The sun stings my eyes.
And the ice-cream man won’t stop staring.
I’m sick of being stared at. That’s the one thing I don’t like about this place - the men are always staring.
Manreet ordered us one kesar pista kulfi each and the delicious, nutty Indian ice-cream is trickling down my fingers. Beth’s laugh brings me back to the present and I see her eyes flicker across to Madison, who is laughing too. We are sitting with our new friends Karan, Pranay, Bhavana and Manreet, who all go to the local university in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, in the west of India. I tune in as Manreet elbows Pranay playfully and she asks us if we can set him up with a nice Australian girl back home - because none of the girls in India want him. His mouth opens in protest but before he can say anything, we laugh and say we’ll do our best and he blushes at the idea, a quiet smile on the corner of his mouth.
What if Mr Right was someone your parents picked for you?
The other side to arranged marriages
After discussing all things touristy over lunch, it was clear our friends were keen for the real talk to begin, the ‘spicy’ stories of dating.
“About 80 per cent of marriages are arranged by our parents,” Manreet says casually.
“I’ll probably have one too. I can’t wait! He’s going to be rich, of course. I mean, I’m used to my lifestyle. They’ll find me someone who can at least afford house help – I can’t do housework, cooking or chores. Never done it, never will. ”
“Gold digger!” Karan yells out, smirking. Pranay giggles, pushing his glasses back onto his nose.
But financial gain isn’t the only incentive for Manreet to let her parents choose her life partner.
“Marriage is like a soup,” she beams. “Love marriage is like a hot soup cooling, and arranged marriage is like a cold soup warming up.”
Her eyes twinkle as she explains and I find myself being led into a wonderfully chaotic world of henna-painted hands, arms dripping in golden jewellery, and huddles of women fussing about the beautifully adorned bride. The heavy bass of Indian dance music and the smell of sweet basmati rice fill the air. Everywhere I look is exploding in colour. Silk saris in every hue imaginable are wrapped effortlessly around the women’s bodies, the jingle of their silver anklets indicating every step.
She describes how the parents in her community choose a husband based on economic stability, social status and physical appearance, field of education, occupation, and sometimes astrological compatibility. Medical records are checked so that the couple will have healthy offspring without any hereditary diseases and they will, of course, be of the same religion and caste.
Arranged marriages, she explains, are designed to be long-lasting. This is achieved by carefully analysing problems, such as financial security or conflicting religious beliefs, which may arise in the couple’s later years.
“The heart knows no better,” Manreet shrugs her shoulders. “But a rational checklist does. That is why divorce rates are very low here. Arranged marriages aren’t all the hell they’re made out to be by western society.”
Enchanted by her storytelling, I see myself atop a bejewelled elephant with my handsome, rich, healthy husband, whisking me away to the sound of drums and congratulations, my pink and golden sari undulating gently in the warm breeze.
But the drumming stops. And the elephant disappears. I land hard on my feet.
What about the freedom to choose for yourself? Isn’t ‘love marriage’ the best kind? And how do you know you’ll grow to love your husband? What if he is abusive?
The feminist inside me squirmed on my seat, lifting the veil on arranged marriages to expose a more sinister reality underneath. What if you are in love with somebody else? What if that person happens to be the same sex as you?
There are a number of problems with arranged marriage. One of them is the enforcement of compulsory heterosexuality. Arranged marriages assume that everybody is heterosexual, completely denying the possibility that some would prefer same sex relationships. And what about marriages that are arranged overseas? It appears to be dangerously similar to human trafficking. Not to mention the fact that the bride virtually becomes the property of a man she barely knows.I shiver at the thought of being sold to a man I despise.
Yes, there can definitely be a downside to arranged marriages. My new friends seem excited at the prospect of their futures. I am excited for them. But maybe the way things are done back home is the right choice for me after all.
I look over to the ice-cream man behind the counter. This time he is joined by another. Both are watching us. My cheeks flush and I look at my feet. Manreet is leaning back in her chair, excitedly planning her million dollar wedding.
“You’re all invited, of course. Mine will be huge. I’m from Chandigarh, Punjab, and everybody knows Punjab is known for the most lavish weddings. I’m going all out.” She winks.
There is no way I’m missing out on an Indian wedding.
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