As homo-sapiens, you’d be aware of the uber successful startup of humans ,through evolution, called Marriage. Religion goes hand in hand. But let’s not talk about religion because I want to live a moderately threat-free life. If healthy, educated adults choose to believe that an imaginary super-human living in the clouds above can dictate his/her life, I don’t know why I should take it upon myself to cure them of schizophrenia. I mean, I don’t really claim to be a nice person, after-all.
Talking of marriage, the film industry at large has promoted marriage as a dreamy concept worth chasing. We’re wannabe cool kids caught in the indo-western conflict of idealism. I know what I’m supposed to want, but I also know what my brain has been washed into wanting.
I’m supposed to want a stable relationship with myself first, be financially independent, emotionally receptive, and perceptually sound regarding what do I want in life and how an association with someone can make for a mutually strong companionship. But what have I been brainwashed into wanting? A tall, handsome, billionaire, straight-out-of-everything-fiction to catch me in the most candid of situations, like yawning, and betting on the yawn to fall knees deep in love with me. Also, expecting him to pursue me like a lunatic while I act like a social-media-star but eventually give in to his stalker ways and accept it as true love. Yep, that’s Bollywood conditioning for you.
If you’re an on-paper thoughtful loser like me, you’d find yourself thinking about the Institution of marriage more frequently, as you approach 25. The society wants you to be a flesh and blood reincarnation of a deity, blissfully unaware of the opposite gender, till 24. But suddenly expects you to get super horny at 25, so you can acknowledge men, get married and breed, all by the ‘appropriate’ age of 25. It’s fucked up. If you’re single the timeline gets so odd that you suddenly are ashamed to fall in love on Facebook (because that is justified only during teenage), it’s below you to find a groom on matrimonial sites ( not cool for feminists) and sponsoring advertisements on the newspaper matrimonial columns makes you cringe (for all the apt reasons).
Now there’s little to negligible scope of falling in love, because everyone around you, by this age, is either engaged or about to win the Nobel Prize. So you don’t stand a chance at natural selection anyway. (Where is Bollywood when you need it?) So what do you do? Few of us would resort to tracing marriage patterns from the medieval age and convince themselves that if their grandparents could sustain their arranged marriage on boiling dal together, then why can’t they? (Logical reasoning 101).
Few others would resort to Tinder (because why not?) Tinder is the hub of all the gully celebrities, I tell you. Entrepreneur Traveller+ dog lover+ sapiosexual+ grammar nazi + positive vibe believer+ pot smoker+ party freaks + gym selfies that flexes 2015678.965 strips of muscles , what I’m trying to tell you is, this could be your shot at the 50 shades of Tinderloin. And swipe anyway, because all the biographies are social-media-bully-proof (read: fuck-all) clones of each other , so I’d recommend you to go for the number of muscles flexed.
(Some genetic advantage, atleast)
The third section of individuals, like me, would be in denial regarding the impending inter-personal doom. I constantly find myself questioning the man-made concepts of love and marriage on one night and suffer from exhausting self-pity on other nights, with the realization that nobody, in their sane mind, actually wants to marry me.
I’ve been known to be a little neurotic, but hey, I look pretty through Instagram filters, how is that not reason enough to at least consider me?!
Or am I?