My world***

Am I Marrying THE Engineer….?

2006-06-23T11:16:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I finally managed to find my engineer who in addition to coming to terms with the impossibility of my finding a job in the Bay Area owing to my exemplary area of study had also agreed to pick up all my student loans and co-sign for any possible future maniacal educational endeavors. Surprised?? Me neither. The poor guy was madly in love with the damsel whose last major crush was a Navajo Indian who had nearly convinced her into spending spring break at the most happening city he had ever been to: Albuquerque. Horrified?? Me too.

Rewind Six Months:

Shalini, my friend from Kendriya Vidyalaya was the only girl in her IIT – Chennai computer science class. Her die-hard beliefs ranged from the fundamental software problem in the manufacture and application of the Y-chromosome to a rigid desire to migrate to Lhasa because of its reverse-dowry rules . Subsequently, she obviously didn’t have much of a chance with the exasperated guys there.

“Shal, dude you’re the luckiest freaking woman alive. You can get a custom-made husband with the choice you have.” For real, Shalini’s batch had the least number of girls in recent history. Since the remaining were personifications of ‘role-models’, they weren’t much of a competition for her. Or this is at least what she always paraded. But Shal had recently done the inevitable.

“Vids, I’m getting married da..”
“Wowoow…awwww… chooo chweeeet… I’m so happy for you…Saw your pic… you look so cute…you make such a good pair.”

Fast forward four months:

“Shal, I’m getting married.”
“WHAATTT??”
“Yup, to the man of yevaryone’s dreams !!!!”
“Keep dreaming...Nonsense”
“Shalini Iyer, I AM getting marr-”
“I can hear moron. But WHY? I mean are you sure everything is OK?”
“Shal-”
“What does the other moron do?”
“He’s a software developer at Complogistic solutions in San Fransisco”

Silence for a minute ------ “Meet me at 4 today” BEEEEP.

Shalini and the others always made it a point to remind their parents that any aspiring husband’s application be first forwarded to me. This noble gesture of theirs was accentuated the day I drooled over a cup of Ben n Jerry’s double chocolate chip ice-cream and seriously retorted that Ayman al Zawahiri, the second in command in the Taliban management was ‘hot’. There were five of us in the room: 1 mechanical engineer, 2 software, 1 industrial, and finally, the Research scientist. Oh, the last one’s me. At least that’s what it says on my portfolio. I might as well have been researching why my Navajo beau always sneezed whenever he saw me. After my mom told me that sneezing is a bad omen and by crossing it with another one ( me), it ensured good luck. Well, it made sense.
Anyways, so my query to my friends was that the Zawahiri dude had a job similar to most of them. He had a hectic job schedule, but sadly no job security. His boss was a maniac like all of theirs and he worked out of the exotic Afghan office.

“I think his profession is as interesting and exciting as all of yours’.
“Vidi, did you ever think for a while before choosing your Geology or whatever..?”
“ Oh yea, I did.. I was debating between seismology and English Literature (Whaat??), especially transcendentalism and Neo-Catholicism. But then-”

I was yanked away, gagged up and subjected to the worst type of Taliban-style torture for a week after my confession.

So yes, Jeez Louis, my marriage. How?? If I would’ve been approached by any homosapien with the proposition of me getting married in five months to an ‘object oriented programmer’, I would’ve scoffed and threatened to permanently settle in Uzbekistan for the rest of my life. So how did this phenomenon happen?

We met at a friends wedding in Hyderabad (because marriages are no longer made in heaven). He was definitely the type you’d notice in a huge gang. Yes, with his ‘I-know-I’m-the-center-of-attraction’ attitude and Prada goggles on a rainy-no-sun-at-all evening, you’d definitely notice him.

Renu aunty, Shalini’s mother was present at the wedding as usual. She always took the effort to pronounce every syllable in my name.

“Vaidehee beta, this is Vaibhav – He lives in San Fransisco”
Great – Is that going to prevent global warming?
“Vaibhav is a certified Java programmer”
# include Crap.. that’s not Java…
“Vaibhav, Vidi lives in Los ANGELS”
Aaaa you poor angel.
“She is studying Compewtar engineering”
Since when???
“Uhh.. no aunty, I’m studying Geology”
“%$^…..&^%”
“Geology, hmm … geography… hmm… Fluid Rock Interac-”
“ But beta, your mummy said you’re doing THE Java?”
“Vids, did you watch the latest Chelsea-Barcelona game?”

Thank heavens for small mercies. Shal knew where these types of introductions often lead. Before you knew it, phone numbers would be half heartedly exchanged, background checks done, relatives contacted and horoscopes matched.

That was the end of the Vaibhav factor and four rasgullas later, I left.

Fast forward two months:

LA- Café Spice at someone’s bachelor party. What in the holy name was I doing there? Word had spread that the guy who had ditched my roommate for a Brazilian Volleyball player twice his length in all axes was going to be there. Her loyal roomies were going to give him a good piece of their minds. Of course, it was only after seeing the guy that I’d realized that I would have gladly given him away to the next Brazilian who crossed me.

Suddenly,

“You should have seen her face…heheehhehehe … Geology …hehhehehe … which idiot studies it? I laughed so hard…so HARD…SO HA-”
“ Hey Vaibhav!”

You should have seen the boy’s face. I cried.

So yes, we exchanged phone numbers after realizing that we both hated pink, stuck our tongues out at every Camry and Accord on the road, went to the Santa Monica temple only on Sunday for the Laddu, threatened anyone who had taken a picture in front of the globe at Universal studios with dire consequences, and had bet $50 that Brangelina were going to divorce in exactly 75 days.

And therefore we got married. Believed me? Yup, I wouldn’t either.

Will leave all the dreaming, dating, blushing, musing, and drooling to viewer discretion. Except that in the journey of life that knows no destination,

no other hand will I hold,
no other touch will I feel,
no other smile will I absorb,
no other being will I deify….

[Background] “Ooooo…cho chweeet… MORON….So cuuteee…Freakin Insane…”

DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story are anything but fictional. Any character or event bearing any resemblance to anything living or dead is everything but coincidental. You guys know who you are and you had better thank me for this !!!

Ma, I Don't Want To Marry An Engineer!

2006-05-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

“Oh, really? Would you rather spend the rest of your life with a herpetologist studying the eating patterns of anacondas in Venezuela? You are old enough to be a mother of two kids. And yes, you are definitely getting married to an 'engineer boy.' Only engineer boys have permanent and respectable jobs, make good money, drive good cars, and fly Air-India business class. What's your problem?”

(Fast forward two days). “Bhabhiji, my devar's cousin is an actuary.” An act- what? Anyways, the poor devrani and her honest intentions are brutally inhibited mid-sentence. “Oh, thanks a lot, Pammiji. But sorry, Vidi is too young (aha, whatever happened to my two kids?). Do keep us in mind however if you know any engineer boys. You see – we don't have many expectations. If the boy has a B.Tech degree from India, it would be nice. Of course it must be from an IIT or any equivalent you know (who's this stiff competition for the IITs now?). He must have a Masters degree from an American university, and of course it would be an added advantage if the boy or his parents are American citizens. No Green card haan…it would take Vidi forever to get her permanent residence. That's it. We don't have many requirements. If he agrees to send Vidi to India every year for Dussehra, Diwali, Holi, and Rakshabandhan, it would be very considerate of him. Our only prayers are for a son-in-law who would be willing to sponsor Vidi's brother as soon as he is out of college. Bas, that's it. We don't have many expectations.”

Thus continue my mother's excursions at getting me married to a 'respectable engineer boy'. Of course I'm the renegade because I can't see myself relocating to either New Jersey or the Bay area. In case you're wondering if there is a counterpart of Mount St. Helen in these places, don't worry. It's just that I don't see any other option for Indian brides when it comes to a destination after marriage.

“Ma, I can't move to another city now. I just got this job after three months of an excruciating search.” “How nice, a job as a farmer in some Don Pablos?” “What?” All right before I whine any further, for a brief introduction – I am a graduate student in geology currently researching fluid rock interactions at Los Padres National Forest (and not Don Pablos). Unfortunately, my mother sees little difference between my profession and farming although I see nothing in common there except probably the earth. How I wish my mother echoed my feelings.

It has always been a mystery to me as to what qualities these engineers embodied that my mother so deified them. Or is it just the very fundamental fact that our brains are finer tuned to comprehend what a biomedical engineer is up to rather than an ecologist. (Ecology – yes, we remember the definition from grade 9). I am in a way tempted to conclude that my stance on marrying an engineer wouldn't have been so negative weren't it not for the constant nagging of my mother. “Why couldn't you study engineering haan? It wouldn't have been so difficult for a fellow engineer to like you. Geology – what will you get by studying rocks, mud and sand. Beta, why don't you get a PhD in computer engineering?” “Sure, Mom.”

If I would have said that I was going to Afghanistan to meet a kangaroo from Australia, my mother would not have been half as surprised as when I told her that I was going to the US to study geology. She was actually stricken dumb for half an hour. “What on earth put such a notion into your head,” she demanded, acknowledging the fact that these decisions had been taken without her advice, and must therefore be disapproved of perforce. My IIT–aspirant brother had to borrow his friend's geography book to recollect the definition of geology.

“Engineer bano, doctor bano, teacher bano, but Geo–NO!” I had had enough though by this time, and I was soon thinking of a very iniquitous idea of getting out of this soup. “Fine, Ma, I'm going to study computer engineering.” Much to the enthusiasm of my mother I packed my bags and left for LA. I also switched departments in less than a day thanks to an extremely thrilled head of the department whose program sadly had the smallest graduate student population in the university. The ensuing melodrama back home will be the subject of my discussion sometime in the near future.

In the wake of my geological activities, I became a perfect reverse role-model for the children in the colony. Gabbar Singh circa 2005. “Beta, if you won't study, you won't be able to become an engineer. See what happened to Vidi didi.” The poor children are traumatized when they picture themselves studying 'sand and mud', and the fact that they could one day land in Vidi didi's shoes petrifies the living daylights out of them.

My mother and her friends share this common interest in their noble pursuit of obtaining engineer sons-in-law. To assist them in this endeavor is an exhaustive database that has been constructed (by them of course), containing detailed information of aspiring and current engineers, including schools graduated from, cumulative GPA, bank balances, and of course net current salary.

As soon as it dawned upon my mother that I had a very bleak future on the matrimonial front with my geological degree, she changed strategies. She began telling one and all that I was an electrical AND computer engineer. No sooner did she do this that I was flooded with calls for a first round of interview. Needless to say, people were mighty impressed with my resume. Round one – the resume submission had been successful.

Round two – the interview round. Mr. Smart-pants, a doctoral student from MIT researching photoluminescence (I did a copy paste from his resume) enquires about my field of study. Upon my saying environmental geology and hydrogeology, he belts me with an 'oh-you-poor-loser' look followed by this parting statement, “Hmm, I don't think social science teachers make a lot of money in Ventura county.” I never made it to the next round.

“Ma, why do I HAVE to marry an engineer? There are so many...” “See, there was a reason I didn't want you to study zoology.” “Ma, geology.” “Ya, whatever. In addition to being stubborn and naïve, you have also turned out to be hare-brained like your father (my father is an accountant). I don't want my grandchildren to grow up speaking Zulu and have Tutsis for friends when you and your biological husband (?) are too busy worrying about the reproductive patterns of rhesus monkeys. And engineer boys come from good families. Only an engineer will keep you rich and happy. You will have a nice house in the city and not in some godforsaken Don Pablos.” “Ma, Los Padres Natio-” “Ya, whatever. He will also have enough money for me to fly down and see my angel grandsons (?). Bas, that's all that I want.”

“Ma, please, can I marry that actuary?” “NO – I don't want any bird doctors in my house.” “MAAAAaaaaa...”