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IAS officers - a "catch" in India for whom "high prices" in the form of dowry are offered - and paid
The Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration, Mussoorie (LBSNAA, or the Academy for short), is just that- an academy where probationers of the IAS (also called the Indian Administrative Service or the Indian Arrogant Service, depending on how you look at it) are trained. There’s nothing at all to see there, and that’s why the spectacle I am about to describe is something that took time for me to figure out.
Every afternoon during lunch break we would go up to our lockers to check for notices and mail, and we would find hordes of outsiders standing around the main lawn gawking at nothing in particular. Well, the Academy is neither a tourist spot nor a shrine, so this did defy logic till I realized these hordes were not actually gawking at nothing, they were gawking at us- the probationers. Mercifully, outsiders were not allowed beyond this locker-reception-lawn area or I’m sure they would have overrun our hostels like an invading army.
These people – men and women, fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, many a time accompanied by daughters of ‘marriageable age’ (whatever that means) would stand, stare and fidget; making us probationers fidget in response. One such afternoon I was accosted by one of the more enterprising guardians of a daughter of marriageable age. Are you a probationer here, he asked. It’s rather obvious that I am, I said.
Without much ado he wanted to know my name, caste, creed, residence and the history of my life. I mumbled incomprehensible mumblings and escaped, but some of my less fortunate colleagues were at one time or the other trapped into lengthier conversations, proposals of marriages and offers of dowries made on the spot. We are aloo ke bore – sacks of potatoes waiting to be auctioned- was how a colleague put it after he had barely managed to escape one such inquisition.
By and by I, like many other probationers, learnt to make a wide detour from this danger zone, little realizing that the more enterprising parents of daughters of ‘marriageable age’ would not let things rest. One sunny afternoon I had navigated myself away from this crowd to find a letter in my locker. It began, “Sunil beta, I am Dr. so and so, you’ll remember me, I am a close friend of your father…I need your help…will you be so kind as to send me a list of all your batch-mates who are Kayasthas from UP, MP or Rajasthan, who are in the age group 25 to 29, ideally at least 5’ 7” tall……I’ll be so grateful beta, you remember my daughters don’t you?”
This was incredible! What was I supposed to do? Pick out my batch-mates by state of domicile, find out their castes, measure their heights, confirm their ages, perhaps interview them for good measure, and send the list so compiled to the good doctor? Thankfully, the doctor did not want the list also by skin tone, colour of eyes, body weight, sexual preferences, number of siblings and previous marriages if any.
I did nothing finally, but as I sat down to wonder at these assaults on us hapless probationers, one of my colleagues suggested that I put up the doctor’s letter on the notice board, and possibly some colleague matching the doctor’s requirements would reply. Better still, another recommended, invite him to stand among the daily hordes, and he could just pounce on the first eligible Kayastha who happened to walk by.
And yes, many of my colleagues, Kayasthas, Brahmins, Thakurs and those of every other hue imaginable, did mutate over time into sacks of potatoes, and auctioned themselves off.
Finally, lest I forget to mention, some bright soul has put up a dowry calculator on the WWW, and has dedicated it to “all the matchmaking aunties of India”. Try it; it includes calculating dowries for IAS officers (I must say it is rather outdated, though. I was offered at least ten times more than what I calculated on this calculator!).
Pic credit: The Justified Sinner (Used under a Creative Commons license)
I am a former bureaucrat, and have worked a lot on gender issues, disaster management and good governance. I am also the proud father of two lovely daughters. read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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