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In order to have a queue of eligible men outside my door, mum tells me I need to get my biodata sorted. A biodata is like a marital CV. When you’re looking for a job, you put together a CV, which highlights your occupation, education and hobbies. When you’re looking for a spouse, you also put together a CV, which highlights your occupation, education and hobbies. You then add in your height and build and enclose a nice photo to boot.
I think a biodata is a lot more straightforward than a professional CV, as I don’t need to list my key achievements or write a bullshit personal statement. Though I do need to write crap about myself to seem appealing enough to go past the first round and into the marriage interview, or rishtaa meeting.
I don’t really know where to start. So, as I do with most things, I consult Google. A quick search of ‘what to include in a biodata’ throws up a list of threads, forums, guides and examples of how to market myself with my marital CV. Amazing.
The basics are:
I throw all this info together in a word document and present it to mum, who’s sat in our dining room, reading the Bengali newspaper she gets on a monthly subscription. It’s handy that she’s already wearing her glasses. She shifts her attention from the paper, clears her throat and sits up straight on the brown leather-backed wooden chair. She is taking this terribly seriously. While she reads, she makes lots of mum noises like ‘hmm... ah... hmm’, before telling me my biodata isn’t marketable enough.
She doesn’t actually give me any constructive pointers but just shrugs her shoulders, saying in a mix of Bengali and broken English: “Ammi zanni na, it just doesn’t seem interesting enough. I doh-no. Don’t girls normally add a bit more detail? Maybe put in a line about what you’re like as a person.”
What I’m like as a person? Could she be any more vague? Plus, if I was to detail my true persona – very talkative, ambitious and lacking in girly grace, I’d probably have most prospective Bengali boys running for the hills.
Bemused and confused, I check out other examples. People sometimes include their build. I’m a size eight, with slightly wider hips. But I am loathed to describe myself as ‘slim but pear-shaped’. If someone wants to know my build, they can deduce it from my photo, or see for themselves in person. They’ve got eyes.
This whole biodata compilation isn’t as easy as I thought. I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to pimp my CV. It’s also very annoying to learn that I do need to write a bullshit personal statement of sorts after all.
Adding to the pressure is mum, who is watching over me as I check out other biodatas online. She’s taken to providing an unhelpful running commentary and getting totally distracted when she sees some photo examples of pretty girls clad in decadent Asian outfits. “Ooh, she looks ni-iiice, I bet she’ll get snapped up quickly.”
“Mum, that photo’s from 1998, I’m sure she’s married with kids now.”
“Aww that’s a shame. What about her? I wonder if she’s still single? Does she look Ban-gali to you?” Mum points to a thumbnail of a girl in a green saree, posing with her arms around a tree trunk, like a Bollywood heroine.
“What the... why? You don’t have any sons?”
“No, thank you for reminding. But I might know someone who knows a nice boy.”
I think it’s in every Bengali mum’s genes to play matchmaker with someone, or anyone, so they can boast about their cupid credentials. However, with a very single daughter in her charge, mum really should remember her priorities.
As she doesn’t have the displeasure of working at a computer 37.5 hours of the week, mum seems to find this whole ordeal fascinating and, dare I say, enjoyable. I, on the other hand, do not. And it’s my biodata. So despite mum’s eagerness to get it sorted - whilst getting sidetracked along the way – I ruin her fun by deciding to sleep on it. I have precious little patience for doing CVs at the best of times and this particular resume carries even more weight, as it’s in preparation for the biggest job of my life.
With fresh eyes, I add a few bits to boost my biodata the next day. Without an audience, I can think more clearly. It helps that I’m editing in the almost privacy of my shared bedroom, rather than downstairs with mum being a backseat CV builder. I have to make do with little sis sat on her single bed, though luckily she’s too busy playing with her phone to care what I’m doing. She is never not on her bed, nor off her phone. I swear that grey crushed velvet blanket has her shaped etched into it. Anyway, I add in that I’m family orientated (always a winner), though I’d assume this should be a given. I’d like to see a biodata where someone states that they hate their family and despise other people’s kids.
Mum approves this second draft but warns me that my biodata must be tweaked depending on the prospective guy. I am nothing if not adaptable. Mum shares the biodata with dad but this is more out of obligation than anything else. She doesn’t really want an opinion and she doesn’t get one.
Dad spends less than 10 seconds looking at the fruits of my extensive Googling, barely reading the contents, before saying to mum: “Yes, yes, yes, it all looks fine to me. If you’re happy with it, so am I.”
After much editing, sub-editing and proofreading, both parents sign off my biodata. So next up is the bigger challenge, getting that all-important photo.