It's Not A Cult

A while ago, my family launched a product in the market that they were extremely excited about. 

Their years of preparation, the network they built, their experience till now, and the vast - too vast competition (honestly, the kind that keeps you up at night) - everything was on the line with this product. The target audience, the strategic positioning, the customer care service, the raving reviews - every tiny detail was carefully curated before the grand product launch. The marketing strategy was exceptional, fast, and, most importantly, aligned with all stakeholders. They really were looking forward to this for many, many years. 

And finally, the launch happened, the day arrived.

The next anticipation was inquiries, orders, queries, curiosity pouring in, and so they waited, waited eagerly, so eagerly that the TV remote in their hand was replaced by the mobile phone. No amount of kadak masala chai could calm the restlessness. Every waking hour - only one question - did anyone call? Was the phone ringing? Is it a network problem?

And then, of course, there was the outside world - the world of vultures who would attack them as they were the most luscious prey. How's it going? Are you sure your product is in good condition? Maybe you should get it checked. Maybe the timing is off. Maybe—

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. 

And then that's when it occurred to them - maybe this isn't a market problem. Maybe it's bad timing, or a karmic debt, or something else entirely. Maybe it's bigger than strategy or research or years of careful preparation. Maybe what was needed here was not a pivot but a prayer. Not a consultant — a court. The highest court of human belief, the one where no logic is cross-examined and no evidence is required. The court of god-fearing emotions - 

The Babas. 

So they took their product to the holier-than-thou court. And the court ruled, with the full authority of the cosmos behind it: Mangal Hai.

"Hi. You know me as Thakur, but not the Sholay one - as I have both my hands, all fingers accessorised with magic rings, because I am a Manglik. 

And in case you didn't catch it — that product they launched — was me, and the market was marriage." 

I sipped up my chai as I finished telling my story on a Tuesday evening outside Ganpati temple, sitting with a group I now call Mangliks Anonymous (MA)

I came up with this idea exactly the same place, a while ago, while following up on my mandatory Tuesday Ganapati temple visit, when I ran into a friend. She was also here for the same reasons we all are - birth chart said Mangal Hai, and now here we are without fail, by pressure or by peace but by the highest court's order - the babas.

MA is just like AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) but for Mangliks. I know, I know — it feels like a cult but it's really, really not!

A support group for people who are spotted at the Ganpati temple on every Tuesday carrying a Jaswand or red flowers and a piece of coconut and jaggery. We are the most sought-after dealers in this industry, having to deal directly with the supreme being. We give you a treat - you give us a life partner - the right kind and within a reasonable time. Our pilgrimage is not limited only to Tuesday visits at the Ganesh temple but also the ultimate and most dedicated worshipping or dosha-curing temple - Mangalgraha Mandir - of the planet itself. It was originally erected only at Amalner in Jalgaon district, but now, due to the increasing population of fearful devotees, it has branched out all over India. I bet Mars has no idea what we, the educatedly superstitious people, are doing here on Earth in his name. If he were a person, he'd be filing a restraining order.

Here's how MA (Mangliks Anonymous) would work if it had to go official:

Every Tuesday, after the darshan, outside the temple, you pull up a chair and a cup of kadak masala chai, and you say: "Hi, I'm [name], and I am a Manglik." Everyone says hi. And then you share your story.

The craziest thing a baba told you to do. The most creative excuse a matrimonial profile gave before disappearing. The ritual that made you stand in front of a temple every Tuesday, wondering how your life came to this. Everyone has one. Most people have several.

Someone will have married a banana tree. Someone else will have been told their ambition, their intensity, their refusal to be quiet and small — are all symptoms of their Mangal dosha. Someone in the back will say they're considering sending Mars a personal thank-you note for that one. 

I mean, take Aishwarya Rai — the most beautiful woman on Earth, a literal Goddess of Beauty — she had to marry a tree or a pot to negate her Manglik dosha. Did the cosmos deliver accordingly? Itna sab woh bhi kiske liye — Abhishek Bachchan.

If it couldn't spare her, it was never going to spare us. And that's when you know you're in the right room.

Some of us would go home with a new remedy to try, hoping it would make things better. Some of us would simply get the courage to stop trying altogether. Either way — a little less defective, a little less like a product waiting to be claimed, a little more like ourselves.

Which, if you think about it, is what we were looking for all along.

If you're also a fellow Manglik, say Hi in the comments. May the stories you hear here refresh your mood with humour, but never burden you with having to do more.