Cupid is getting rather lazy these days. Or is the irascible, blindfolded archer whose ubiquitous arrows once had people swooning, losing his touch? Perhaps, we mortals have developed immunity to the malady of instant love that those capriciously targeted darts have inflicted down the ages. Cupid or his Indian counterpart, Kama, has launched many an epidemic of love-at-first-sight happenings: just think of all those stories of star-crossed lovers from Pyramus and Thisbe through Romeo and Juliet to West Side Story. Or, closer home from Heer Ranjha and Laila Majnu to Ek Duje Ke Liye and Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, not to speak of countless rubbishy clones.

These were the thoughts that cruised through my mind as I sat in Delhi’s bitter winter on the sumptuous lawns of a Lutyens bungalow, all bunched up and cold, watching a young couple go around the fire and take their vows. The groom is the son of a good friend. You could call him ideal husband material: ‘good family’ (whatever that might mean), ‘good education’ (the right degrees or combo of degrees from blue chip places overseas), and a job with bonuses that would tot up to more than the more unfortunate amongst up would make in a couple of years. And oh, yes, he is charming – knows his Cabernet Sauvignon from his Pinot Noir, and is multilingual to boot.

Far from coy, the couple looked comfortable and cosy, with the young man barely able to disguise his joy and excitement. It was hard to believe that Cupid had played no role in bringing the two together. This was an arranged marriage, millennium style. The parents of the young man, both solid corporate types, had gone about finding a suitable bride with the mindsets of marketing-wallahs, using all the tools to help them zoom in on the right product.

The process had taken them about a year and a half. It began with meticulously drafted smses to their friends, friendly colleagues and the alumni from their respective schools and universities. These spelled out the kind of spouse they wanted for their son, as well as listing the virtues of their offspring.

Nor did the tenaciously enterprising would-be-parents-in-law abandon the more traditional avenues of match-making: neighbourhood aunties, matrimonial ads in papers, matrimonial agencies, internet sites, marriage brokers. Interestingly, there are a couple of amateur marriage brokers: society ladies in Mumbai and Delhi who do it gratis, for fun. Match-making gives them a purpose in life: it also makes for good party-talk.

Next in the elaborate process came more detailed emails to those who had responded positively to their smses. These included an up-to-date CV of their son, his horoscope, as well as information about their own personal and professional backgrounds. All this was followed by a long process of elimination, with the ‘unsuitable’ being ticked off, one by one, from the checklist.

And then, finally, the shortlist. But whittling this down also took ages. The equation had to be perfect: from matching horoscopes (despite the fact that one of the parents was a scientist), status (the right address and place in social hierarchy) and educational qualifications. Love, if and when it came was just a mere bonus.

You could well ask, if I may borrow singer Tina Turner’s classic line, “What’s love got to do ‘with’ it?”
Well, apparently, increasingly less. Love-at-first-sight, actually make that love-as-destiny, is gradually being edged out by love-as-programmed, and that too pragmatically. (I hasten to add that lust-at-first-sight is probably as robust and ever-present as it ever was. But that’s another story.)

Love on celluloid
Just look at our movies, those mirrors to our society that show us as we are, even while distorting – usually magnifying – our images as fairground mirrors do. It wasn’t so long ago that romantic love was the overarching theme of most Hindi films. It was the hero’s raison d’etre; attaining the object of his love was his only mission. Think Devdas and his various avatars.

And, it was all about love at first glance. In fact, in some of the landmark romantic films such as Mere Mehboob and Pakeezah, the love-struck protagonist doesn’t even get to see the complete picture. In the former the Rajendra Kumar character only gets Sadhana’s eyes draped in a burqa and falls into eternal, weepy love. In Pakeezah, the Raaj Kumar persona is transfixed by the sight of Meena Kumari’s feet as she lies sleeping in a train compartment.

Fast-forward to the present and you find that love’s lost some of its power. In his film, Love Aaj Kal, director Imtiaz Ali cleverly contrasts an older couple (love happens, silently, before even a word has been exchanged between the two) and a younger couple for whom the word love itself is a bit of a no-no.

Romance also takes somewhat of a backseat in the two new films of the latest Bollywood heartthrob Ranbir Kapoor. Coming-of-age, not love is the main theme in Wake Up Sid. In fact, romance is only a side dish in this film. So if you blink your eyes, you will miss the romantic angle in Rocket Singh – Salesman of the Year.

Epilogue
Obviously, Cupid’s got to get a new set of arrows or borrow some of Puck’s love potion that proved so effective in Shakespeare’s send up of love-at-first-sight in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. An increasing number of bachelors are so caught up with their challenging careers that they are now opting for arranged marriages. Even those whose parents had what we quaintly call ‘love marriages’. As for the girls they, too, are so busy making it professionally, romantic love has been moved to the backburner.

Love in the time of pragmatism is having a tough time.

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