Musings
The Marriage Plot
Scene One
You are in the first year of college. Trying to figure out what life has in store for you. Eager to explore the vast universe of knowledge that college education brings with it. Looking forward to the intelligent conversations with peers and professors alike. Shyly checking out the dreamy guy laughing charmingly with his friends. The world is your canvas. You are on top of the world, the master of your own fate.
“All we are asking is for you to meet the guy. He is an engineer/doctor/lives abroad, earns a bucketload of money, is quite good looking, and will keep you happy for the rest of your life,” says your father almost as soon as you come home.
It's amazing how parents instinctively know that the match they've made for you will result in a happily-ever-after just because the guy is of a decent family, belongs to a socially approved profession, and earns 'good money.' A guy living abroad is a bonus; seriously, what else can a girl want if she can get to leave her homeland to go to an unfamiliar place and start a life with a guy she barely knows? He lives in Mississauga, Canada; that should be enough!
“I'm just 19!” you cry desperately.
“We are your parents. We just want you to see you happy and well-settled,” your mother says soothingly.
You want to continue with your education, you implore. That can be arranged, say your parents reassuringly, even though they know that there is only a faint possibility of that happening. You want some time to consider the proposal, you say, disheartened. Sure, they say, but they have already invited the other party to the house tomorrow, so you'll have to be decked up to meet the boy and his family, bring in the tea, say the appropriate things that your mother will teach you, and keep an open mind about accepting the proposal. He's wonderful, your parents sigh in unison.
“Don't I have the right to choose my own life partner?”
“Trust us. Your parents know best.”
Check and mate.
Scene Two
You've fallen in love. You've been dating someone without your parents' knowledge for some time now. But now you want to get married. You've called a family meeting to announce your big decision. But you know that it's not going to be easy.
Your parents seem to know what's going on in your mind. Your father is pacing up and down the room while your mother sits with a furrowed brow. You know that they won't give in without a fight.
You tell that you've met a girl who is everything you've ever dreamt of. She's smart, pretty, funny, well-mannered; everything a guy or his parents could wish for. Your mother looks at you with withering eyes.
“So now, we don't even have the right to choose a bride for you,” opens your mother expectedly. You want to be as patient as you can be, explaining that the girl is exactly the kind that your parents would probably have chosen for you. The questioning session has begun. What does she do? What do her parents do? Which part of the country is she from?
This is the part that you were dreading. You know that all hell will break loose once they get to know the truth. But you have no way to go but to tell the truth.
“She's from Noakhali,” you murmur.
Your father stops his pacing instantaneously. Your mother's waterworks have already begun. They stare at you accusingly; in their eyes, you've committed a grave sin.
“We are Sylhetis. She's from Noakhali. Do you even know what you are saying?” asks your father angrily.
Your seemingly liberal parents suddenly seem like prehistoric cavemen to you. Your family has been living in the capital city for most of their lives. Your parents have adopted the culture of their adopted land. They don't follow any customs of their native place, they visit their hometown only once a year, and they have limited contact with relatives back there. You point out all these factors to them. Your father looks at you as if you have gone mad; your mother is beside herself.
“What have we done to warrant this? Weren't there any other girls in the community that you could choose from instead of getting married to a complete stranger?” she wails.
“She's not a stranger for me,” you reason patiently.
“What will our relatives say? Nobody will come to the wedding. This is such a shame. I'd rather be dead than have to listen to all this!”
More waterworks.
Your dad is furious. Your parents won't have anything to do with the wedding if you go ahead with it, he says.
But we don't follow any Sylheti culture, you argue. Your family friends are from different parts of the country. Your parents preach unity and diversity. Why would they be so 'Sylheti' when it came to who you wanted to marry? Isn't that totally hypocritical?
“This is different,” they say.
And that's that.
Scene Three
You come back home to find a horde of relatives at your place. Your mother is busy frying samosas and making tea for the guests. You find yourself stuck in the middle of a plump aunt and her presumptuous daughter.
“You've become darker than the last time we saw you. You should do something about it, otherwise no boy will want to get married to you,” laughs the aunt, pushing in one samosa after another into her already full mouth.
You are quite content with your complexion and are in no hurry to get married, you answer politely.
“Who doesn't want to get married?” asks the presumptuous daughter. “Girls your age are already married with kids of their own!”
You are 27, have a steady job, are happy with your single status and have no intention of getting married anytime soon, you say.
“27?” screams another aunt. “I got my daughter married off as soon as she completed high school. You have already crossed the eligible marriage age. You'll have to be satisfied with whatever comes your way now,” she says sadly.
I am perfectly happy being single, you say in an exasperated tone.
“That's just delusional. How can you be happy if you don't get married? Who doesn't want to get married?” says yet another aunt, her freshly plucked eyebrows waggling suggestively,
I don't, you say tartly.
“Well, will you look at that? Look here young lady, you won't find anyone with that attitude of yours. You might as well get some manners if you want to get married,” says the plump aunt.
You mutter that you have something to do and excuse yourself from the gathering. Your mother has returned from the kitchen at this point and is being reassured by the seemingly well-meaning women in the room.
“Don't worry, bhabi. She'll come around. No girl can stay away from marriage for too long. She will have to give in at one point or the other,” you hear someone saying while you trudge to your room.
Epilogue
Many of us have hoped, or do hope, to find our soulmate and settle down in pleasant matrimonial bliss. But it may seem to some that the parental units, dear and wonderful as they are, are quite unreasonably driven in their quest to get us hitched to the right kind of spouse - that is, a spouse of their choosing. They will explain, not untruthfully, that they know and want what's best for us. They've lived far longer, they've seen much more of the world. They've made all the best choices for us. They've brought us into the world for Pete's sake. Why shouldn't they make this decision too? It's not like we've ever shown any wisdom or maturity. We're children, after all. Children who need to get married off right now.
And plain marriage won't do. You need to get married to the right person; the person chosen by them, to be precise. Anyone you choose will be scrutinized to the hilt, their every fault pointed out. They have a divorced uncle? That's a no-no. Their parents are vegetarians? Nope, that won't do at all. And God forbid if your 'chosen' one is from the creative field! They can't trust you to find your own life partner; that's their business as is everything else that goes on in your life.
The marriage mania that our parents are fully caught up in from the moment we show faint signs of being adults results in a comedy of frustration that wouldn't be out of place in an Austen novel. Bangladeshi mums can summon the kind of dogged determination that would make Mrs Bennett proud when it comes to their children's matrimonial prospects.
Yet we can't stay mad at them too long. Their hearts are in the right place. We want to please them, but we don't want to be unhappy for the rest of our lives. What is a young person to do?
Well, knowing our own heart is a good first step. Some of us have already found the love of our life, at work or in college. The rest of us want to wait a few years, get that career chugging along merrily first. The best way to explain what you want to your anxious parents is to be certain of it yourself.
Then comes patience. There will be tears, blustery declarations, anger. The wisest course of action is to avoid the dramatics and wait it all out. When your parents calm down, you can have the rational conversation, but forcing the issue never quite works, does it? Keep calm and carry on, as the saying goes.
Of course, there's a time and place for dramatics, too. At least a few tears can come in handy to counter Baba and Maa's masterly emotional maneuvers. Be strategic with those, though. You don't want to be the boy that cried . . . and then cried and cried and cried. Have them take that guilt trip when the weather's just right.
Finally, listen to your parents. Figure out why they want what they want for you. They truly do have years of wisdom. But they will know, if you talk to them from a place of love and clarity, that happy endings can't be hurried. And that you want them to be part of yours, regardless of what your prince or princess charming looks like.
This is the part that you were dreading. You know that all hell will break loose once they get to know the truth. But you have no way to go but to tell the truth.
“She's from Noakhali,” you murmur.
Your father stops his pacing instantaneously. Your mother's waterworks have already begun. They stare at you accusingly; in their eyes, you've committed a grave sin.
“We are Sylhetis. She's from Noakhali. Do you even know what you are saying?” asks your father angrily.
Your seemingly liberal parents suddenly seem like prehistoric cavemen to you. Your family has been living in the capital city for most of their lives. Your parents have adopted the culture of their adopted land. They don't follow any customs of their native place, they visit their hometown only once a year, and they have limited contact with relatives back there. You point out all these factors to them. Your father looks at you as if you have gone mad; your mother is beside herself.
“What have we done to warrant this? Weren't there any other girls in the community that you could choose from instead of getting married to a complete stranger?” she wails.
“She's not a stranger for me,” you reason patiently.
“What will our relatives say? Nobody will come to the wedding. This is such a shame. I'd rather be dead than have to listen to all this!”
More waterworks.
Your dad is furious. Your parents won't have anything to do with the wedding if you go ahead with it, he says.
But we don't follow any Sylheti culture, you argue. Your family friends are from different parts of the country. Your parents preach unity and diversity. Why would they be so 'Sylheti' when it came to who you wanted to marry? Isn't that totally hypocritical?
“This is different,” they say.
And that's that.
Scene Three
You come back home to find a horde of relatives at your place. Your mother is busy frying samosas and making tea for the guests. You find yourself stuck in the middle of a plump aunt and her presumptuous daughter.
“You've become darker than the last time we saw you. You should do something about it, otherwise no boy will want to get married to you,” laughs the aunt, pushing in one samosa after another into her already full mouth.
You are quite content with your complexion and are in no hurry to get married, you answer politely.
“Who doesn't want to get married?” asks the presumptuous daughter. “Girls your age are already married with kids of their own!”
You are 27, have a steady job, are happy with your single status and have no intention of getting married anytime soon, you say.
“27?” screams another aunt. “I got my daughter married off as soon as she completed high school. You have already crossed the eligible marriage age. You'll have to be satisfied with whatever comes your way now,” she says sadly.
I am perfectly happy being single, you say in an exasperated tone.
“That's just delusional. How can you be happy if you don't get married? Who doesn't want to get married?” says yet another aunt, her freshly plucked eyebrows waggling suggestively,
I don't, you say tartly.
“Well, will you look at that? Look here young lady, you won't find anyone with that attitude of yours. You might as well get some manners if you want to get married,” says the plump aunt.
You mutter that you have something to do and excuse yourself from the gathering. Your mother has returned from the kitchen at this point and is being reassured by the seemingly well-meaning women in the room.
“Don't worry, bhabi. She'll come around. No girl can stay away from marriage for too long. She will have to give in at one point or the other,” you hear someone saying while you trudge to your room.
Epilogue
Many of us have hoped, or do hope, to find our soulmate and settle down in pleasant matrimonial bliss. But it may seem to some that the parental units, dear and wonderful as they are, are quite unreasonably driven in their quest to get us hitched to the right kind of spouse - that is, a spouse of their choosing. They will explain, not untruthfully, that they know and want what's best for us. They've lived far longer, they've seen much more of the world. They've made all the best choices for us. They've brought us into the world for Pete's sake. Why shouldn't they make this decision too? It's not like we've ever shown any wisdom or maturity. We're children, after all. Children who need to get married off right now.
And plain marriage won't do. You need to get married to the right person; the person chosen by them, to be precise. Anyone you choose will be scrutinized to the hilt, their every fault pointed out. They have a divorced uncle? That's a no-no. Their parents are vegetarians? Nope, that won't do at all. And God forbid if your 'chosen' one is from the creative field! They can't trust you to find your own life partner; that's their business as is everything else that goes on in your life.
The marriage mania that our parents are fully caught up in from the moment we show faint signs of being adults results in a comedy of frustration that wouldn't be out of place in an Austen novel. Bangladeshi mums can summon the kind of dogged determination that would make Mrs Bennett proud when it comes to their children's matrimonial prospects.
Yet we can't stay mad at them too long. Their hearts are in the right place. We want to please them, but we don't want to be unhappy for the rest of our lives. What is a young person to do?
Well, knowing our own heart is a good first step. Some of us have already found the love of our life, at work or in college. The rest of us want to wait a few years, get that career chugging along merrily first. The best way to explain what you want to your anxious parents is to be certain of it yourself.
Then comes patience. There will be tears, blustery declarations, anger. The wisest course of action is to avoid the dramatics and wait it all out. When your parents calm down, you can have the rational conversation, but forcing the issue never quite works, does it? Keep calm and carry on, as the saying goes.
Of course, there's a time and place for dramatics, too. At least a few tears can come in handy to counter Baba and Maa's masterly emotional maneuvers. Be strategic with those, though. You don't want to be the boy that cried . . . and then cried and cried and cried. Have them take that guilt trip when the weather's just right.
Finally, listen to your parents. Figure out why they want what they want for you. They truly do have years of wisdom. But they will know, if you talk to them from a place of love and clarity, that happy endings can't be hurried. And that you want them to be part of yours, regardless of what your prince or princess charming looks like.
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