MATCH-MAKER
R. R. Menon
In India match-making is a fine art,
marriage seldom a meet of hearts.
A go-between holds the quiver at start
seething with arrows he found in the mart.
Ever ready with atleast a dozen
horoscopes, job-details and a brazen
write-up extolling each bride-groom,
his zoom-lens zeroes in on girls for whom
parents open their reception-room.
Women succeed more at this job,
widows especially, one wonders why.
Some see it as service, they don’t rob
the customer, wedding-bells bring the joy.
The search, however, is not deep,
it’s up to the individuals to keep
track of fine details. The poor use this tap.
Male match-makers have a different brief,
even those with no worthwhile belief
in stars have a craze for horoscope-
matching in a society with little scope
to get at facts in its periscope.
Height provides the biggest mismatch,
with poverty a close second; a good catch
for either is reckoned by the cash-flows
in the deal, here the match-maker ploughs
the land and sows seeds, the crop grows.
Law against dowry makes his role
discreet, disingenuous. He’s on parole
even before the crime, The delicate rigmarole
of the parties’ in absentia mutual talk,
for him, and expert, is a cake-walk.
To conceal low deeds, the earthy ones feel;
Marriage be called a heavenly deal.