I’ve grown up watching the grand spectacle of Indian weddings — the shehnai, the glittering clothes, the endless jewelry, the Bollywood songs playing in the background. It’s all so loud, so full of celebration, that sometimes we forget the quiet reality underneath: you’re actually entering into a legal contract for life with someone you’ve barely met.
That’s what keeps me thinking.
Arranged marriage, as we know it, wasn’t exactly designed for love. It was built to preserve caste, class, religion, family reputation. Love and companionship? Nice bonuses if they show up, but not really the foundation.
And then come the funny-but-not-so-funny filters. We’ve all heard them, right?
“Dark-skinned girls? No.”
“Divorced or widowed? No.”
“Salary package less than X? No.”
“Wrong caste, wrong surname, wrong city? Absolutely not.”
By the time you apply all those filters, what’s even left to choose from? And even if you do find someone, you’re still making life-changing promises after just a few conversations.
I often wonder — why would a guy leave his job and shift to a small town for a stranger? Why would a girl share financial burdens with someone she barely knows? Sacrifice feels natural when it’s for someone you love deeply, but with a stranger, doesn’t it feel… transactional?
And let’s not forget — this isn’t just about emotions, it’s also about the law. If things don’t work out, the consequences can be heavy, messy, and painful for both men and women. People read job contracts ten times before signing. But with marriage? We rely on Bollywood, novels, or what little our families tell us. No one sits us down and says, “Here’s what you’re really signing up for.”
Don’t get me wrong — I’m not here to mock those who go through arranged marriage. Many do find love, companionship, and stability through it, and that’s beautiful. But I can’t help being the rebel who asks: do we really know what we’re saying yes to? Or are we just swept away by the music, the sparkle, and the idea of it all?
