A few months ago, I was in Nepal assisting my best buddy, Barun, to settle down. Barun had left Nepal when his professional career was about to take off. While his parents had wanted him to marry before he embarked on his overseas voyage, he had wanted to explore life and career.
In his mid-twenties, he wanted to sail far in the horizon, and with little fear of the unknown, he thought he would be better off solo for the next few years. His parents were effortlessly convinced, since they knew the enormous faith they had in their first child had never been breached. [break]
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Over the next few years, on his biennial visits back home, he was confronted with matrimonial questions and recommendations. He deferred, at times citing his lofty ambitions, at others referring to his pecuniary preparation. By this visit, he had exhausted all possible reasons and he could no longer put off a marriage. He appeared acquiescent to both parental plea and inner calling. On the one hand, peer pressure escalated, and on other, life’s emotional and social constituencies craved enduring love and companionship. And thus began the extensive pursuit of an elusive Mrs Right.
From doctors to practicing nurses, freelance interior designers to wannabe microbiologists to emerging bankers, he made up to three appointments a day, most of them out in exquisite cafes of Kings Way. Every restaurant tab became my friend’s de facto responsibility. Obviously, the would-be groom was not yearning for a be-all and end-all type or “Miss Independent” as in the rapper Neyo’s hit number, but it was still taking longer than anticipated.
The process was both interesting and customary. But when interrogations hit more personal and intimate territories, I vented that some of these offers be dropped. “Does the boy own property in Madhesh?” “What does boy’s father do for a living?” “Where does boy’s maternal uncle hail from?” were some such questions, and the list went on. While some families wanted to know how early their daughter, if married, could fly to Amrika, others wished to hear with certitude that the girl’s academic pursuits should continue.
Most startling, yet recurrent, inquiry was if he owned a house in Kathmandu. The family of the prospect bride aside, multiple layers of relatives and acquaintances were also prompt and detail-oriented in grilling this eligible bachelor, who had an impressive resume and a charismatic persona.
To me, it seemed both embarrassing and insensible as to why these parents, many of them occupying executive bureaucratic roles, and others in revered vocations, demanded a house in Kathmandu just to qualify a prospective groom for a second round of screening. These were government officers and politicians and private-sector officers of upper echelons, the kind who often advocated eradicating child labor and ironically, employed young girls and boys to do their household chores with little to no compensation.
For someone who has made the US a place to work, live and love, a concrete structure in Kathmandu didn’t make much sense. The building can’t procure jobs or add skills to one’s portfolio. By no account did it represent the groom’s professional, academic and intellectual standing, and nor was it an evidence of prudent financial and social prominence. Most importantly, where one lives is primarily a matter of choice.
A nexus of relatives and friends who longed to see my chum settled were all enraptured with what was going on. Even with no confirmation on the bride and modalities of the function, these audiences with guaranteed front row seats had already kicked off their own meetings to plan what they were going to wear and the likes. The groom was perturbed to discover that his kindred, though they all looked joyful, were actually envious of the groom’s better prospects of finding a qualified bride.
On a different note, some expended considerable efforts to connect my friend to less than desirable candidates—many of them their own connections—knowing that the girl’s life would be a fairytale. A few relatives and friends were arbitrarily upset because Barun turned down their best offers. He had to presage these people at one point not to coerce but to cooperate. Just because he had rejected those offers didn’t necessarily mean that they were unfit, they just didn’t click. This intangible x-factor can only be felt and experienced within.
Barun’s marital saga is just a story to recount for me, but it is a reality to many Nepali lads and lasses preparing to settle down. While there’s a shift in patterns of marriages with love marriages gradually taking over arranged ones, our societal comportment unfortunately is a double edged sword. Parents who voice for hard work and conscientiousness as the founding virtues for an intellectually and professionally rewarding life, ironically, judge the external world in terms of material prosperity, often translated into ‘kathmandu ma ghar’ and ‘taraima jagga’.
It clearly depicts an increasing class clash among a segment of hypocritical Nepali society, one that pompously calls Kathmandu their home, even though hailing from remote village of Palpa, Rolpa or Darchula. Even the ones who originally made the chaotic capital city their home lash out at people from other parts of the country, as if the latter are deficient in intellect and/or riches.
Marriages should essentially be decided by the concerned boy and girl, whether love, arranged or hybrid. What the boy/girl does should matter more than what his/her mama or aama does. And there are many things more important than where their home is or what their father does. The only important thing is for the boy and girl to know and understand each other well. There’s no denying that family and relatives have roles to play in what could be a cooperative effort to connect the two, and help plan the function. Because you can’t please others without first pleasing yourself, you must be your own best buddy. Whenever it troubles me that marriages continue to be public affairs, I find solace in Chinua Achebe’s acclaimed story “Marriage is a Private Affair.”
The writer has an MBA from George Mason University,
Virginia, USA
Arun.america@gmail.com
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