So there are smiles all around… thumping backs, handshakes, 3 different tongues chattering away – to each his own.
I sit back, content and excited.
Here I am, about to embark on the biggest step in my life so far.
But there’s a niggling thought. And I find the words to put it to my parents on the way back home.
“If you guys are agreeing to everything they say, and the do the same, whose way is it going to be?”
Pat comes the answer: “She’s their only daughter. We want her to be our daughter-in-law… nay, our daughter. Let them do whatever they want to do, their way; and we’ll do whatever we have to do, our way.”
Makes sense.
“So what about alkl that tradition stuff you were harping on about?”
“This is tradition too.”
“Yeah, but its their tradition, not ours.”
“It’s tradition.”
“So now your’e ok with their tradition… I thought you were most insistent it should be ours.”
“Oh, so you want a traditional wedding now?”
“Ma, I just want to get hitched. How it’s done is not my concern.”
“But traditions give sanctity to the entire process.”
“Nonsense. The logic of the Neanderthal man does not hold true in the 21st Century.”
“It does… more so now, than ever before. And it’s the way we do things in this house.”

Mothers! You just can’t beat them.