JOIN US'Indian Matchmaking' and some uncomfortable truths
Smriti Mundhra’s Indian Matchmaking, the Netflix series lambasted for its casteist and sexist content, is now a contender for this year’s Emmy Awards meant to honour the best on US primetime television. It has been nominated in the ‘Outstanding Unstructured Reality Program’ category. The announcement has generated a mix of disappointment and anger among viewers of the series who believe that it is undeserving because it celebrates bigotry.
Does Indian Matchmaking elicit such strong reactions because it holds up a mirror to our society? Why would one expect a reality show to not focus on reality? Is it easier to attach the ‘problematic’ tag to directors, producers and writers rather than our own families and friend circles? I suspect that the issue is not so much with the series itself but with our unwillingness to confront in our real lives what we are enthusiastic to critique on screen.
The conclusion that this series conflates Indian identity with Hindu identity is easy to draw from the profiles of the young singles who appear in the first season. They are eager to find matches with professional help from the seasoned Mumbai-based matchmaker Sima Tiparia. At the very outset, she mentions, “In India, we have to see the caste, we have to see the height, we have to see the age.” Caste is highlighted as a component of compatibility.
Sima acknowledges that “marriage is a very big fat industry” and that “families have their reputations and many millions of dollars at stake.” Clearly, this series is about the lives of people who are financially well off. Some of them are Indians living in India, and others are people of Indian heritage living in the US. They can afford to hire a matchmaker who flies down to meet them and find out how fair, tall, outgoing, funny the match must be.
The series does not mention the caste or clan of each participant, but markers such as inheritance, education, capacity to spend on foreign vacations, family history, and the interiors of homes, are used to convey that the participants are from affluent backgrounds. They are looking for partners who can match their lifestyle and standard of living.
While Sima is often made out to be the villain by critics of the series, I think that she is able to supply only because there is a demand. Her business model is based on allaying the anxieties of her clients. She knows how to build relationships, earn the trust of people, and make them believe that there is someone out there for them and that person can be found. She also tells them that some amount of adjustment and compromise is inevitable.
The entertainment quotient of Indian Matchmaking is difficult to deny. It is hilarious because of some of the things people say. Whether these are lightly scripted, completely spontaneous, or smartly edited is difficult to tell. My favourite person in the series is Aparna Shewakramani, a lawyer in Houston, Texas. She says, “Do we have to see our husbands all the time? Is it a thing that people have to do? Because I’d rather not, I think.”
The critique of marriage as an institution is built into the series. Even those who resent the idea of being defined by their role as a wife or a husband, seem to long for a match. Why is marriage so appealing? Call it the human search for love or the terrifying fear of loneliness, Indian Matchmaking manages to touch a raw nerve. Marriage might represent being tied down, and giving up one’s freedom, but it also holds for many the hope of a safety net.
Is this why parents looking for suitors want to find out about the caste of a prospective match? Do they imagine that caste endogamy will guarantee their son or daughter a lifetime of conjugal bliss? Can marrying into a family with similar customs and traditions provide an illusion of security in a world filled with uncertainty? I think that marital alliances are often social and economic arrangements. They do not necessarily begin with the promise of love.
It appears that young people who do not care much about marrying within their own community might eventually end up marrying someone who meets their parents’ requirements. On the one hand, Aparna says, “I am a US citizen. I identify with American culture. For me, it is a lot easier to date people who have similar backgrounds and experiences.” On the other hand, she also says, “We are Sindhi, so I prefer North Indian.”
Aparna’s mother, Jotika, tells Sima that all she wants is for her children to be happy. However, that is not true. She later reveals that when she and her children first came to New York, she beseeched them never to let her down. She said, “Don’t let me look bad in our society, in our community.” As an immigrant to the US, Jotika wants to belong. Aparna has travelled to 40 countries, but she still prefers to be with someone who is North Indian.
Seeking the approval of parents is important for many young people living in India. Dating apps might give the impression that they have an endless variety of choices but most of these cannot translate into marital alliances. They do not want to alienate their parents, especially if they live under the same roof and depend on them for material resources.
To fight for love can take up too much energy, and people often choose to suppress their desires, fall in line, and keep the peace. As Sima would say, some amount of compromise and adjustment is inevitable. How much one is willing to bend is the question.
(The author is a Mumbai-based writer)