about staying single ...

GOING SOLO

poornachandra

It was the same old story again. One more of my childhood chums was taking the plunge. Our gang of buddies, some with better halves, were chatting while the couple-to-be was busy with the rites of initiation into holy matrimony. Most of them were veterans who took the plunge aeons ago. They decided to teach the few good men amongst us, who still stood ashore, the finer aspects of life. And the conversation veered towards the divine wedlock. “In marriage, the first chapter is written in poetry and the rest in prose,” said the Writer. “So get married and have an everlasting romance.” His wife added, “How long are you going to drift around. Get settled in life.” The Musician chorused, “Enough of singing solo. Try the duet, it’s heavenly.”


Their words got me thinking. In the pleasant monotony of bachelorhood, maybe there was a need for some excitement. Not one to be convinced easily, the sceptic in me invoked the greatest philosopher of them all, Socrates, and asked him, “Should I marry or not?” To that he replied, “Whichever you do you will repent it.” I shared these words with the friends and thought aloud, “To do, or not to do!” The Pragmatist, who was the last one to switch courts from singles to doubles, said, “Marriage has many pains but celibacy has no pleasures,” quoting Dr. Samuel Johnson. “According to Shaw, marriage is popular because it combines the maximum of temptation with the maximum of opportunity,” he added. “So many wise men, so many wise thoughts. Maybe I should go ahead and follow them,” said Captain Courageous, who could be incited into acts of bravery easily. Doubting Thomas, amongst friends known to be the patron saint of bachelors, quipped, “Married men live longer than single men, but married men are a lot more willing to die. So look before you leap.”


One saw marriage as an affliction from which a lucky few are protected. From another point of view matrimony is the battlefield into which the weak-hearted dare not enter. Being the brave one Captain Courageous was ready to desert Singledom and defect to the other side. But not me, I thought. I’m immune to this epidemic. Or maybe I lack the courage for this battle. Marriage is an institution, they say. And I don’t want to be institutionalised. There was nothing much happening in the Captain Courageous’ life anyway, except keeping appointments and meeting deadlines. So he dared. “But I’ll get married only after falling in love. No arranged marriage. It’s the New Age Woman of substance that I seek,” he told the folks. “Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it. Now’s your turn, and we’ll arrange for that,” chorused the gang.


Before he could say “Saint Valentine,” he was with this pretty young thing, courtesy the guardian angels. She batted her lashes and simpered a little, and she had Courageous panting like a puppy. “She’s the Bharatiya Belle. My woman of substance. She wears western clothes but still respects Indian traditions. She stood first in class in her eighth standard and was Miss Defence Colony during her college days. She idolises Mother Teresa, loves animals, and wants to use her inner beauty to work for world peace. The right mix of ethnicity and modernity. She’s the one I always dreamt of,” he told me. “Best of luck,” I said. The rest happened at the speed of light. After a whirlwind campaign of romance he called the Blisskrieg, he popped the question, she wore his ring, and one fine day, they took the plunge. “And they lived happily ever after?!?!” I said as they drove off for their honeymoon. “Amen” said the gangsters. I went back to my bachelor pad, hoping that this latest convert to their faith finds his salvation.


It was almost a year later that Saint Thomas and I bumped into Captain Courageous at the parking lot of the biggest shopping mall downtown. As we exchanged pleasantries, I sensed something wrong about his expression. The plunge seemed to have affected him a lot; he was wet and dripping. We asked him how the going was. “Marriage is beautiful. A terrible journey, a season in hell and a reason for living” he blabbered. The poetry from the first chapter seemed to have got to his head. I asked him whether he managed to win the Krieg to find Bliss. “She’s beautiful and sweet. She’s an Indian Goddess all right, but is a westernised MTV-style divinity at that. She’s crazy about Ricky Martin and thinks I’m silly to be still listening to the likes of Kishori Amonkar. I get to see her in all her designer glory and be her escort. I also get to walk her three dogs, sing to the pair of kittens, and talk to the parrot. And of course, I get to pick up her shopping bills and swipe my credit card. She won’t work because she can’t find anyone who’ll pay her what she wants. She can’t be a mere housewife because that would be against her ideals of liberation. She’s been trying forever to attain the New Age Nirvana, while I try and keep up. It’s true what they say: Love is blind, and marriage is the eye-opener.” Having said this in one breathless stretch, he turned away to receive his ladylove who arrived with a cartload of shopping. We said hello to her, and then bade them farewell. Before we split ways, the brave but now bruised warrior said, “Take it from me, marriage isn’t a word…It’s a sentence.”


As we moved off, Saint Thomas said, “I’ve always maintained that a bachelor is a fellow who never makes the same mistake once. The dread of loneliness is greater than the fear of bondage. So most of the folks enter the wedlock and that’s when the padlock is shut. No comebacks. Poor things, it is a long-term rigorous imprisonment for them. They have to continue doing the same thing – running shops, selling soaps, making money – doing whatever hard work it takes to support their families. And go on working towards owning that sleek car, designer jeans, branded cosmetics, and all those symbols of happiness.” It’s rather scary, this system, I thought. “All these events in time-space help to make up one’s mind to stay single, and travel light. So here I am, going solo, yet, so high,” he added.


“Don’t you ever feel lonely and melancholic?” I asked. He quoted some wise man with a trademark smile and said, “One was never married, and that’s his hell; another is, and that’s his plague. So after all maybe one may go ahead and get married. But the timing ought to be real right.” “So when should a man marry? What’s the right timing?” I asked, as the parting question. The wise old bachelor boy said, “He marries best who puts it off until it is too late,” and bade me good-bye. I could see the mist lifting and the light shining through it. And I could see the path…

©2001