"Indian Matchmaking" Reactions III

Rejection. It sucks. 

It's also a large part of dating, whether one is the rejector or the rejectee. Either way, it's not pleasant. 

In my dating years, I was beyond stressed about rejecting someone. For the most part, I could tell off the bat that it wasn't shayach and felt no need to go on a second date. It wasn't until I found out from my dating kinfauna that there is an "obligatory" two-date minimum, to which I respond, "Whah?" 

I had thought, that if I knew this wasn't going anywhere, why raise someone else's hopes up needlessly with another date? Because here's the thing: there is no way to make rejection better. A "no" after two dates isn't more palatable than a "no" after one. I'm saying this from the other side, that rejection sucks, plain and simple. 

On the show, there were two examples of people who were both in the position of rejector and rejectee: Nadia and Vinesh. 

Nadia had been seeing Shekar, who is considered to be a nice, steady guy. But then Vishal walks into a mixer, and well . . . let's just say Vishal is striking. He's tall, gorgeous, and has the same cheerful energy Nadia is known for. But he's seven years younger than her.

So Nadia starts claiming that Shekar didn't seem to be that interested, and calls him to break up with him. She even tells him that she felt like he was "rejecting" her. Shekar seems blindsided, and denies it, but ultimately accepts her decision with grace. He then hangs up the phone and cries. 

Nadia is then bouncing along with Vishal, happy as a clam, until he flies out to see her. She is looking at him with excitement and expectation. He does not look at her the same way. He then proceeds to break up with her. 

Nadia, stunned, does not accept his decision gracefully. She snaps and snarls. Initially, I was taken with her sassiness. But then recalled: she rejected Shekar, and hoped he would take it ok. Yet when she is rejected, the claws come out. 

Well well. 

Then there is Vinesh. Vinesh is cheerful, loud, and jokes a lot (his jokes are not always funny). He is first matched with Mosum, who matches his energy, but she's not so focused on appearances. Vinesh asks her for her number after they meet, but then tells the screen that he asked for it to be polite, that he does not intend to date her (he does know that Mosum will hear this, right? This is international programming). 

Later, he's set up Meena, who, dare I say it, is smokin'. From her perfectly blown hair, fake lashes, and low cut cleavage, she is striking. But it's obvious that she does not appreciate Vinesh's humor. Vinesh, smitten with her looks, proclaims that the date went well, while Meena thinks otherwise. 

When told that Meena felt "friendship rather than romance" (this is the show code for "no way Jose"), Vinesh looks stricken. It takes him a few minutes to recover. 

It seems, for both these people, it's perfectly reasonable to be the rejector. After all, if it's not meant to be, if they're not feeling it, they just gotta be honest, y'know? They don't give the other people much thought. But when they're being rejected . . . it's a whole other ball game. REJECTION SUCKS. 

Rejection, in all forms, sucks. It sucks when you try to talk to someone new and they scurry away from you. It sucks when you apply to a school and they don't accept you. It sucks when your credit card gets rejected. It just sucks, overall. 

There are some people who so don't want to reject someone else that they just marry them. That really could have been me, if there wasn't a shadchan to do my dirty work. I would not have survived to have a happy union if I had to tell someone directly "I like you like a friend." 

So while there are times when rejection is necessary, please remember: try to be as kind as possible.

"Indian Matchmaking" Reactions II

Pradhyuman was a problem in Season 1. He was, by all accounts, too picky. Siiiigh. 

He was unrealistic. He was too demanding. He did not understand that he cannot get everything. He rejected 150 suggestions (I think that's less than Han dated).

At the end of the season, he FINALLY goes out with someone who looks compatible, and the music swells hopefully. But as the credits roll, we're informed that it didn't take.

Ay, Pradhyuman. What are we to do with you? Tsk tsk. 

Then, much to my surprise, Season 2 opens with Pradhyuman beaming, gushing about his girlfriend that he met at a party. He's floating on air. 

A few episodes in, he eagerly prepares the engagement setup—with no one shoving him—and of his own free will, proposes to his beloved. 

Huh.

Now, I gotta admit, I had been a nay-sayer. I had also thought that Pradhyuman was one of those really impossible ones that will end up alone with his cats because he's just not being amenable. 

But here we are, with him blissfully committed. 

There are numerous stories like this, about seemingly "impossible" singles, who everyone sighs and moans and predicts doom and gloom and then—the moon hits their eye like a big pizza pie and it's AMORE. 

Maybe they weren't being impossible. Maybe they were just . . . waiting for the right one.    

"Indian Matchmaking" Reactions, I

A new season of "Indian Matchmaking" has arrived, and I plowed through it. Luckily Anakin finds it entertaining. 

The new season opens with Akshay, who lives in the Indian equivalent of Yehupitz. The family business is based there, so he cannot relocate. Both he and Sima the Matchmaker agree it's difficult for him "because the girls don't want to be in" Yehupitz, "they all want to live in the big cities." Dramatic sigh. 

Generalizations. They rankle me. 

Perhaps because I had been constantly lumped into generalizations, that because I was single and a certain age I was automatically picky, that I was unrealistically demanding this or that, that I must have, I must have, I must have—no, I wasn't. I wasn't. 

Additionally, I was constantly told that the man I was on the search for, with 2.5 criteria, did not exist. There are no boys like that, I was repeatedly told. 

So even when a semi-scripted reality show starts spouting generalizations, I get annoyed. It still—still!—gets under my skin. 

Because, seriously, in ALL OF INDIA there isn't ONE or TWO or maybe ONE HUNDRED women who would be willing to live in a small, cozy, warm community? Heck, enough of our own people want to live out-of-town, and we're a pretty small minority, as opposed to a country with one BILLION people. 

I was trying to set up an acquaintance, and on the phone with her I was stunned that she had pretty much the same criteria as me, maybe 1.5. (I refuse to count "normal" as criteria.) I felt compelled to reassure her that I got what I was looking for, it's not unheard of or impossible. Because yes, men like my husband exist, the same way I exist. 

All May Be Well, But . . .

I follow @iwassupposedtohaveababy on Instagram, even though, B'H, that is not my concern. But I feel a vague sort of kinship to women who waited years for something that others seemed to have attained with ease. 

(Disclaimer: I am in no way comparing my situation to that for those struggling with infertility.) 

I did a little googling on the creator of the account, who expresses raw emotion at times, even posting reels of herself crying. So I was surprised to learn that she had, B'H, overcome her infertility struggles and B'H has a bouncing family. 

Initially, I was confused—if she has her children, why does she still carry such sadness? 

But then I remembered: 

"All's well that ends well" isn't quite true. You read this blog, hearing me still complain about my single years, how I was treated, how much it hurt, and maybe some of you wonder, "She's married now, she has kids, maybe she should let it go"? 

It's not so easy to let go of pain. 

I was once venting to my sister about relatives who live in a bustling, interconnected community, and how they had never attempted to set me up, even though they had tried for other people. 

She said, puzzled, "But you're married now. To Han. Who isn't even from their area. So it all worked out anyway." 

"That's not the point. When I was in it, when I was desperate for a suggestion, when the phone wasn't ringing . . . it hurt when they would gush about a shidduch they were trying for someone else, and not for me. Never for me." 

When I see the people who insulted me in the past, it's hard to get over what they thought of me then. Do they find me acceptable now that I'm married? Maybe. Well, I don't care, and would prefer not to interact with you, buh-byeeeeee. 

For those who have experienced pregnancy loss, people (including me) can mistakenly believe that with the arrival of other children, the previous ones were simply "replaced." But she lost a child. The child may not have been viable, the child may never have drawn breath, but that child was still loved, cherished . . . and lost. Those children cannot be replaced, anymore than my mother could be replaced with a stepmother. People are not interchangeable.