Recently, i was cc’d on an e-mail addressed to my father. The boy is in good state job in Mississippi and cannot come to New York.
The girl must relocate to Mississippi.” The message was signed by Mr.
“I thought maybe she was the one, but then I found out she had a Muslim boyfriend in college,” he said.
I lodged my protest against him and arranged marriage by getting ragingly intoxicated and blowing smoke rings in his face. Maybe, but I didn’t want to be marriageable back then. But for Indians, there’s no way to escape thinking about marriage, eventually.
“Imagine you are on a safari in Africa with your parents,” he said. Your mother turns to you and says, ‘Son, when are you getting married? A few days after my 1st birthday, within months of my family’s arrival in the U.
S., I fell out the window of a three-story building in Baltimore.
And the result—strange e-mails from boys’ fathers and stranger dates with those boys themselves—has become so much a part of my dating life that I’ve lost sight of how bizarre it once seemed.
Many women, Indian or not, whose parents have had a long, healthy marriage hope we will, too, while fearing that perhaps we’ve made everything irreparably worse by expecting too much.
Our prospective husbands have to be rich and socially conscious, hip but down-to-earth.
For some Indians, the conundrum is exacerbated by the fact that our parents had no choice for a partner; the only choice was how hard they’d work to be happy.
(A middle-class family can easily spend 0,000 these days on a dowry in India.) Much savvier in the ways of his new country, my father laughed it off. ” Fulfilling his parental duty, my father placed matrimonial ads for me every couple of years during my twenties in such immigrant newspapers as India Abroad.