IN SEPTEMBER last year, Ruchita Misra’s book The (In)eligible Bachelor was published by RUPA but the last few months have witnessed an upheaval in the sales of the book. For its incessant humour and comical vision of society with the undertones of pathos, reflected in the easy reading of the book, it would probably top the bestseller chart in a limited time period.

 

The (In)eligible Bachelor is a ‘riotous adventure of adrenaline, laughter and guffaws’ besides an invaluable lesson on love, family and friendship. Misra might have been an avid reader of Helen Fielding’s fiction such as Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason where we find the preoccupations of single girls in their thirties. In the novel heroine is a 24 year old pretty middle-class girl from one of India's finest B-schools. Happy-go-lucky Kasturi has a mother who is hell bent upon marrying her off as soon as possible. Arranged marriage is a theme indeed. But the story is no less about love, friendship, hurt, and betrayal.

 

The book makes one smile with real-life relationships - true friendship and love. The things which happen are usual – a matrimonial ad followed by appointments with candidates from diverse academic backgrounds and cultural moorings, but all having the same amount of fabulous wealth with a similar kind of dull practical-mindedness about them, which makes them appear stupid. To attend so many interviews is now a horrible routine for Kasturi. Just imagine the guy is staring at her zit covered face and the gal is all embarrassed.

 

There is a variety of beaux - Ananya is a ludicrous guy with unflinching obedience to his parents, the soft–hearted Varun, who keeps himself preoccupied with office gossip. During one such arranged meet, she meets Dr. Purva, a shy and simple guy who is very different from the guys. Kasturi shifts to Delhi for work. In the middle of all this, Kasturi has to keep meeting guys that her mother keeps short-listing for fear of emotional blackmail. At last Rajeev Malhotra, the handsome office boss finally marries her. Like Manasi Vaidya’s No Deadline of Love, in this fiction also, the daughter ends up developing a major crush on her office colleague.

 

Once girls in India reach marriageable age i.e. 20 at best, mothers start badgering them about marriage. They start looking out among family and friends. As desperation increases, the net broadens to include newspaper advertisements, match-making websites, and so on. When such marriages are arranged, education and money which are sophisticatedly termed as family background caste and horoscope become all-important. Any kind of chemistry or lack of it between the boy and girl is really the last consideration in such matches.

 

In the novel, there are obsessive and doting parents, who like Mrs Bennet of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, consider girls to be a burden once they are done with their education. They never want their daughters to marry the guy of their choice. Their frantic efforts for arranged marriages result only in hilarious outcomes. But the typical Indian milieu is produced here and the time is the Internet age. The book is a one-sit read and like the best sellers of the world literature the book does not probe deep into the social or domestic problems. Yes, like Chetan Bhagat’s books, it can make for an interesting film as Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones versions.

 

It is sitcom humour wrapped in the pages of a book. The story keeps the novel moving at a quick pace and the twists for introduction of a character are reminiscent of Bhagat’s Five Point Someone. Even without being a fastidious grammar Nazi, one may stumble over the misplaced commas, and dangling modifiers. Inane sentences with grammatical errors might not have marred the reading experience if Misra would have been little more careful. Her English is lucid, easy and never falls short of expectations. The book with the arranged-marriage-maniac mother may haunt the reader for a short time, but it never rides. It is enjoyable as an Indian counterpart of Bridget Jones.