As proud card-carrying members of the Tamil Brahmin community or Tam Brahms (as the endearment goes), Mr and Mrs Iyer looked high and low for a suitable match for their only daughter.

Now, you must understand it was no easy task. The apple of their eyes had several drawbacks, chief amongst them being that she:

a) Was not tall, slim and fair.

b) Had chosen to do MA in English Literature (No engineering, medical or even a halfway decent science degree).

c) Didn’t quite get it that her singing was the cause of the cracked tiles in the bathroom (Nope… no varanams, no keertanais, no nothing).

d) Had to be force-fed sambhar and idli.

e)  Was severely allergic to maamis discussing Khushboo’s latest sari collection. Actually, she was severely allergic to maamis, period.

f) Could not tell Rahu-Kaalam from Rooh Afza.

g)  Believed all Tam-Brahm boys were coffee-guzzling, veshti-toting, amma’s boys whose ideal woman was Jyotika.

h) Was bull-headed to the point of being a… well, bull.

Seven years of wasted effort later they gave up and benevolent relatives took over. The Tam-Brahms are a pretty close-knit group. Every mite in the clan knows that blood is thicker than dosa batter. So when the afore mentioned Iyers threw their hands up in desperation… chittis, paatis and cousins rolled their collective sleeves up in anticipation of the mountainous task.

 Magazines, newspaper classifieds, secret agents dressed in nine-yard saris, messengers, astrologers, temple priests, it was campaigning at its best. The next time someone needs to contest in the elections, you ought to know whom to target. Though there is a healthy chance it might not work out,  like in this case. Another year and the pace lost momentum. Imminent failure threatened to tarnish the fair name of the community.

 The heritage of the girl was questioned.

Maybe her grandmother, twice removed on her aunt’s side who had married a non Tam Brahm was to blame.

Maybe she was exchanged in the hospital.

Maybe she had (horror of horror) a boyfriend who didn’t belong to the purest of pure races.

Maybe she was severely mentally challenged.

Maybe she was under the influence of an evil spirit (the ghostly kinds … the other variety does not exist).

 A lot can be said about Tam Brahms, but one thing is for sure, they see a job to its end, one way or the other. During one solemn session (a wedding, what else), a bright young hacking expert of a cousin suggested they resort to the Internet. The World Wide Web was scanned; Matrimonial sites were hunted and researched. After lengthy discussions amongst the family elders, the girl’s profile was created. The youngster who gave the bright idea became the toast of the family. The girl wished to see him barbecued and floating in her tomato rasam.

The Internet proved its might and the result was a veritable flood of emails. Half of them were promotional mailers, but still, some were worthy of consideration.

 The girl in question got to read a lot of interesting emails. Total paisa-vasool entertainment that had her itching to share it with friends via forwarding, but she refrained from such cheap thrills. It may be because of her impeccable gene pool… or because her friends threatened her with dire consequences if she spammed their mailboxes again. 

 Destiny they say is inescapable; besides all those pious souls praying must have some effect on the universe, neh? So one dark night as the little Tam girl fought against a deadline, a much-irked mother stood breathing down her neck until she sent across an inane email to a random profile.

 The email sealed her fate and here she is today, writing about how she got married. A stranger from a strange city (Noida… didn’t even know such and such place existed. Should have taken up engineering…would have at least benefited my geography. How? It’s a deep philosophy only Tam Brahms get, so there) came and swept me off my virtual feet.

 Emails, Messengers, SMS and a few visits and we were hooked. The parents practically flew to the moon and back when they realized the boy belonged to the same caste, sub caste, sub sub caste and other such essential things. They got us engaged. We were booked.

 The respected clan members and the two sets of Iyer parents were not taking any chances and five months down the lane, we were cooked (literally… ever tried to sit for hours in front of Agni Maharaj in boiling May, draped in silk saris and wearing half the flowers in Mumbai on your head?).

 I should have been glad to have found a Tam Brahm who loves his roti-sabzi and understands my feeble attempt at Tamil… but alas, I underestimated the power of potent genes. Underneath the smiling North Indian exterior is a coffee-guzzling, veshti-toting, Karnatic music singing, quintessential Tam Brahm who loves his dosas crisp and white.

 Sigh! One can just hope a certain Jyotika doesn’t make her presence felt as screensaver.

Uma Iyer is a writer, a mother and a freelance consultant for marketing communication to several organisations. She was raised in Mumbai and currently lives in Delhi. Her retirement plan includes two dogs, many books and a shack by the sea.