Last Friday's Toronto Star front page story about Oakville resident Chantelle Swanson's radio-arranged marriage confirmed two things for me. No. 1: the world must have been pretty boring last Thursday. No. 2: Bollywood culture has become trendier than tapered jeans. Over the course of seven weeks, Swanson took part in a New Zealand radio station's reality show, Three Strangers and a Wedding. The 26-year-old middle school teacher, now based in Auckland, spoke to two potential husbands over the phone, met with their friends, quizzed their families and finally picked one as her lifelong mate. I spend more time deciding on a pricey pair of runners.
While Chantelle's family has publicly expressed their disapproval, mine has officially picked their White North American of the year. "Beta, look at the divorce rates in this country. If you marry based on love, love will fizzle and your marriage will die" my Pakistani aunt has made a habit of telling me (I keep suggesting knitting as a more productive pastime). My retort to this classy sales pitch has always been, "Auntie, we were raised in different worlds. If I let you arrange my marriage my hopes will fizzle and my dreams will die."
Each of my relatives has their own way of attempting to sway my opinion on the matter. One of my older uncles thinks it's just a matter of speaking the language of youth. "Listen, man. Arranged marriage is the bomb! Think about it, it's like a Kinder Surprise chocolate. You cannot go to the store and open every single Kinder Surprise. No ... you must pick one. Knowing only that it is brown and beautiful. The rest? Surprise!"
That may be a push for some impressionable singles, but it's not budging this girl. It may be that I'm stubborn, or that I have a distinct childhood memory of unravelling my Kinder Surprise and being so disappointed I cried. I don't need that to be my wedding night.
Don't get me wrong. Most relationships in my extended family were matched up through arranged marriages and many of them are truly happy.
There's no doubt that these unions, built by parents of the couple-to-be, are born with a strong sense of devotion. Beyond my hesitations, however, I do have my doubt that I'd be the kind of wife a traditional Pakistani man would want.
I can see it now. He'd come home to a messy house. Our eight kids (adopted, since I swore sexual abstinence on our wedding night) are lighting fires in the backyard. I'm logged on to my Facebook profile, clicking refresh every 10 minutes while rapping along to Jay-Z, blasting in the background.
I can't see the process being much better from the man's perspective. In most cases, all you get to see is a picture of your spouse before locking down the deal. Muslim bachelors must be seeing pictures of their marital destinies wearing a burqa.
Now, I know "the eyes are the window to the soul" but if you're planning on spending the rest of your life with someone, you may wanna check out the rest of the house. Check out the frontage, make sure the lawn is mowed, see if you fit in the door ...
So I guess what I'm saying is, good luck, Chantelle! At the very least, you'll have the radio stardom of being "that chick from Three Strangers and a Wedding" and a frame showcasing the day you made the newspapers. While you navigate married life Down Under, I'll continue dodging offers in my eternally starring role in The Pakistani Bachelorette.
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While Chantelle's family has publicly expressed their disapproval, mine has officially picked their White North American of the year. "Beta, look at the divorce rates in this country. If you marry based on love, love will fizzle and your marriage will die" my Pakistani aunt has made a habit of telling me (I keep suggesting knitting as a more productive pastime). My retort to this classy sales pitch has always been, "Auntie, we were raised in different worlds. If I let you arrange my marriage my hopes will fizzle and my dreams will die."
Each of my relatives has their own way of attempting to sway my opinion on the matter. One of my older uncles thinks it's just a matter of speaking the language of youth. "Listen, man. Arranged marriage is the bomb! Think about it, it's like a Kinder Surprise chocolate. You cannot go to the store and open every single Kinder Surprise. No ... you must pick one. Knowing only that it is brown and beautiful. The rest? Surprise!"
That may be a push for some impressionable singles, but it's not budging this girl. It may be that I'm stubborn, or that I have a distinct childhood memory of unravelling my Kinder Surprise and being so disappointed I cried. I don't need that to be my wedding night.
Don't get me wrong. Most relationships in my extended family were matched up through arranged marriages and many of them are truly happy.
There's no doubt that these unions, built by parents of the couple-to-be, are born with a strong sense of devotion. Beyond my hesitations, however, I do have my doubt that I'd be the kind of wife a traditional Pakistani man would want.
I can see it now. He'd come home to a messy house. Our eight kids (adopted, since I swore sexual abstinence on our wedding night) are lighting fires in the backyard. I'm logged on to my Facebook profile, clicking refresh every 10 minutes while rapping along to Jay-Z, blasting in the background.
I can't see the process being much better from the man's perspective. In most cases, all you get to see is a picture of your spouse before locking down the deal. Muslim bachelors must be seeing pictures of their marital destinies wearing a burqa.
Now, I know "the eyes are the window to the soul" but if you're planning on spending the rest of your life with someone, you may wanna check out the rest of the house. Check out the frontage, make sure the lawn is mowed, see if you fit in the door ...
So I guess what I'm saying is, good luck, Chantelle! At the very least, you'll have the radio stardom of being "that chick from Three Strangers and a Wedding" and a frame showcasing the day you made the newspapers. While you navigate married life Down Under, I'll continue dodging offers in my eternally starring role in The Pakistani Bachelorette.
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