Arranged

I looked across the room and there she was — hand in hand with her her new fiance, smiling broadly and blushing as people complimented how great they looked together. My baby sister was engaged and here we were, celebrating at her favorite spot in the city.

I remember being the overprotective big brother but don’t remember when we became best friends — friends with a shared love of food, shared disdain of mundane life and an uncanny ability to give each other perspective when it was most needed.

As we grew up in a conservative Indian family, the pressure of getting married starting mounting. More on her because she was of the “marriageable age”. I got a pass for the time being, as I needed to “settle first” and then find a “nice, homely girl.”

This drama meant our discussions moved to marriage, life partners and the classic question of whether love happens or can actually be arranged. Both of us were strongly in the ‘love happens’ camp and never understood how people decided to get married to people their parents chose.

“There is no way to test the compatibility, lifestyle and view of life that these guys have” said my sister in anguish after one guy and, I kid you not, 6 members of his family came to meet her. Any small belief that she had in an arranged marriage was now long gone.

And yet here we were, just 3 months later, celebrating her engagement. Around the same time, my aunt asked her to help someone with a US visa. The guy dutifully messaged her for help and somewhere along the way, it stopped being platonic.

“I think I like the guy. Really like him”, she whispered to me one day. I was stunned, “The visa guy? Really?”. The next month was a blur and by the end of the month, somehow ,my sister had decided her life partner.

Joy filled our house with the news. The aunt, who had made the intro, visited and winked saying that she always wanted to make the match. Visa was just a reason to get them talking. My sister was flabbergasted. Was she having an arranged marriage after all? She felt otherwise. But was it really a love marriage? Somewhere, the lines had blurred and so had our thinking.

I look at my sister again. She notices me across the room. And then as if sensing what I am thinking, shrugs, and starts laughing loudly.

I break into a laughter as well. Clearly, both of us still don’t know whether love can be arranged, but we sure know it can be facilitated.