"Indian Matchmaking" review

The following post was published in American Kahani.  

Cringe and Binge: ‘Indian Matchmaking’ Forces You to Confront Indian Societal Norms

JULY 29, 2020

• Entertainment value aside, the docuseries by Netflix takes its audiences through a full array of emotions.

ANTARA BHARDWAJ

Never has a show sparked so much conversation in my home. While I burst out laughing watching the unexpected silent response of a young man who was asked what he wants in a bride, my husband was writhing uncomfortably in his seat. We are Gen-X’ers — I grew up in the U.S, my husband was raised in India and moved out here in his 20’s. 

  Netflix’s “Indian Matchmaking” gives you an in-depth look into the process of finding a life partner through a specific avenue of arranged marriage. Sima Taparia (also previously seen in “A Suitable Girl”) is an elite matchmaker who works with the upper echelons of Indian society. In this series, she ventures out to the United States, and brings her skill set of matchmaking to Indian Americans — GenX & Y’ers. 

The docuseries (not to be confused with traditional ‘reality tv’) follows half a dozen or so individuals from various walks of life — an independent female lawyer in Texas, a wealthy jeweler’s son in Mumbai, a school teacher in the Midwest, an female entrepreneur in Delhi, a divorcee with a child, among others. 

The show brings to the forefront some of the inane “requirements” that families look for in a potential bride or groom. It is hard not to notice how many times “fair” is casually thrown around, or the preoccupation with height and “slim figure.” It is also curiously striking when you see a young Indian American going on a first date with a girl … and her mother. 

The filmmakers navigate through all these various themes with a nuanced sensitivity and a non-judgmental approach. Sima Taparia is the star of the show — carrying through the narrative of each storyline, while sharing with the viewers her thoughts about the process, and frustrations with her clients. Her ultimate comeback — “I cannot do anything if the stars are not aligned.” And she’s not kidding when she says this, as we learn from the astrologists she brings in as a part of her consultancy process. 

Don’t expect happily tied up endings in this docuseries. This is not reality TV, and the producers have not forced a “Bachelor” like ending to each character’s story.

Entertainment value aside, “Indian Matchmaking” takes its audiences through a full array of emotions … not only showing a character arc for those going through the matchmaking process, but an overall arc of the show. It brings you in with easy-to-pick on Aparna, an overly critical, entitled woman who refuses to watch football with her future partner ever (unless it’s box seats), and exposes you to the complexities of traditional Indian households and hierarchies of power within the home — and not necessarily the way you would imagine them to be. 

Don’t expect happily tied up endings in this docuseries. This is not reality TV, and the producers have not forced a “Bachelor” like ending to each character’s story.

“Cringe and binge,” I heard someone say to describe this show. Whether you love it, or you hate it (as was the case in my own household), this show will evoke a response and force you to face your own feelings about societal ‘norms’ of our Indian community and culture. 

Disclaimer: The author is a friend of the show’s creator/executive producer and was briefly involved in the casting process. 

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Antara Bhardwaj is a Kathak artist and filmmaker based in Mountain View, California, where she lives with her husband and son. She runs a dance company and school by the name of Antara Asthaayi Dance. You can follow her on Facebook and Instagram.

Summer-in-Place

The following post was published in American Kahani. 

My Wonder Years And the Coming Summer-in-Place

JUNE 3, 2020

Life moved at a very different pace when I was growing up in Silicon Valley in the 1980s. Days languished on — life was not hurried. I walked to and from my local public elementary school, and after school there were no activities to rush to. I don’t even remember getting into our car on a weekday. Perhaps the only rush was to finish our paltry homework, so that we could run out to find other kids on our street riding their bikes or roller skating, drawing hopscotch, etc. 

My best friend lived four houses down from our’s, and our new next door neighbor had two girls around my age and my and my sister’s, so we all became fast friends. I didn’t have their phone numbers — in the off chance that they weren’t already out on the street playing, I would knock on their door and ask the age old question, “Can (name of friend) come out and play?” Rarely was I met with a no. 

My father was in the nascent stages of his own start-up — something that wasn’t very common in that era. I remember trying to explain to my friends that my dad worked for himself, and was met with confused frowns. “So … he doesn’t work?” My father came upon some money when the previous company where he was working was acquired. Rather than joining the new company, he decided to cash out and start something of his own. The $96k he made would be enough to keep our family of four (and mortgage) afloat for a couple of years. 

The author seen here in the summer of 1988 with her younger sister.

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I still remember the office my parents built for him in the garage. A few months later, the office lay abandoned, as the oppressive summer heat came in, and the lack of ventilation became unbearable. His office was moved to my little sister’s bedroom, which was more of a storage room for her stuff anyway, since she slept in my parents bed (“co-sleeping” was a term we never heard of in the 1980’s). 

Money was tight — there was no frivolous spending, or wastage of any sort. My mother made home-cooked (predominantly Indian) meals — 20 meals a week. The one exception was ordering pizza on a Friday night — and what a treat it was! Little Caesars (which used to be called Piggie’s Pizza, for you old timers out here) had a great 2 for 1 deal, pick-up only. 

The concept of a pick-up only restaurant itself was revolutionary. What kind of restaurant didn’t allow their customers to eat there? (Answer: all of them, circa COVID19) I remember looking forward to the drive to pick up the pizza — how the appetizing aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce would fill the car, and how our stomachs would rumble and palates salivate on the short 6 minute ride home. 

The author seen here in the summer of 1988 with her younger sister. 

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And traffic. Or, shall I say, the lack thereof. Evergreen (southeast San Jose) to Saratoga during rush hour would take 20 minutes. It felt like forever. Now, that same distance could take up to 1 hour 45 minutes, depending on the time of the day.
So there we were, all four of us at home, except for the 6 hours a day that I went to school. We may have been short on money, but there was no shortage of time. We cooked, cleaned, ate, played, grew vegetables and flowers, and all our friends were within a ten-minute walk of our home. When summer came around, we had even more free time. 

Cut to the year 2020. 

Every year, for the past three years, my husband and I draw out an elaborate spreadsheet for the 10 weeks of summer. I run an Indian classical dance school and teach my own summer camps, and so we meticulously detail out which weeks I will teach, find camps that fit within a matching location/schedule (hoping that our son will like those choices), and figure out which weeks will be a “break” so that summer actually feels like vacation. Additionally, we try to have one week which will be our family vacation where none of us are in work or school. One week. 

This summer, my son will experience a summer similar to my childhood summers — no summer camps, no planned activities, no plans. Where our resources are limited, but in exchange, we have time. A summer without air travel, where we will hardly even get into the car — but will go for daily long walks after 7pm when the harsh summer sun cools down and finally it becomes bearable to be outside. Perhaps, we will even have children play in the streets — wearing masks and being constantly reminded to keep a distance and wash their hands. 

We take it one day at a time, and remember that this, too, shall pass. Until then, may we find love, joy, and revel in the luxury of time that we have with our loved ones — whether they are in the same home as us, or a screen away. And perhaps, when we return to “normal,” we bring with us some of the good that shelter-in-place has to offer. 

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Antara Bhardwaj is a Kathak artist and filmmaker based in Mountain View, California. She lives with her husband and son, and runs a dance company and school by the name of Antara Asthaayi Dance, where you can follow her on Facebook and Instagram. 

 

Main Hoon Na

We as a family (and Vaish) decided to watch "Main Hoon Na" about a month ago. I somehow had missed this gem of a film (as everyone told me) and since Puchku is a huge Shah Rukh fan, and knew all the songs, I figured it would be a good family watch.

It really was a fantastic, entertaining film. We all totally got into it, and the one epic scene where Shah Rukh saves Zayed and becomes the local college hero, we all started chanting "Shah Rukh! Shah Rukh!" emphatically. Puchku loved it. Now, cut to 45 times of watching the film - he still shouts "Shah Rukh! Shah Rukh!" every time that scene comes on.

He also has an ENORMOUS crush on Sushmita Sen. Puchku has a thing called 'Baddoo' that he does with me - where he lovingly hugs and caresses my bare stomach (yeah, he's gonna hate hearing about this as an adolescent). Until now, baddoo was reserved solely for Mumma. But, alas, times are changing, my little baby is becoming a boy. And last week he started on repeat "Mumma, Puchku Sushmita shaathe baddoo korbe." ("Puchku wants to do baddoo with Sushmita")

(Sigh!) I guess this is just one of the many mini-steps for accepting the eventuality that another woman will replace the apple of his eye! It's pretty hilarious for the time being though.

Another couple of cute things about Main Hoon Na -- Amrita Rao's character's name is named Sanjana, and they call her Sanju. In his mind, she is the same Sanju as his own Sanju didi (Parulekar). He's learned to identify Sunil Shetty, Zayed Khan, Naseeruddin Shah, and Kabir Bedi from this film. For awhile he would pronounce Naseer's name as "Suneer-eta-sha" so we thought he was saying "Sunil Shetty," but now he's corrected his dyslexic pronunciation of the name.

He also knows that Kabir Bedi, as a sardar in the movie, plays an army officer, so he says "Army maane.... Sardar ji!" I guess it's an acceptable stereotype - there are a lot of Sardar ji's in the Indian Army. Also, when he says "Indian Army" it often sounds like "idiot army."

By the way, Shah Rukh Khan is the MAN. At least in the early 2000's he was SOLID.

It's a Friday night, we are all hanging out in the living room, as Main Hoon Na plays in the background. Baba is increasing the height on Puchku's balance bike, and I'm finally typing out this post that has been in my mind for so long. I made sundried tomato basil risotto for dinner with a side of roasted brussels sprouts. We're all going to actually eat dinner together - this pretty much never happens for the Brahma family!

Ugly Saal

My Pupa says so many cute things these days, I don't even know where to start documenting them! These days he's on a Hindi fix - he's been trying to construct sentences in Hindi - and he really doesn't know how to, bc he's just more comfortable in Bangla in general. But I've been noticing he won't speak to me in Bangla, even though he knows how to say that particular sentence in Bangla.

This weekend I had the root canal from hell and was lying around doped up, comatose, holding my mouth for most of my waking hours. He was so sweet and gentle around me.

"Mumma ouchie hain?" and he brings my bone stem for my foot ultrasound. I explain that the ouchie is in Mumma's "mooiya" and not "pau."
"Oh, acha." pronounced just like that. Not the aspirated "achchha" that it should be :-)
"Mumma mooiya ouchie, bandaid?" I explained that I need "dawaai" for this ouchie to go away.
So he begins yelling to Baba in the other room.
"Baba!! Mumma dawaai!" he struggled a bit constructing a sentence, I can't remember what he did in between, but finally landed on "Baba! Iski dawaai kahaan hai?"

His other thing is calling me "bete." I think he got that from Nani, bc we don't call him bete, but I know Nana-Nani do. "Oh, bete, yeh kya hai?" Or just throwing in bete for the sake of it.

He keeps asking me to go visit Iain bhaiya. "Iain bhaiya kaachhe jaabe?" (We'll go to Iain bhaiya?) And I always respond with "Agle saal," next year. Now he just answers the question for himself - "Ugly saal." 

The Last Time

I read this poem a couple of years ago, when Puchku was just a little baby, and it made me really sentimental (of course) - and reminded me of when I was a girl and had this tradition of 'Tuckkoo' with my dad. He would scoop me up in his arms, like a little baby, and carry me to my bed, and tuck me into bed by cocooning me into my 'coshi rajaai' (cozy quilt) and kiss me good night. This ritual lasted way longer than you imagine. I remember being 12 years old and running to the furthest corner of the house so that my 'godi ride' would be as long as possible. And I would stiffen up my body and straighten out my legs to make it difficult for my dad to get through the doorways - he would angle at diagonals to fit me through. My mom would rebuke me 'शरम नहीं आति - इतनी बड़ी हो गयी है, अभी भी डैडी से गोदी में उठवा रही है?' (Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You're so big and still having your father carry you?) My dad, always the out-of-box thinker that he is, would laugh it off, and tell her, 'करने दे. और कितने दिन कहेगी? एक दिन ख़ुद ही मना कर देगी।" (Let her do it, how much longer will she ask for it? One day, she will stop asking for it herself.") He went on to promise me that he would give me 'Tuckkoo" for as long as I asked for it, and would never say no. 

As he predicted, I did stop asking for it. We moved to a new house when I was 16 (yes, it lasted THAT long) and it was two storied, unlike the other homes we had previously resided in. I remember thinking that I could ask Daddy for tuckoo, but then thought it might be a bit much with the stairs and all. And I figured, moving to a new house was a landmark enough occasion to stop asking for it. 

Reading this poem made me think that I will never say no to 'godi' to my little boy. He's 33 lbs now, and well over half my height, so I look ridiculous carrying him - but pretty soon I'll have to stop carrying him godi bc it just won't be physically possible, so I try my best to carry him whenever he asks for it. 

But the reason I decided to write this blog post today is because I'm remember that Puchku always used to cry whenever he would see his nanny, Delmi, on Tuesday mornings. He would cry, cling to me, my legs, make excuses of 'ninni' or anything else he could to get me to stay with him. Wednesday the crying would taper to a whimper, and by Thursday and Friday he was fine with her arrival. Then the weekend would happen, and the same would repeat on Tuesdays all over again. 

I noticed in the last month or so, that he wasn't crying on Tuesdays anymore. He would see Delmi, and conversely start saying to me 'Bye Mumma! Mumma chakri korchhe!' (Mumma's working now). To the point that I would be making up excuses to linger around the room a little bit longer. I realized, that 'the last time' of him crying may have already happened, and I don't even remember when it was. 

I made myself feel better by remembering that we would be going on a 3 week cruise with the whole family, and upon returning, he would surely cry when he saw Delmi. I know - how evil is that - WANTING him to cry when he sees his nanny!! And so today the day arrived, and I prepared him by telling him that Delmi was coming. "No! No more Delmi!" The signs were looking promising for a waterworks outbreak. And then the moment arrived, and Delmi brought her 7 year old niece, Valeria with her - who Puchku just adores. "Smart move!" I told her when she came in, and we both laughed. Puchku didn't shed a tear. 

It was a bittersweet moment. I was, of course, happy that he didn't cry, and was looking forward to his day with friends. He's growing up so fast - it feels even faster than before because it's not the physical growth that's accelerated, but the mental growth. I'm grateful for all the time I get with him, because I know not all mothers have the luxury that I have - of half the time with a nanny, and half the time with me. It's a balance that keeps me sane with my own life and ambitions, and lets me savor the time that I do have with him. 

Hero Worship

Cute moment this morning I felt I should write about.

Puchku's really been into this Aveeno lotion we have in the living room. He always asks me to squirt a bit on both hands, and I've taught him to expand his realm of just smearing it on his hands to including his thighs (the kid never wears pants around the house - if I can get his underpants on him I feel like I've succeeded). There was a time when he started smearing it on his legs and he had his pajamas on... Anyway he's expanded to his cheeks and face, which is fine. Today he asked for the standard lotion, and then I see he's putting it on his forehead, into his hair. I start squealing, saying that's yucky! He goes over to the mirror and runs back over saying "Mumma! Puchku Withik!" He had styled his hair in a spiky hairstyle with the lotion, to what he thought was like Hrithik Roshan's hair.

His favorite Hindi movies have now expanded to the following:

• Dhoom 1 (Umesh Dhoom, bc the first time he watched it, Umesh was visiting. We have an action sequence that we enact regularly together - and he can identify Abhishek, Uday, Esha, and John)
• Dhoom 2 (Withik Dhoom - where he can identify Aishwarya & Bipasha, and Uday & Hrithik but hasn't made the connection that Abhishek from Dhoom 1 is the same Abhishek from Dhoom2 bc the guy put on 30+ lbs between the two films)
• Ek Tha Tiger (Salman & Pacheena - Katrina, his total fave actress)
• Om Shanti Om (ShahRukh Om Shanti - you should see his rendition of the OG 'Om Shanti Om' song with the growling 'aaaaaah!' in the end - oh, and he really likes Deepika too)
• Daawat-e-Ishq ('Daamne Ishq' which is a total different genre from the rest of his preferences. But he loves yelling 'Gullu' and 'Taruuuu!' dialogues, and dancing to the title song by making a frisbee a thali and using it as a dhapli the way Taru does in the opening of the song)
• Bang Bang (the O.G. that sparked his love for Withik, his favorite hero, and Pacheena, his favorite actress. I often find him and Delmi, his nanny, watching this film when I come home at night - I suspect Delmi enjoys Hrithik as much as the rest of us do!)

As I write this post, on a Saturday morning, my son is walking around only wearing a shirt (lost the battle of putting on his underwear after 2nd round of potty), spiked hair, blue finger nails (he's recently gotten into weekly nail polish, he chooses his color - and no mention of what his hands are busy playing with), singing 'Jana Gana Mana' - I think he knows more lyrics of the Indian National Anthem than I do. 

Why would anyone choose to sleep in on a Saturday morning when this is the alternative? :-)

Sticking to it

I have to admit, I had a moment of concern when I took Puchku to his first soccer class and saw how much more kids his age communicate verbally as compared to my son. Kids a whole year younger than him are speaking in full sentences, and my kid is still only sticking to nouns, and the occasional incorrectly conjugated verb. But then I have to remind myself -- he's hearing 4 languages, it's ok, he will catch up. Because I know he will. I've seen it first hand when my sister Vaishali was a baby. She didn't speak a word of English when she went to preschool at the age of 3. And within a couple of months, she was just fine. So I know this, but I had that pang of anxiety, self-doubt and questioning and the sad realization that I was comparing my kid to other kids - oh God, how I've never wanted to do that. But it's hard not to.

So I continue to speak to him in Hindi/Bangla in class. I've been told you're supposed to stick to speaking only 1 language with the kid - I'm probably at 70% Hindi, 20% Bengali and 10% English. I thought until now that he didn't know the difference between Hindi and Bangla, but had a surprising moment when yesterday I was trying to get him to respond to someone asking him 'Tumi kemon aacho?" I told Puchku, 'Bolo, ami bhalo aachi!" to which he responds. "No -- Thammi India airplane -- whoosh!!" To translate that for you -- it meant 'No, Thammi has left for India now, I don't have to speak in Bangla.' Oh my gosh, I'm one of those moms who understands everything her kid is saying! Yay for me!!

Oh, that's another interesting thing I've noticed - that understanding what your kid is so much more about knowing the psychology behind his thinking than understanding the actual pronunciation of the words. So between me and King, we both have some insight on what he's thinking in different areas of expertise (King's far more attuned w/what toys and youtube videos he likes -- me, everything else).

Anyway, it's a great, great phase. I can't believe he's almost three. I kept calling him 2.5 till I realized he'll be three next month! And we've been potty trained for nearly 2 months! This week we even seem to be nailing poo-poo potty training, yay!

I wonder if we'll ever get to the stage where he sleeps through the night ...