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The perils of being single

Being single is much less about the freedom than it is of the red tape one can face. This is especially true of smaller cities. Having made this wonderful place home for two months now, I can’t help but recall the instances I’ve faced that make me believe that bachelorhood is illegal in such cities.

Try applying for a post-paid phone connection. The only reason to take one of those criminally expensive things is to claim the refund — one of the many perks of writing for this paper. In all probability newcomers here don’t have their ration card transferred as they arrive or the addresses on their other identity cards changed. (Nilekani save me!)

But that’s the least of your hassles. I learnt from the pretty young things across the counter of a private mobile company’s office that while ‘normal’ people need to submit one address proof, bachelors additionally needed to submit proof of their permanent address. They actually send people to the remotest parts of this country to find out if you’ll pay your bills. On days like these, I just wish I had a permanent address in Lalgarh.

No one will buy a flimsy argument like “I’m 23 and I’d rather be dead than married.” If you’re not living in a lodge but are paying rent like ‘normal’ people do, you better be married you creep!

Even if you give up on the phone and settle for something simpler like a domestic LPG connection, you’re doomed.

The agencies are quite clear about the rules. “New domestic LPG connections are not to be granted to unmarried males!” I’m not domesticated enough to eat, I suppose.

Gender roles are clearly defined here. Get married.

Your wife cooks. We grant LPG. Period.

I almost proposed to the lady across the counter before I saw a thali around her neck. Many phone calls from bigwigs later, I now boil my rice with tears of utmost reverence for the State machinery that made nutrition possible for bachelor scum like me.

It’s not just the corporate machinery of the city that upholds the institution of marriage. The sanctity of this contract, I beg your pardon- ‘Sacrament’ is instilled in all those who step into the place.

Eager to make friends I chat up my neighbour, an engineer from Kerala. Excerpts from the conservation:

Engineer: You stay all alone? How much rent?

Me: Five grand.

Engineer (with raised eyebrows): Are you getting married?

What’s the logic here!

Everyone, from the office clerk to a customer at the super market, has asked me to get married. The reasons are varied. It’s either about food or that I need a wife to enjoy the climate. You can’t win a debate here. They never give up.

A writer, M. P. Singh, spent months in a guesthouse because no one would give him a house. “They’re mortally afraid of single men. The freedom we wear on our sleeve and the ideology we represent scare the living daylights out of ’normal’ folks,” sighs Singh. He had to finally settle with a house on the outskirts of the city.

The sweetest advice though was from a traffic cop- “Get married and you will drive safely.”

(Names have been changed to protect the identities of the single people mentioned!)

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