I gave dowry. So
what’s the big deal, one may ask. In India, the give and take
of dowry is part of getting married, brides are clobbered or burnt because
of it, and no one gives a damn.
For me, it was
a big deal. I was against it, and reacted strongly whenever anyone suggested
that I would give in to societal pressure when the time came. I am no
activist out to change the world, or even to change my community’s
view on the issue. It was a personal decision — I would not give
dowry, or be party to giving it.
 |
Uzma Mohsin |
| |
Suddenly, all I wanted
to do was to get married, get it over with. Tongue-tied at the
meetings, I never broached the dowry issue. My resolve against
it crumbled, to be consigned to the trash can of my life |
I wanted an arranged
marriage. I was practical, guessed my parents would do a better job
of finding me the right person. He had to be a nice boy (obviously),
from the same background and community, with the right educational qualifications
and a good job. That’s all I wanted. From the family’s
perspective, the groom-to-be also had to have a good family name. The
Malayalee Investigative Network would use this, the family name, as
its starting point, the reference from where to dig and ferret for information
with a thoroughness that would be the envy of the fbi. The family’s
educational qualifications and general state of mental health going
back generations; its connections (who was related to whom and how many
of them mattered); the
skeletons in its vaults that it might otherwise be trying desperately
to hide — all would be laid bare, in agonising detail. So, to
have the right family name was extremely important. Of course, if you
were rich or had a prominent family name, many of these factors were
glossed over or ignored.
Going in for an
arranged marriage without giving a dowry? Forget it, my friends said.
But I believed there would be one person out there who shared my views,
and would be willing to marry me.
I had a tough time
getting married. Rather, everyone else had a tough time getting me married!
I had done a computer applications course and, in the early 90s when
it started taking off, I landed a great job. The matrimonial advertisement,
placed by my indulgent father, read: “Nice-looking software professional,
working in a top company.” Of course I couldn’t mention
the ‘No Dowry’ clause. I thought I would handle it during
the one-on-one meeting with the prospective candidates.
I got all kinds
of weird proposals. Someone wanted me to change my name after marriage
because he thought it meant ‘snake charmer’ in some convoluted
way in Hindi; another wanted to know my height minus slippers, and yet
another wanted my attested mark sheets from Class x! With a lot
of sifting, a Top Ten list of suitable boys was selected. Then —
nothing. All the people I said okay to didn’t like me, and vice
versa. Then the pressure started mounting — you must be asking
too many questions, act docile, remember your age, don’t be too
opinionated, don’t, don’t, don’t… and do, do,
do… Everyone had something to say, and said it freely. With all
this heaving and huffing and emotional bombarding, I lost it —
my confidence, my self-esteem and my ability to think rationally. Suddenly,
all I wanted to do was to get married, to get it all over with. I was
tongue-tied at the meetings, unsure of what to say, and, as a result,
never broached the dowry issue. My resolve against dowry crumbled
and was consigned to the trash can of my life.
The last man listed
was the chosen one. AND, of course, there was dowry. I was a mute witness
to the discussions, humiliated beyond caring.
We Syrian Christians
love hard cash — black or white. Not for us the refrigerators,
motorcycles and empty silver vessels. We don’t call it dowry —
that’s dirty — we call it a ‘share’, ‘girl’s
share’. The euphemism gives it respectability and a hushed halo.
My Church, with the threat of ex-communication looming, recognises it
unofficially because the Church also gets a share of the ‘share’.
Surprisingly, there are no overt demands for gold. “Let the girl
wear whatever, however much — in keeping with the status of our
family” is the dictum followed. Or such is my personal observation,
others may contradict this view.
It often makes
me wonder why a community so forward-thinking and so progressive in
its treatment of the girl child regresses so profoundly when it comes
to taking dowry. Our girls are given the best education, they are allowed
to pursue careers and take up jobs like the boys, but when they reach
marriageable age, they are pigeonholed by a patriarchal society. An
archaic code of conduct dictates how they behave, dress, act and speak.
Overnight, they are transformed from confident, independent individuals
to confused, sullen maids-in-waiting who swallow every barb (too fat,
too thin, dark, ugly, short…) thrown at them, directly or otherwise,
by prospective grooms and their families. I was no different —
it was easier to give in, than to fight.
What baffles me
is the attitude of these eligible men. These guys, many of them broad-minded,
educated individuals, maintain a studied silence at the time of dowry
negotiations. Too embarrassed to be a part of it, they are also too
greedy to protest, and refuse the easy money flowing in.
In hindsight, I
should have stuck to what I believed in. So what, if I didn’t
get married? My conscience pricks me at times. It rankles that I gave
in so easily. Then I think of the positives — marriage to the
right person and parents are happy. Let bygones be bygones… Maybe
I should let it pass, twelve years is too long to carry a blot.
Meanwhile the dowry
demands in the community are increasing. Dowry for a doctor or an engineer
is almost a crore — if not more. Parents of sons of even average
intelligence get them admitted into self-financing engineering or medical
colleges by giving a huge donation. They are confident they will get
it all back when they make the boy a wealthy alliance.
Currently, with
real estate booming, flats are in great demand too. So dowry is a package
deal — cash plus a flat. In addition, some people insist that
the girl be given ‘pocket money’ as part of the deal. Pocket
money? Whose ‘pocket’ does the money go into? A know-all
relative enlightened me: the girl’s, of course. I haven’t
figured that one out yet.
There have been
aha-moments too. Cousins, girls, who stubbornly refused to wed into
families that wanted dowry, have found perfect mates through arranged
marriages. I admire them for their stand and for not compromising
on what they believed in. Even more, I respect the boys and their families
for resisting the lure of money and choosing the girl for reasons other
than a big fat cash packet. However, these alliances have been too few
to have any radical impact on the community, fuelled as it is by greed.
Personally, writing
this has been a cathartic process. It has brought to the surface what
had been simmering inside. Of course, it cannot right the wrong or let
out the hurt. Only time will heal.
Time will also
bring a day when dowry is abolished from the face of the earth. Just
so long as there are no greedy Indians around. Malayalees included.
Highly unlikely,
the realist in me says.
