Advertisement
Advertisement
The way I saw it, though, is that I was just viewing marriage in a different light to them. We were all looking at the same reality—a pledge of commitment, honesty, companionship, support, all that—but I chose to interpret it differently.For me, marriage was the route toward love, rather than a tangible marker of its presence. It was about security, friendship, and adventure with a person who shared my values and was all in for the ride from the start.My parents were a great example of a successful arranged marriage and I wanted the same for myself. My dad still makes my mom breakfast every morning. She still tells him off for eating cream doughnuts, dyes his hair, and prays for his health. He pretends that she's a nag in front of me but tells her that he loves her pretty much every chance he gets. Even when they're asleep, they snore in tandem. They're a wheezing, nocturnal orchestra of snuffles and grunts. That's what I wanted.Finding a partner for me wasn't a decision that my mom and dad took lightly—their approach was methodical and rational, like many other parents who have done the same for their children. It had nothing to do with serendipity, romance and attraction. For them, it was more about finding a nice, humble man who would be kind and respectful to me.My mom would usually do a background search of any guy in question, check for details of his education, career, age, and height as well as talk to his acquaintances to try and get a handle on whether he was a psycho or not. She wasn't an expert, but she fumbled her way through, like a little, curvy Inspector Gadget, gabbing away to to other Muslim moms in our family network and beyond.Marriage was the route toward love, rather than a tangible marker of its presence.
Advertisement
Advertisement