The Girl is seated comfortably on the couch, ready to interrogate the prospective groom for herself! It’s year 2030 and since the sex ratio has fallen to an abysmal low, mere 300 females for over 1000 males, it’s the women who are having a gala era for a change.
The visibly nervous prospective groom enters, a servant in tow carrying a necklace made of onions and potatoes for “shagun”.
(Hey! What do you think you are laughing at? At the pace of the recent price hike, it won’t be long before onions are sold by jewelers!”)
“How much do you earn?” she comes to the point without delay. “Can you cook? Do you have servants?”
“Dowry, how many litres of petrol can you shell out?” she quizzes. Obviously, petrol is the most precious gift he can give to her!
The poor boy stands there, his knees trembling with fear.
“I can’t afford the petrol Madame, but I sure can hire people to push your vehicle!”
She sulks with apparent displeasure. “You have crushed my dreams of a long drive on our honeymoon!! Any appalling habits, like watching IPL?”
(Why of course, what makes you raise your brow dear reader? It’s 2030, and IPL has been rechristened the “Indian pampered league”. It’s about everything except Cricket! Starry abusive wars, mafia, nude cheerleaders, molestations by drunken cricketers and obscene media coverage of the lot! What? Was it identical in 2012? Well! Well!)
The unfortunate boy is almost miffed with despair now! He loves the IPL saga, its obsession has been his patriarchal genetic inheritance.
“I love gardening! Do you own a tree?” she inquires next.
He looks at her bewildered! In 2030, when every piece of vegetation has been destroyed by concrete infrastructure, owning a tree is equivalent to owning a piece of land on Mars! (Yes!! Did I tell you? Mars real estates launched their first project in 2020).
He sullenly exits thinking that it would be cheaper to import a bride for himself from abroad. (He might have to take foreign language classes though!)
The disgruntled girl is left behind. She opens her face book account and writes:
“After kissing a thousand wrong frogs, I’d rather marry the gay prince of the oil fields in Abamaland”