A couple of weeks back, my brother decided to make me aware of my marriageable age. I always thought women are like wine—they just become better with the age. But my brother thought otherwise on an otherwise lovely Saturday night.

The conversation took place at around 1.30 am, after I had a good time at a pub in Colaba. My brother was waiting patiently for me to return home. As soon as he saw me, he started, “Baby (my pet name ), what have you thought of marriage.” “Er, hello, I am just 25,” I muttered. Wearing my famous wide smile, I asked him innocently, “Why bro? Something serious? Why this question at this hour?”

“Nah, nothing urgent. I just came to know of an eligible boy working in London, who is in town for two-three days and was wondering if you would like to meet him.” I desperately wished I had come home utterly sloshed so I’d have been spared of this discussion. After a huge argument (which was of course one-sided, my brother spoke and I listened), he convinced me to meet the boy.

Two days later. As I was getting ready to meet Mr Eligible from London, my excited sister-in-law offered her set of tips (according to her “invaluable”) in quick succession.

“Please don’t forget to ask his date of birth and timing. I will be ready with the calculations whether your numbers match.”

The question was how would I recognise the boy? My heartbeat escalated when I reached the decided spot. I imagined a nervous breakdown. However, nothing of that sort happened. I phoned him to inform that I had reached.

As I was talking on the phone, I saw a fair guy with green eyes walking towards me. Barely five minutes after meeting him, I was chatting away as if I had known him forever.

We chatted for three hours, about everything under the sun. I even managed to acquire the details my sister-in-law had requisitioned. We said goodbye with a promise to stay in touch. I was so enchanted I forgot to ask him some basic vital things. Like I didn’t even know what he did for a living. I began drawing blanks when the brother began the third-degree questioning.

It has been two weeks since Mr Eligible returned. My brother is still excited at the prospect of marrying me to an foreign-resident and is constantly asking me for updates. I have none. There’s someone else he has already lined up for me to meet.