Indian Matchmaking Season 2 proves that India is no country for unmarried women

In India, marriage — even for the most affluent, educated, and wokest entities — is an obligation; a status symbol of sorts that has less to do with someone’s ideas of independence, romance, and self-actualization and more to do with societal inclusion. It’s the cornerstone of arranged marriage, a wholly invented concept meant to serve the needs of everyone except Indian women whose marital status is linked directly to their family honor. It’s perhaps why, when Indian men get married, it’s a celebration. But when Indian women tie the knot, it’s considered an achievement.   The expectation then that a part-documentary, part-reality series about the business of Indian weddings brokered through a self-publicized high-end matchmaker could challenge any of the patriarchal hegemony attached to marriage is merely wish-fulfillment. In fact, when Indian Matchmaking dropped its first ignorant season on Netflix two years ago, the writing was on the wall. Over eight episodes, Sima Taparia — “Sima from Mumbai” — the orthodox, motormouth matchmaker came to embody a language of injustice common to most unmarried women: the act of “compromise.” In Taparia’s words and world, standards were for men and subservience was the staple of women — irrespective of their intelligence, educational qualifications, and physical attractiveness. As the first season of Indian Matchmaking sneakily reiterated, a man demands, a woman on the other hand only nods her head as if she’s the prop in her own Sooraj Barjatya movie.   In that sense, the insipid second season of Indian Matchmaking doesn’t exactly display any inclinations to eschew its knack of endorsing regressive attitudes as tradition. The script is familiar as are the beats. Single men and women opine about finding a life-partner to the camera blindly believing in astrology, face-reading, and matchmaking so as to not end up alone for the rest of their lives  A middle-aged matchmaker steps in as a ray of light for their frantic families. Everything seems to be heading toward a wedding until it doesn’t — someone wants more, someone won’t settle for anything less. Taparia’s stance on the two genders remain the same as well: the matchmaker dubs a bare-minimum man touching 40 as an “eligible bachelor” but a physically attractive, financially stable 30-year-woman is admonished as “superficial” for wanting a good looking man who can bring as much to the table as she does.   Still, there is something more sinister about this season that goes beyond its incessant need of designing Indian Matchmaking as a hate-watch. To call the show that isn’t just foolishly naive but also effectively amounts to willingly looking away from its unsubtle posturing. Typically, a hate-watch is a show or a movie that sticks to its own limited understanding of the world; its blindspots make for television that is supremely effective in its mediocrity. But Indian Matchmaking — created and executive produced by Smriti Mundhra — isn’t that unaware,  mainly because it keeps weaponizing on its blindspots to play to the gallery.   Take for instance the makers choosing to envision India as a monolith — secularism might be embedded in the Indian constitution but not in the second season of Indian Matchmaking. The five new participants and three returning ones (Pradyuman, Aparna, Nadia) are all Hindus, the kind of representation that endorses the right-wing ruling government’s Hindutva narrative built on the dangerous erasure of Muslims from the very fabric of the country. India, for the show’s makers, is a country only of the majority, which explains the continued absence of queerness or caste.   In that, the second season goes a step ahead in recasting the transactional nature of arranged marriage. This time around, Taparia is no longer demanding that her clients “compromise” in their pursuit for a suitable match. She is instead asking them to practice “patience.” (a fitting antidote is provided by a character who points out that “patience” comes from the Latin word “pati” which means “to suffer.”) Settling in Taparia’s eyes, is a privilege — not a means to an end, rather a getaway to the promised land of happily-ever-after. Montages of couples married for over two decades arrive at the beginning of every episode to explicitly suggest that even when the methods of arranged matchmaking look dubious, they’re guaranteed results. The loopholes are never questioned.   It’s the same broad lens that the makers and Taparia use to paint ideas of compatibility and companionship for her clients, both of which she insists they sacrifice at the altar of togetherness. Last season, the show was deservedly criticized for seemingly enabling Taparia’s inherent sexism and bigotry — the matchmaker was kinder to her male clients and harsh towards any female clients who showed a hint of pluck. The return of Aparna Shewkamarani — infamously branded “difficult” by Taparia — this season is clearly designed to correct those shortcomings as is the show’s renewed emphasis on Taparia advising her male clients to lower their expectations as well.   But it doesn’t quite work, simply because the makers refuse to take a stance that goes beyond a half-baked pacifist approach of suggesting that arranged marriage is devised out of an equal footing for all parties involved. It becomes even more unconvincing considering just like the show, Taparia drops the veneer of equality often. It is in these moments that Indian Matchmaking becomes telling of whom India considers the ultimate villain: single women.   In that, the second season of Indian Matchmaking dedicates itself to committing innumerable micro-aggressions against its plucky women. Take Aparna, who is robbed off any individuality in the second season — the makers turn her into a caricature, someone who becomes so consumed by the idea of marriage that she can’t tell between wish-fulfillment and contentment.   There’s Nadia, the 33-year-old New Jersey-based Guyanese event planner of Indian origin, the heartbreak heroine of the second season. Last season, Taparia sent her on a date with someone simply because their smiles matched. This season, she rails on her for going against script and dating Vishal, a 26-year-old guy over the stable Shekhar, arguably the most boring “nice guy” ever known on reality TV. In what is Indian Matchmaking’s most shameful exchange, Taparia proudly embraces her internalized misogyny by likening Nadia and Vishal to Nick Jonas and Priyanka Chopra Jonas and suggesting that any coupling with an older woman and a younger man is doomed for failure.   Then, when Nadia and Vishal end on unceremonious terms, the show squarely puts the blame on Nadia for pursuing the connection in the first place. The show invariably implies that Taparia was right all along, continuing its history of peddling prejudice as undeniable fact for the umpteenth time. In limiting Nadia from the pool of men she should be allowed to consider as romantic connections purely because of her age, Indian Matchmaking follows societal norm in discriminating against older women, openly drawing boundaries for their desires. That India is no country for single women is reinforced by the horrifying options of men Taparia brings in front of her two other clients: 30-year-old Viral and the 38-year-old Shital. On more than one occasion, Taparia appears shocked at the audacity of both women articulating their (very valid) needs so much so that she makes it a habit to remind them that it’s near impossible that they might find anyone who will tick every requirement on their checklist. Her words seem even more ironic as the show frames Taparia’s efforts as an act of charity instead of a service for which she charges exorbitant amounts. “Arranged marriage is the place where you should be able to get your checklist,” Viral rightfully counters in the second episode, unwilling to let Taparia treat her future as a business transaction.   That doesn’t stop Taparia from sending Viral and Shital on dates with men who are no match to them. If Viral is sent on a date with a man who basically deceives her about his physical appearance, then Shital gets a guy with the table manners of an errant five-year-old. Neither men’s misdeeds come under Taparia’s microscopic scrutiny which is revealing considering it doesn’t quite take a soothsayer to predict the televised hue-and-cry if a woman had lied to an “eligible bachelor” about how she looked on a biodata.   Taparia’s male clients echo her double-standards. Like Vinesh, a 34-year-old average looking guy with almost negligible social skills or personality who wants someone who is “equally extroverted and introverted.” He brags about not knowing what women want and proving it the very next second by confessing that he wants to marry a girl like his mother. Then, he outrightly rejects a Taparia-approved match, citing her physical unattractiveness as the reason even though she is evidently out of his league. His approach completely changes for his second match, a conventionally attractive woman who he considers “hot”. As if to mark his territory, he loudly chews his food on their date, struggling to sustain any conversation. Still, it comes as a shock to him when she doesn’t reciprocate his overtures.   What stands out is how the show neglects to underline his entitlement — for Vinesh, being a man is enough of a reason to be able to land a hot wife — by choosing to not reserve any sympathy for the woman who had to endure a bad date with him. Just like Taparia, the show is pliant enough to entertain his delusions while Viral is berated for being superficial just because she wants a partner she is physically attracted to. Vinesh isn’t the first Indian guy to want a good-looking partner without pausing to wonder whether single women might want the same for themselves as well — and he probably won’t be the last. The difference however lies in the dishonesty that Indian Matchmaking exhibits in treating Vinesh’s desires as norm and Viral’s ask as an unfeasible demand.   In that, it ends up reinforcing Taparia’s reputation as a matchmaker ill-equipped to cater to single women. Three of the participants this season end up finding romantic connections on their own: Shital starts to date someone introduced to her by her sister, Aparna is set up with a potential connection by a friend, and all Nadia gets is a lesson. Over eight infuriatingly slow episodes, Indian Matchmaking unwittingly paints a saddening dating landscape for straight Indian women, every one of whose future involves negotiating with men who will appear scared of their independence and identity. At this point, Indian Matchmaking feels like an excuse to make money off sending overachieving women on innumerable bad dates; a triggering outing that gamefies the suffering of women with shocking impunity. If anything, the show can’t help but loudly proclaim that suffering is a constructed feminine virtue that ultimately leads to riches. Who wouldn’t in their right minds want to greenlight another season of that? Poulomi Das is a film and culture writer, critic, and programmer. Follow more of her writing on  Twitter . Read all the  Latest News ,  Trending News ,  Cricket News ,  Bollywood News ,  India News  and  Entertainment News  here. Follow us on  Facebook ,  Twitter  and  Instagram