How to desperately seek a husband
Tejaswi Mangale, a 36-year-old, unmarried British NRI, talks about her six months navigating the Indian marriage market, through newspaper ads, Shaadi.com and kundlis
Tejaswi Mangale was, by most measures, a very successful 33-year-old woman. This British NRI had a well-earning job in equity brokerage and a loving circle offamily and friends. But she wasn’t married, which automatically disqualifies her — in the eyes of most concerned Indian parents — as either successful or happy.
“I never felt the need to get married,” Mangale says, sipping her coffee. She is a beautiful woman with long hair and a ready laugh. “My parents gave me the usual lines about ‘saare acche ladke chale jayege’”. They probably couldn’t have guessed what came next: Mangale’s friend, a documentary filmmaker, approached her with a proposition: that they collaborate to film her as she searches for a husband in India. For six months, Mangale would try every approach in the Indian guidebook to marriage — she put an ad in the newspaper, she made a Shaadi.com profile, she was set up by friends and grandparents in Rajasthan, and she had her kundli matched with strangers. “My parents were shocked, to say the least,” she says carefully.
The documentary, titled Desperately Seeking Husband, is now in post-production, and plans are on to broadcast it on British TV’s Channel Four. The question, however, is how does one’s rather personal quest to find a life-partner, sync with the creative and narrative process of making a film? Is the quest really to find a husband? “I would have been very happy, of course, if I found someone with whom I had a connection,” Mangale explains. “But the point was that using me as a case study, the film would explore the changing — and unchanged — approaches to marriage and monogamy in India.” One of the people Mangale met with was Gopa Bharadwaj, a psychology professor at Delhi University. “Gopa told me that college girls feel pressure to maintain a sort of collegiate social status with a boyfriend,” says Mangale.
Mangale’s visit to a friend’s family in Jaipur unsettled many preconceptions for her. “The women in this family didn’t work out of choice. The men were very supportive of their choices, and one of the women did in fact work with her husband’s business, but the other women chose to stay at home. They were all well-educated and just happened to also be homemakers.” The grandmother of the family took Mangale under her wing — “very kindly, considering I was without any family members,” says Mangale — and introduced her to a family friend. Mangale had a meeting with the family first, where she was grilled by his grandmother. “She asked me blunt questions — could I cook, could I take care of the house and would I be able to adjust with the other family members,” says Mangale. “But at the same time, this grandmother was pragmatic. She spoke approvingly of the trend of youngsters finding their own partners, saying half-jokingly that at least the ‘parents would not be to blame’ if the couple wasn’t compatible.”
Mangale was — horror of astrological horrors — declared to be a ‘manglik’. This automatically disqualified her from marrying anyone who wasn’t a manglik like her. She went on a series of blind dates in Delhi and Mumbai, set up by friends and friends-of-friends. “I was being followed by a camera most of the time, and the camera was set up on every date, coffee and dinner I went for,” she says.“Some guys were uncomfortable with it, but for the most part it was surprising how a camera can actually aid people in opening up. If nothing else, after sometime they forget it’s there.” Mangale went on a blind date with a “ridiculously rich” man, that didn’t end well: “he was trailed the whole time by four bodyguards! He spoke incessantly of his money,” she remembers with a frown. “Then he kept calling me for days. It wassad, he was obviously very lonely.” Another set-up with an advertising professional was surprising in the man’s candour as to what he expected from a wife. “Originally from Patna, this guy told me bluntly that his professional life came first for him, and he wanted someone who would understand these pressures.”
Has Mangale ever been accused of having ‘too high expectations’? “Oh, all the time,”she says. “But I’m okay with my expectations. They’re high and that’s the way I like them. I don’t intend on compromising.” So Mangale’s hunt — and that of every other Indian girl’s worried parents
Tejaswi Mangale, a 36-year-old, unmarried British NRI, talks about her six months navigating the Indian marriage market, through newspaper ads, Shaadi.com and kundlis
Tejaswi Mangale was, by most measures, a very successful 33-year-old woman. This British NRI had a well-earning job in equity brokerage and a loving circle offamily and friends. But she wasn’t married, which automatically disqualifies her — in the eyes of most concerned Indian parents — as either successful or happy.
“I never felt the need to get married,” Mangale says, sipping her coffee. She is a beautiful woman with long hair and a ready laugh. “My parents gave me the usual lines about ‘saare acche ladke chale jayege’”. They probably couldn’t have guessed what came next: Mangale’s friend, a documentary filmmaker, approached her with a proposition: that they collaborate to film her as she searches for a husband in India. For six months, Mangale would try every approach in the Indian guidebook to marriage — she put an ad in the newspaper, she made a Shaadi.com profile, she was set up by friends and grandparents in Rajasthan, and she had her kundli matched with strangers. “My parents were shocked, to say the least,” she says carefully.
The documentary, titled Desperately Seeking Husband, is now in post-production, and plans are on to broadcast it on British TV’s Channel Four. The question, however, is how does one’s rather personal quest to find a life-partner, sync with the creative and narrative process of making a film? Is the quest really to find a husband? “I would have been very happy, of course, if I found someone with whom I had a connection,” Mangale explains. “But the point was that using me as a case study, the film would explore the changing — and unchanged — approaches to marriage and monogamy in India.” One of the people Mangale met with was Gopa Bharadwaj, a psychology professor at Delhi University. “Gopa told me that college girls feel pressure to maintain a sort of collegiate social status with a boyfriend,” says Mangale.
Mangale’s visit to a friend’s family in Jaipur unsettled many preconceptions for her. “The women in this family didn’t work out of choice. The men were very supportive of their choices, and one of the women did in fact work with her husband’s business, but the other women chose to stay at home. They were all well-educated and just happened to also be homemakers.” The grandmother of the family took Mangale under her wing — “very kindly, considering I was without any family members,” says Mangale — and introduced her to a family friend. Mangale had a meeting with the family first, where she was grilled by his grandmother. “She asked me blunt questions — could I cook, could I take care of the house and would I be able to adjust with the other family members,” says Mangale. “But at the same time, this grandmother was pragmatic. She spoke approvingly of the trend of youngsters finding their own partners, saying half-jokingly that at least the ‘parents would not be to blame’ if the couple wasn’t compatible.”
Mangale was — horror of astrological horrors — declared to be a ‘manglik’. This automatically disqualified her from marrying anyone who wasn’t a manglik like her. She went on a series of blind dates in Delhi and Mumbai, set up by friends and friends-of-friends. “I was being followed by a camera most of the time, and the camera was set up on every date, coffee and dinner I went for,” she says.“Some guys were uncomfortable with it, but for the most part it was surprising how a camera can actually aid people in opening up. If nothing else, after sometime they forget it’s there.” Mangale went on a blind date with a “ridiculously rich” man, that didn’t end well: “he was trailed the whole time by four bodyguards! He spoke incessantly of his money,” she remembers with a frown. “Then he kept calling me for days. It wassad, he was obviously very lonely.” Another set-up with an advertising professional was surprising in the man’s candour as to what he expected from a wife. “Originally from Patna, this guy told me bluntly that his professional life came first for him, and he wanted someone who would understand these pressures.”
Has Mangale ever been accused of having ‘too high expectations’? “Oh, all the time,”she says. “But I’m okay with my expectations. They’re high and that’s the way I like them. I don’t intend on compromising.” So Mangale’s hunt — and that of every other Indian girl’s worried parents
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