on Arun was that she was “a pretty girl” and “very quiet.” After the meeting, Arun told his mother, “I’ve done you your favor; now leave me alone.” But his mother persisted, and Arun agreed to see Manju again.
This time they went to dinner together and left the parents behind. “That was when I talked to her for the first time,” Arun remembered, “and I felt she was quite interesting.” Manju decided the same thing. “We had a lot of things in common,” she said. “He was always soft-spoken. He never tried to show off his family and his background. He always made me feel like an individual.”
They saw each other two more times, but with chaperones. At this point, the courtship had gone on long enough and a decision had to be made. Manju had already told her parents she would marry Arun if that was what his family wished—she had no major objections, sheliked him, and that was enough. A few days later, Arun’s mother came to the house. “We want her,” she said. Immediately the massive wedding preparations got under way.
“Obviously, I wasn’t in love with her,” Arun told me matter-of-factly about the days after the engagement was announced. “But whenever we met, we were comfortable. According to our tradition, that would lead to love. I was willing to accept that.” Manju felt the same. “At the time, I didn’t love him,” she said, “but it was very exciting for me. Suddenly, I was very important. All of my parents’ friends were a little envious about the family I was marrying into.” The wedding took place six months later, followed by a honeymoon in southern India, where the two spent their first extended time alone. “We had always had people around us,” Manju said. “This was awkward and difficult. One didn’t know how much to give.” She missed her parents and called them every day.
Afterward, she began a slow adjustment to life within a family that was much more sophisticated than her own. “These people were more aware of things happening around the world,” she said. “At times, I felt as if I were stupid. But I learned how to cope with it. My husband helped.” When they moved to their own house five years later, there was another adjustment. “It was a frightening experience, living by ourselves,” Manju remembered. “There were times when we didn’t know what to do with each other.” She kept reminding herself that her mother always said a woman has to compromise a lot. “She also used to say, ‘If you’re unhappy, unless it’s really bad, don’t tell me.’ ”
By the time I met them, nearly two decades and three children later, the Bharat Rams had long since adjusted to married life. It is always impossible to know what is really going on in someone else’s marriage, of course, but the Bharat Rams said they were happy, and I believed them. “I’ve never thought of another man since I met him,” Manju told me. “And I also know I would not be able to live without him. I don’t think I’ve regretted my marriage, ever.” Arun echoed his wife. “It wasn’t something that happened overnight,” he said. “It grew and became a tremendous bond. It’s amazing, but in arranged marriages, people actually make the effort to fall in love with each other.”
It was a curious love story. As far as I could tell, they had it all backward. I had been raised on one of the favorite themes of Western literature, that of star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet whose love is a force that exists on its own, a magic that defies the constraints of society. But here the Bharat Rams were telling me that love can beconcocted simply by arranging a marriage between people of common background and interests. In middle-class India, where the family is still more important than any of its individual members, love is believed to flow out of social arrangements and is actually subservient to them. “True love” is possible only after marriage, not
This time they went to dinner together and left the parents behind. “That was when I talked to her for the first time,” Arun remembered, “and I felt she was quite interesting.” Manju decided the same thing. “We had a lot of things in common,” she said. “He was always soft-spoken. He never tried to show off his family and his background. He always made me feel like an individual.”
They saw each other two more times, but with chaperones. At this point, the courtship had gone on long enough and a decision had to be made. Manju had already told her parents she would marry Arun if that was what his family wished—she had no major objections, sheliked him, and that was enough. A few days later, Arun’s mother came to the house. “We want her,” she said. Immediately the massive wedding preparations got under way.
“Obviously, I wasn’t in love with her,” Arun told me matter-of-factly about the days after the engagement was announced. “But whenever we met, we were comfortable. According to our tradition, that would lead to love. I was willing to accept that.” Manju felt the same. “At the time, I didn’t love him,” she said, “but it was very exciting for me. Suddenly, I was very important. All of my parents’ friends were a little envious about the family I was marrying into.” The wedding took place six months later, followed by a honeymoon in southern India, where the two spent their first extended time alone. “We had always had people around us,” Manju said. “This was awkward and difficult. One didn’t know how much to give.” She missed her parents and called them every day.
Afterward, she began a slow adjustment to life within a family that was much more sophisticated than her own. “These people were more aware of things happening around the world,” she said. “At times, I felt as if I were stupid. But I learned how to cope with it. My husband helped.” When they moved to their own house five years later, there was another adjustment. “It was a frightening experience, living by ourselves,” Manju remembered. “There were times when we didn’t know what to do with each other.” She kept reminding herself that her mother always said a woman has to compromise a lot. “She also used to say, ‘If you’re unhappy, unless it’s really bad, don’t tell me.’ ”
By the time I met them, nearly two decades and three children later, the Bharat Rams had long since adjusted to married life. It is always impossible to know what is really going on in someone else’s marriage, of course, but the Bharat Rams said they were happy, and I believed them. “I’ve never thought of another man since I met him,” Manju told me. “And I also know I would not be able to live without him. I don’t think I’ve regretted my marriage, ever.” Arun echoed his wife. “It wasn’t something that happened overnight,” he said. “It grew and became a tremendous bond. It’s amazing, but in arranged marriages, people actually make the effort to fall in love with each other.”
It was a curious love story. As far as I could tell, they had it all backward. I had been raised on one of the favorite themes of Western literature, that of star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet whose love is a force that exists on its own, a magic that defies the constraints of society. But here the Bharat Rams were telling me that love can beconcocted simply by arranging a marriage between people of common background and interests. In middle-class India, where the family is still more important than any of its individual members, love is believed to flow out of social arrangements and is actually subservient to them. “True love” is possible only after marriage, not
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