“Priyanka and Nick are not a good match, sorry to tell that [sic],” says matchmaker Sima from Mumbai, in season 2 of the Netflix show Indian Matchmaking. “It’s okay for the man to be seven years older, but for the girl to be that much older… I don’t think it’s a good match.” She is talking in the context of a female client, who recently had a dalliance with a man seven years her junior (she’s 33, he’s 26). Nobody should tell Sima about Aishwarya Rai and Abhishek Bachchan. Don’t even mention Sushmita Sen’s dating history. But Shahid Kapoor, his wife Mira and their 14-year age difference? It is safe to say that Sima won’t bat an eye. For one must have “patience” for a relationship to grow and love to bloom, as Sima puts it. Except, for her, possibly, it is best that the woman has that patience.
It is these “old fashioned” sentiments (Sima’s description, not mine) that make the emotional core of Indian Matchmaking on Netflix. Now, on its second outing, the show has become testament to that eternally relevant theory from Shawshank Redemption — “Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things”. Undoubtedly, it is hope that propels this incredibly bingeable, cringe reality show that burst into mainstream cognisance in 2020, bang in the middle of a pandemic, at a time when the audience was starved of entertainment.
Enter young, hopeful singles, from the USA and India alike, disillusioned by the woes of dating apps, hoping to find love and companionship the “old school way” — arranged marriage. To be fair, it was a good idea on paper. Take an age-old social custom and add a modern filter to it — it is the kids who want the arranged marriage this time, the parents are just along for the ride. For the non-Indian audience, the audacity of considering marriage to a stranger is entertainment 101, after all. And for the Indian audience, this is just how things have always been done. Add to the mix Sima Taparia, the first of her name, matchmaker extraordinaire, and the dropper of truth bombs, and you have the skeleton of a reality show the likes of Splitsvilla can’t dream of touching.
The values that the show seemingly upholds are decidedly archaic. You have to know when and how to compromise. If you are a woman, it is perhaps best to have a short list of expectations from your future partner. Even then, you may have to settle for someone who fulfils about 60-70% of that. Yes, the 1920s called, and it is shocked that the show is trending in the Top 10 Most Watched on Netflix globally in the 2020s. But this also begs the question, what makes this show so entertaining?
Perhaps it is the fresh faces in Sima’s care this season. We get a 39-year-old chicken farm owner, with as many red flags as the chicken he owns. We also get a 30-something-year-old self-indulgent mama’s boy, who wants a supermodel wife who can double as his sports buddy, moonlight as his personal joke teller and make pakoras like his mum. He even rejects a funny, smart girl because she “doesn’t fulfil” the supermodel criteria, only to be (royally) rejected by an attractive lass in that very episode. There is also a girl who likes to take her dates on trips to IKEA, thinks different lighting in pictures is a catfish alert, and seemingly falls in love with a man whose most endearing quality according to her is “being from India”. But these problematic quirks aside, none of them stay with you longer than the screen time allotted to them.
So, is it the curiosity of catching up with some of the old timers then? Nadia Jaggesar makes a comeback this season, with decision-making skills that deserve every scathing side-eye and snide comment she gets from Sima. Last season’s breakout star, Aparna Shewakramani, also returns, with her signature disdain for everything non-Aparna. But this time around, she proves once and for all that it wasn’t the editing that made her unlikable last season. It was, in fact, herself.
Undeniably, the highlight, and the inherent entertainment value of the show comes from Sima’s one liners. They bring awkward laughs and long confused silences in equal measure, as most American desis are at a loss against Sima’s blunt, matter-of-fact attitude towards the business of marriages. But, beyond the known, and the comfort of a familiar format, there is little that is new, interesting or even remotely exciting about Sima’s second cinematic journey. She meets clients, judges their expectations from potential partners in abundance, rolls eyes and sighs in her individual confessional bytes. Yet, she assures her clients that she is their best hope. “I treat all my clients like my children.” Super Sima to the rescue!
It is, however, unsettling to know that across the two seasons, Sima has had a 0% success rate. She has either matched two people who had good chemistry on paper, but fell victim to awkward silences and forced laughter on their dates. Or, she has straight up told her female clients that they are “too difficult” to be set up with anyone. The two successful matches that we do see reach their endgoal are entirely independent of Sima.
But then, perhaps, maybe that is the universe’s way of saying that love will find you, one way or the other. And that you don’t necessarily need a database-armed matchmaker to find it.
Overall, the success of the first two seasons, and an expected (yet undecided) third, prove that it is indeed a curious time to be a part of the unmarried desi diaspora. The year 2022 had begun with what was possibly the most cringe ABCD (American Born Confused Desi) revelation to hit our collective conscience since the characters from Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. Abhishek “Shake” Chatterjee sent waves of cringe and disgust in Netflix’s Love is Blind S2. His emotional myopia and shallowness represented something that Indian women know to be a fact — you either die single in India, or settle for someone who may only frustrate you to your wits end.
However, half a year later, Indian Matchmaking might just teach you that against all odds, there is still hope. And where there is none, there is Sima aunty.
Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the series. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the producers of the series or any other members of its cast and crew.
Poorva Joshi is a former journalist and content writer based in Bengaluru. She loves everything films, K-Pop, and pop culture and spends her free time chilling with her cat.