Millennial Kumar Gets Married at Last

By Lakshmi Priya

Kumar, the Chennai born passes through several hurdles in his life only to face the biggest challenge laid before him when he reaches the age of thirty. As he waits anxiously for his flight after his security checks, he reminisces about the trail of events that led him to Chennai Airport. Kumar who loves his life, his work and his Chennai more than anything else, is pushed to move out of his comfort zone to travel 14000 kilometres away. What made him do this? Will he succeed in his mission?
Read through to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lakshmi Priya
• Release date: Feb 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201302672

Lakshmi Priya

Lakshmi Priya is a millennial techie who loves her Chennai just like any other Chennaiite. An ardent fan of P.G. Wodehouse, this is her debut attempt at writing.  Inspired by a few real life incidents the author has added her flavour of humor to capture all readers from eight to eighty. You can reach out to her at [e-mail] 

Book preview

MillenNial Kumar GETS MARRIED AT LAST!

The story of a pitiable Indian Groom

LAKSHMI PRIYA

Contents

Preface

1. 2015 - Chennai Airport

2. 1991-1995 (First to Fifth grade)

3. 1996 (Sixth grade)

4. 1997 (Seventh Grade)

5. 1998 (Eighth grade)

6. 1999 (Ninth grade)

7. 2000 (Tenth grade)

8. 2002 (Twelfth grade)

9. 2002-2006 (The college years)

10. 2007-2008 (Post college)

11. 2009-2014

12. 2015 - Kumar turns 30

13. September 30th, 2015 - The day of departure

14. 2015-2016 - Life in California

15. 2016 - Home sweet home

16. 2016 - August 10th - The day of marriage

Preface

Amarriage is a celebration . If there is one festival cherished by all religions and countries across all borders, it is the festival of marriage. Especially in India, this is the most important milestone for a typical Indian family. It is a showcase of status, culture, customs, tradition, religious superiority, and pride in lineage, so on and so forth. Unfortunately, the most important factor that should stand at the top of the list is often pushed to the bottom or even wiped off the list. Love, bonding and compatibility between the bride and groom rarely make it to the top 10. In recent times many changes have crept into the framework of Big Fat Indian Wedding, for both good and bad. Still, there is a lot of room for improvement.

There are several books, documentaries, TV shows, short films and full-length movies that have and continue to portray the life and hurdles that a woman faces before and after marriage. But all along, there is another character that has been left out to suffer in silence for centuries.

And that is the great Indian groom of today.

Two decades ago, there was some dignity to this poor soul who starts out afresh in the marriage market as a potential groom in the bride selection process. But with the invasion of internet teeming with matrimony sites, this society of future grooms has become the laughingstock of the nation. Times have changed and with the role reversal, it is now the bride who has a list of conditions for the would-be groom to satisfy to become an eligible candidate.

This book is an attempt to take a dig at that.

Dedicated to all Pitiable Indian grooms.

1. 2015 - Chennai Airport

Why God, why?

Kumar gritted his teeth together as he shot a glance at the airport ceiling, eyes shooting bolts of lightning. Weren’t the gods supposed to live somewhere up there? He was sure he had established communication with Lord Muruga through the ceiling.

Kumar was peeved. He felt like a puppet on a string, being made to dance for the amusement of divinity. His eyes shot another ball of fire as he burned with the indignity of the thing.

He was a smart-looking guy dressed in a casual T-shirt and jeans combo. A pair of frameless spectacles perched on his nose. He wagged his index finger like a spear. It looked as though he was fighting with an invisible force, throwing caution with reckless abandon. 

Why do you have to send me to a faraway alien land when I have everything right here in Chennai? WHY?

He cursed under his breath and continued his monologue with the heavenly presence.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine Hindu gods, but not one of you could rescue me from the clutches of this terrible horrible! Betrayal! Yes, you have all betrayed me! I might not be adequately spiritual, by my mother's standards, but I did my due diligence to you. Yet—and this has to be said—you betrayed me! How COULD you!?

Maybe it is time I sought shelter with Mr Jesus or Mr Allah or Mrs Mary.

Or was it Miss Mary?

He glared at the false ceiling, half expecting Lord Muruga to emerge and smooth all his troubles away.

A pure breed of Chennai, with his youthful vigour overflowing at 30, Kumar belonged to a typical South Indian middle-class family. He loved his Chennai so much that the thought of parting with it for the next few years overwhelmed his mind and tortured his soul. He and his family had tried out every plausible alternative so that it would not come to this, but the Gods had failed him. His Chennai failed him. Oh Muruga! Kumar sniffled.

THUD!!

Kumar looked down, startled, as an eight-year-old boy fell flat on his face over his pile of luggage. The boy shot to his feet like lightning, mumbled the mandatory ‘Sorry’ through a wide grin, showing a gap in his teeth. The gap was enormous enough to poke a drinking straw through. Pure mischief twinkled in his eyes.

Before Kumar could respond, the boy continued his sprint, weaving mindlessly through the concourse, a boarding pass clutched in his hand. His hassled mother was in hot pursuit, screaming for him to stop. One expected the maternal nostrils to emit scalding flames, scorching the errant progeny’s tushy. Alas, she was too far and her offspring too nimble. The boy’s father, a resourceful thinker, brought in a couple of airport security guards to capture the loose cannon. Just before he reached the elevators, the guards grabbed him by the collar and handed him over to the parents. The recovered boarding pass looked freshly extricated from a pile of refuse.

With the mother and father holding the boy’s hands on either side, the family plunged through boarding gate, seconds to closing. The flight staff had a tough time validating the crumpled piece of paper that had barely any barcode image left for scanning. His parents smiled sheepishly, pointing at the little one. He turned his head and winked at Kumar before being shoved through the boarding gate. Kumar signalled a small salute to the boy as a mark of respect. There was something very intoxicating about the excited child, which made Kumar forget about his grouchy session with God for a while.

A smile passed over Kumar’s face. He saw himself in that child.

Hmmm, how I wish I was eight again!

He straightened out his luggage and looked at his watch.

Only two more hours before the boarding gates open and the irrevocable deed was done.

Slouching in one of the uncomfortable airport chairs, he moaned and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander down a 25-year long memory lane.

2. 1991-1995 (First to Fifth grade)

Kumar was not a regular six-year-old. He had superpowers and he knew it even if his family did not.

In his mind, he wore a red towel around his shoulders as a cape. That towel was the source of his superpowers. Nobody could touch it! He wore day and night.

Telling him to sit was like trying to tell fire not to burn. His every muscle needed to move, jump, and dance. Everything tickled him as funny and if there was one idea coming out of his mouth, there were seven more queuing up in his mind. His eyes had a sparkle that could never be subdued.

Located just two streets away from the buzzing shopping streets of T. Nagar, Kumar’s house in West Mambalam vibrated every five minutes when a bus trundled past. The narrow streets looked narrower with houses squeezed together such that one could never identify where one house ended and the next began.

Alarm clocks were obsolete in that area. The metro water corporation performed that job diligently and consistently. Having given everything that she could, the earth lay barren of water. There was nothing left, not even a drop. All those years of sucking out the ground-water mindlessly with thousand-feet-bore-wells had finally brought on the day of reckoning. The area became completely dry. The only source of water was the water tanker.

Every citizen’s call for awakening was at 4 o’clock in the morning, courtesy of a high decibel, strident horn of the water tanker lorries. It was not an ordinary sound like the warning siren of the ambulance or an alarm bell of a fire truck. The sound was a battle cry reminiscent of the resounding tones of Lord Vishnu’s conch blown before the Kurukshetra War, calling the soldiers to war.

Hey Kaakaa (crow in Tamil)! Wake up! Let’s go! Sundar yelled at the top of his voice.

Kumar sprang from his bed as soon as he heard the war cry from his ten-year-old brother. With his fair complexion, Sundar was the ‘Arvind Swamy’ of the family, in sharp contrast to Kumar. He called the darker-skinned Kumar as Kaakaa. His calm and obedient nature reflected in his well-oiled hair while Kumar’s wiry, thorn like hair, standing to attention like a porcupine’s quills, indicated his propensities.

Veda, open the gates, Kumar’s shriek had the desired effect on her. Kumar ran to the kitchen to arm himself and emerged bearing all the empty buckets and pots the household could provide.

Veda, the five-year-old and the only daughter in the family, woke up calmly. She freshened up and rushed to the gates to lower the bridge... err... open the locks. She was neither dark nor fair. A chubby little girl of few words, she loved observing people. People captivated her more than toys. In the train, in the park, in the shops, people just fascinated her. Maybe that was why she was wise and mature beyond her years and understood people just by looking at them.

A silent spectator rather than an active participant, she would give all her toys to her brothers and her friends and enjoy watching them play.

The three children took their positions at the centre of the hall. 

Commander ready? asked a stern Sundar.

Aye sir! came the reply from Kumar with a high burst of energy.

Soldier ready? Sundar glanced at Veda.