The book is about marriages — the couple of the show is referred to as Mr and Mrs Ali — but not all marriages can be made at Ali’s. The relationship that hogs the latter half of the book does not appear in the files stacked in the wooden wardrobe in Mr Ali’s office — the almost chaste, and disappointingly predictable, romance between Mr Ali’s assistant Aruna, the poor Brahmin girl, and Ramanujam, the rich Brahmin boy who was initially looking for a Rs 1 crore dowry. And not all couples have walked in with a membership fee of Rs 500. Zama refers to the barebones of many relationships on the sidelines — a postman’s widowed daughter cheated out of her husband’s life insurance; an old mother thrown out by her only son and daughter-in-law — and they are treated with enough matter-of-factness and just that much sympathy to save them from turning schmaltzy or even looking cliched. The book is also about marriages that don’t happen: for, match referee Mr Ali cannot arrange an alliance for his son Rehman fighting against the Special Economic Zone in Royyapalem. And even in Ali’s beautiful house where marriages are made with much precision — aligning caste and community, matching skin, measuring height and looking at planets and paddy fields — they might not have happily ever after appended to it. For, while smiling, just-married couples walk through this easy, breezy novel, the marriage bureau, portentously enough, works under the photograph of a couple — a poor girl and a rich boy, both Rehman’s classmates — with a disastrous love story. These nuances work. What don’t though are the explanations of Deepavali and dosas appearing between commas, never mind the book is published in Britain.

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