Just Like That: What matrimonial ads tell us about India

An analysis of Indian matrimonial ads shows how caste, colour, class and technology continue to define arranged marriages in modern India.

In my book, Being Indian (Penguin, 2000), I quote a startlingly interesting matrimonial ad that appeared in one of the country’s leading newspapers. It read:

Matrimonial advertisements, even now, are often segregated not merely by caste but by sub-caste, community and sometimes even sub-gotra preferences. (Unsplash)

‘Wanted FAIRY LOOKS, Slim, Very Tall Educated MODERN Extremely Beautiful Bride from Industrial Family For 27/187, Slim Very Handsome Only Son of Affluent, High Caste Hindu, Presently Most Liked, Senior Cabinet Minister of India. Boy is Vegetarian Having Clean Habits And Well Settled In London in his Own Business.’

There are few documents that compress so much relevant information into so few words as the matrimonial advertisements in our newspapers. They are ostensibly about marriage. In reality, they are miniature sociological treatises. In a few lines, they disclose caste, class, colour, ambition, status, gender expectations, family anxieties and the changing aspirations of an India caught between inherited tradition and modern choice. In this process, there is sheer ingenuity in the way we coin new words. One of them is ‘convented’. This simply means that the girl has gone to a convent school and, therefore, is not only educated but can also speak English!

One striking feature is the extraordinary persistence of caste. Matrimonial advertisements, even now, are often segregated not merely by caste but by sub-caste, community and sometimes even sub-gotra preferences. The young person being advertised may possess an advanced degree, work for a multinational company, travel abroad and live in a cosmopolitan metropolis. Yet, when it comes to marriage, the ancestral map of social identity suddenly reappears, although, to be fair, a small but significant minority of advertisements now say, “caste no bar”.

And then there is colour. The preference for a “fair” bride remains widespread, even though India is an overwhelmingly brown-skinned society, with every gradation of complexion. Yet “fair” remains a prized attribute in matrimonial discourse, connoting an extraordinary form of colour prejudice.

The third feature is status. Matrimonial advertisements frequently read like abbreviated balance sheets of social capital. The family background is described with care: senior government service, distinguished business family, industrialist, prominent professional, established political connections, property, overseas residence, including—like in the ad cited above—being the son of a ‘most liked senior cabinet minister of India’. The message is often explicit: “Our family occupies a certain place in the hierarchy, and we expect the prospective family to understand that.” Status, or auqat, is therefore an intrinsic part of the matrimonial commodity.

A new factor is that increasingly, many families of the prospective groom seek a working woman. This marks a considerable transformation from the older expectation that a wife should primarily remain confined to the house. Economic realities have intervened. Education has expanded female employment, aspirations have changed, and the cost of maintaining an urban middle-class lifestyle has risen substantially. The irony often is that the woman is now expected to be educated, professionally successful and financially productive, even while the expectation that she will simultaneously be an efficient homemaker remains unchanged.

Into this complicated terrain has entered technology. Last week, I was invited as the chief guest to Lotus Valley School in Noida. The senior teacher who came to escort me told me during the car ride that her daughter is very happily married, but she has Shaadi.com to thank for it. Other similar flourishing websites have demonstrated that the old intermediary—the aunt, neighbour, family friend, community elder or professional matchmaker—has not disappeared but has acquired a digital competitor. Algorithms can now perform, at extraordinary speed, what families once spent months trying to accomplish: identify compatibility according to age, education, profession, location, community, income and a host of other preferences.

But technology has not necessarily liberated Indians from tradition. It has often digitised tradition. The matrimonial advertisement therefore occupies a fascinating twilight zone between arranged marriage and love marriage. The old arranged marriage was largely a family enterprise. The young man and woman were expected to accept a choice made substantially by others. The modern love marriage—now far less uncommon—by contrast, asserts individual autonomy: I choose whom I love, and the family must accept my choice.

This may be the most revealing feature of all. Indian modernity is not necessarily a clean break with tradition. It is a process of bargaining with it. The matrimonial advertisement captures that negotiation with remarkable candour. Caste remains, but “caste no bar” has appeared. Fairness remains a criterion, but professional accomplishment is increasingly important. Status matters, but compatibility has entered the vocabulary. Family involvement continues, but the young increasingly exercise a voice. Women are expected to work, but the traditional expectations placed upon them have not entirely vanished. Technology has displaced some intermediaries, but it has not eliminated the social assumptions that those intermediaries once represented.

Perhaps this is why the matrimonial pages are more interesting than they appear. They tell us that India is not moving in a straight line from tradition to modernity. It is carrying the past into the present, modifying it, negotiating with it, sometimes resisting it and sometimes surrendering to it.

Pavan K Varma is an author, diplomat, and former member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). The views expressed are personal