The question:
I'm 21 and for the past few months I've been dating a boy who used to be my best friend. My parents, who are of South Asian descent, are strong supporters of the "modern" arranged marriage - parents arrange "dates" with boys with similar families, hobbies and values, and who are also settled in life financially.
I didn't think they would start this process until I graduated next June. But recently I found out they made an arrangement with a boy who is extremely good-looking, and richer and more accomplished than my boyfriend could ever be. So I told my mom about my boyfriend. She didn't disapprove; she was worried about his financial security.
When I told my boyfriend, I expected him to leave me. Instead he told me that he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. He told me to meet the arranged guy if I want to, and that I should respect my mother, but to have faith in what we have together.
Now I am at a crossroads where all paths look grey. I care a lot about my boyfriend and I know he'll take care of me and always make me happy, but I care about my mom too and don't want her to be unhappy.
The answer:
Tough choice. This would make a great Bollywood musical. Perhaps it already has.
I kid - perhaps to cover my nervousness at wading into this one. I don't want to tread on anyone's toes, culturally. So, caveat lector: Whatever I say is obviously going to have a Western flavour to it - more cheeseburger-fries than garam masala, okay?
Supporters of arranged marriages point out they have much lower divorce rates than "love marriages." In India, where arranged marriages are still the norm, the divorce rate is, unbelievably, less than 2 per cent.
But as the Canadian (of Anglo-South Asian descent) comic Russell Peters says in one of his bits, I would no more want my mother to pick out a spouse for me than I want her to pick out my shirts.
Sure, she might get close. She might even pick one that falls into the "nice try" category. But it would be impossible to get one that was perfect.
A spouse is like a shirt you have to wear for the rest of your life. One that's too loud, or doesn't fit or is in poor taste, just keeps on getting tighter, louder and more frayed around the edges as time goes on.
I know in the "modern" iteration of the arranged marriage, the spouse is not forced upon you. Rather, your mother acts as a sort of yenta, introducing you to an array of eligible bachelors but leaving the final decision to you.
Still, clearly, there is not-so-subtle pressure to go with one of her choices. Yet you're the one who has to live with that choice, in the most literal way.
You're 21. And these days life expectancy in Canada hovers at just a hair under 81. That's 60 years under the same roof with the same dude, inhaling the piquant aroma of his personality, dealing with his problems, quirks, habits, health issues and halitosis.
Now, marriage can be an extremely agreeable state of affairs. Having someone to share your bed, your destiny, to have children and watch videos with - it can be very pleasant. Someone who says to you, in effect: "I know you inside out, I know you better than you know yourself - but I love you anyway." And when you get married, suddenly it's not just one, but the two of you versus the world. How can you beat that?
But an unhappy marriage? It can be an intensely irksome, friction-and- froideur-filled nightmare. The acme of misery, in fact. And even though your mother has the best of intentions, if you wind up with a husband you hate, you could wind up resenting her for it.
So, yes: You're at a crossroads. And I'd think long and hard before committing to anything. To be honest, I'm concerned you never said whether you loved your boyfriend, let alone whether he was "the one."
Maybe you should meet up with the rich, good-looking dude. Take him out for a spin. Kick the tires. What's the harm, especially since your boyfriend doesn't seem to mind?
But vis-à-vis marriage, what's the rush? Surely, no matter how traditional your family is, no one is going to start whispering "spinster" until you're at least 25.
Take your time. Whomever you choose, you could still be with him when we're all scooting around in solar-powered hover-cars, wearing mood-detection (or at least silver lamé) jumpsuits, sending each other thought-mails and watching movies on our contact lenses.
That's not a decision you want to make too hastily.
David Eddie is the author of Chump Change and Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad. Damage Control, the book, was released in March.
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