First of all, I would like to thank everyone for voting on my last post’s poll; apparently most of you love me so much it hurts. I am touched. Really.
And I would like to tell the other 43% who called my mum fat that it is just glandular okay? Don’t be a dick about it. ):
Secondly, I have nothing against arranged marriages; hell, it’s a part of my culture.
Personally marrying somebody you met yourself, to live with them the rest of your life, is as big a gamble as marrying someone your parents picked for you (assuming you get to know them to some extent before the big day).
Everyone changes after marriage, is what I’ve heard, and it’s not always going to be fun. So in other words, it sucks equally for everybody.
The whole parents picking someone for you, and you make a decision after just talking to him once though, is utter bull.
Seriously, right here in Colombo, you still find families marrying off their kids to people that they’ve only met once. And they didn’t even ask any important we’re-gonna-live-together-forever questions during the meeting.
What if you love cats and dogs, and he hates animals. What if he tortured a puppy when he was ten because he thought it was funny.
That is a crucial difference. Will you find out about it during your first meeting? I think not.
And then, BAM! You, a die hard animal lover collecting money to some day put up an animal shelter of awesomeness, are stuck with a closet animal torturer.
Cue the horror music.
So far I’ve never considered anyone I’ve personally met as serious marriage material. My fickle nature is probably to blame; I have an innate phobia of consistency. And what implies consistency better than the M word?
Also I can count the number of genuinely interesting Sri Lankan boys I’ve met on one hand. No offense, fellas.
So chances are, if a kindred spirit doesn’t suddenly fall out of the sky (Jesus), my parents are going to pull a… dun dun DUUUNNNN.. arranged marriage on me.
For the total noobs, the average arranged marriage proposal includes two families meeting, where the guy and the girl chat a bit and the uncles and aunties pretend to talk about boring stuff but are all along scrutinizing the other family’s son/daughter and thinking ‘hmm her nose is too big but nice hips, good for grandchild-producing/he has nice hair, good grooming means responsible.’
I lol at the idea of sitting through it with a straight face. Here is how it would go. Dim the lights please.
Old people enter, with eligible bachelor following close behind.
My parents enter.
Awesomely awkward silence as everyone takes a seat in a quaint living room.
I walk in, smiling and waving, resisting the urge to say something ridiculous to disrupt the formal atmosphere. Like ‘PONIES ARE GR8!111’
My mother initiates conversation. ‘Crazy weather no?’
Blah blah blah. Old people start talking.
Dad throws shifty glances at bachelorboy and me, while attempting to pay attention to the oldpeople convo about petrol prices and the government (seriously, do old people rehearse this conversation before meeting or something? it’s the same freaking thing every time). Dad is scrutinizing bachelorboy, he’s looking at his shoes, you can tell a lot about a man by his shoes allegedly.
So how is work going? bachelorboy asks. Of course, he already knows the answer, since in our families, the aunties and uncles are super spy agents who do extensive research on their subjects before an actual ‘proposal’ happens.
Extensive research, from where you were born to what clothes you wear today.
I am not fucking kidding. If you are Moor Muslim, and you are in the game of marriage proposals now, there is a file on you somewhere, and some aunties out there know virtually everything about you. Everything.
In the future, my hypothetical mother in law will mention reading this post in my file and her mouth will make judgmental wrinkles as it recalls the unbecoming swear words.
The aunties are hiding in the bushes right now. Taking polaroids of you as you read this.
Anyway, I say work is going great. Then I hand him a piece of paper and pen.
What’s this? he says.
He finds it is a list with boxes next to each sentence, headed with fine print:
Since in the arranged marriage business, we’re not going to meet more than, say, 10 times, before I have to give a thumbs up or down for an engagement – I thought I’d make things easy with this list! Just put a tick or cross next to each respective statement. And be honest cuz the aunties will find out eventually anyway and if you lied they’ll kill you with their aunty-wrath i.e. telling everyone you’re a dirty slut and then maybe feeding you tasty but poisoned cutlets.
The list will have something like this…
 I have tortured animals at some point in my life
 I like cupcakes
 I have abnormal deformities in places that you can’t see right now
 Fight Club is awesome
 I am secretly gay
 Walrus (trick question)
 One day I plan to adopt a monkey/panda/koala bear (do not answer if you ticked Q1)
If he sucks, he’ll say he has to go to the bathroom at this point, and then escape through the window.
If he sucks but wants to appear nonsucky, he’ll do the list but get the wrong answers.
If he’s awesome, he will tick Walrus. And then make a funny joke.
Meanwhile, aunties and uncles present will ask me lame pointless questions as I nod and think ‘haha look at that aunty’s face-mole, it’s shaped like a turtle’, my dad will interrogate bachelorboy about his shoes and then bore him to death with a prepared speech on manstyle, and mum will excuse herself at some point to go to her room and shed a tear thinking of how her little girl is all grown up.
This is of course the abridged version of the entire fiasco. I haven’t mentioned all the sweets eating, the old-people-cracking-dry-jokes-and-you-have-to-lol-to-be-polite, and the potentially worst part, knowing instantly that it’s not gonna happen (eg. the potential dad in law says ‘america is a country of infidels, i kill them all’ or the potential mum in law starts talking about what colour the wedding dress is going to be or the boy picks his nose and wipes the booger on the seat) – and having to bare another 40 minutes, at least, with them.
I would just honestly say ‘I think I hear my phone ringing, brb’ and then never come back.
Or just utilize the moment for comic relief.
Me: I have a confession to make.
Boy: U LUV ME 2?
Mum: *facepalming because she knows what’s coming*
Me: I AM A ZOMBIE AND I AM GOING TO EAT YOUR BRAAAAINZZ *chews on random aunty’s hair till everyone runs for their lives*