Morning turns into early afternoon and my phone finally stops ringing. I can only deduce that night has fallen upon India and even industrious desi parents seeking a bride for their sons also must rest.
In my communications-from-Delhi-respite, I become curious about these callers. I don’t know what they know about me. I can only deduce that it is not much, and I am pretty sure they have no idea what I look like. What if I was fat, ugly, too short, too tall, deformed? Which has me wondering why they would they seek an Indo-American woman who is closer to 40 than 20 for their son? Wouldn’t a younger bride be more appealing (and suitable) than an independent woman who has been living alone for a decade?
I am sure the fact that I am American is somewhat appealing. But India has come a long, long, long way. The lives that my relatives lead today, versus in the 1980s, are polar opposite. My nephews and nieces have nicer clothes, telephones and gadgets than I do. And I am the one living in NYC! I often wonder why well-to-do desis would even consider leaving India. All the top designers and western malls have found India. And in America there are no servants, drivers or maids, unless you are FILTHY rich. Not even Town and Country has maids, drivers and servants. He does have a cleaning lady. Which is the norm in NYC. I cannot imagine Town and Country and Mr. Clean taking a toilet brush to town.
I sit down on the couch and scroll through the voicemails and decide to listen to one. “Allo. Vee are industrialists having business in Merry-land and Cal-e-for-nee-ah. Our son Tinku is 5’-6” flat foot, 5’-7” in shoes. Call back immediately so vee can begin discussion,” an uncle’s voice BOOMs in my ear.
In my heels and if I fluff up my hair, Tinku and I are the same height. Ugh. I SOOO cannot deal with this today. So I turn off my phone – again.