In a world of toxic dating apps, I’m glad my daughter wants an arranged marriage like mine
Raj Gill is a modern, professional woman whose daughter is at university. In a thought-provoking admission that challenges so many preconceptions, she explains why ...
THE first time I saw my husband I was 27. He was tall, dark and handsome — the truth, not just a cliché — and wearing tan trousers and a blazer. My first impression? He was hot! So, did our eyes lock across a restaurant table bathed in flickering candlelight, or was our first encounter perhaps for coffee and a country stroll, just the two of us?
No. You might be surprised that passion burned so brightly when you learn that Jugtar arrived at my parents’ house in Glasgow with his whole family in tow, while all my family — including my Nana — were in attendance too.
We were allowed to escape to the dining room to chat privately, but only after we’d all — 12 of us in total — shared tea together.
You see, I had an arranged marriage. Jugtar having been chosen as a prospective suitor by my parents. In these days of dating apps, transient relationships and declining marriage statistics, to many, the concept of an arranged marriage seems like something from the Dark Ages, an antiquated convention that inevitably must be oppressive to women.
And straight away I should make the distinction between an arranged marriage and
a forced one. Forced is, as it says, doing something against your will.
Admittedly, in previous generations there was little sense of choice, even with an arranged marriage. For my grandparents and parents, the first time husband met wife was on their wedding day.
But these days — as it was for me — it’s more like a blind date. My family had chosen
someone who they felt would be a good fit and brought us together, but they were clear that it was ultimately our decision whether it progressed to marriage.
‘Intro-marriage’ is the modern way to describe this scenario and it’s certainly worked for us. While we have our ups and downs, like any other couple, Jugtar, a 49-year-old businessman, and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary last month, and we have two beautiful teenagers.
Recently, our 19-year-old daughter Karam, who is currently studying psychology at university, said that when the time is right she would consider an arranged marriage, too — something that’s entirely her choice.
It’s a decision many girls her age will instinctively recoil from. Certainly, shock is the initial reaction of the character played by Lily James in an upcoming film called What’s Love Got To Do With It?
She plays a documentary filmmaker and dating app addict who has a disastrous romantic history. Yet when she
decides to make a film about her friend Kaz’s path to his arranged
marriage in Pakistan, she realises that she has lessons to learn from a different way of finding a meaningful relationship.
It’s bound to spark a debate about the best way to find lasting love, but I truly believe that the lessons you
can learn from an arranged marriage go further than fluffy romcom fantasy. These relationships are built on the ideas of respect and compatibility — key qualities which seem very lacking
in today’s dating-app culture. Here, young people hook up — often just for sex — on the basis of a picture and perceived sexual attraction.
From listening to the woes of my friends, it’s clear that dating apps can be a toxic place, especially if you are female; an environment where women are treated as sexual playthings, discarded when a man gets bored.
And while a survey by the Marriage Foundation revealed that online dating has become the most common way to meet a husband or wife, with a third of those marrying now having met online, it also found that such couples are six times more likely to
divorce in the first three years of marriage than those who meet at university or via family and friends.
I’m not surprised. When I was introduced to Jugtar, while I found him undeniably attractive, the focus was on compatibility.
We not only had similar backgrounds, but shared interests — we’re both avid readers, for example — and wanted the same things out of life, including children. Our different personalities complemented each other: I’m an extrovert and he is more introverted. I’m always on the go; Jugtar is much more laid-back.
My family are Punjabi Sikhs, as are Jugtar’s, and our parents are firstgeneration immigrants from India.
To start with they worked for foundries and in mills, and I was eight when we — my parents, two brothers, sister and I — moved to Glasgow and they started their own business.
Like most young women today, I was brought up to be educated, financially independent and to embrace the opportunities I was given. While marriageable age in the culture in which I was raised is from 18 years old, I wasn’t put under any pressure to do so until I was ready.
My parents’ world was one of traditional Indian values — daughters
who went straight from their father’s home to a husband’s — but they let me carve my own path, often against the advice of family members.
After school, I gained a place on a media studies course at Glasgow Caledonian University. At the end of my second year of degree studies, in 1995, I took a job working as a journalist at a national newspaper and re-located to London for three years before returning to Glasgow to finish my degree.
Then I was on the next plane out to start a new adventure in Barcelona, teaching English as a foreign language for a year.
Perhaps my parents were canny enough to realise that if I was given my freedom I would be more likely to come back to their traditions later on.
Maybe they knew that they might lose me if they pushed me.
Whatever their reasoning, they were right. While I had a fantastic lifestyle in my 20s, there was a missing
element. I wanted a family and I wanted a significant other with whom to enjoy life.
But when it came to romance, things never progressed.
Mainly this was because I knew I wanted to marry someone from my
culture who understood the importance family plays in our lives and who would want to bring up our children as Sikhs.
Pretty quickly I realised finding a Punjabi Sikh from the right background was like looking for a needle in a haystack. It was then that I decided I was happy to take any help from my parents. I also watched
‘Online, women are treated as sexual playthings’
‘I was relieved — the heavy lifting was done for me’
my friends — from all backgrounds — failing miserably at relationships, going from one tragedy to the next.
So much so that some used to tell me even they were coming around to the idea of arranged marriage! Certainly, it couldn’t be worse.
So when my dad broached the subject that enquiries had been made about me by a woman (Jugtar’s mother) who had spotted me at an event in our Gurdwara (temple) I wasn’t surprised or horrified. In fact, I was rather relieved that the heavy lifting of finding a potential partner had already been done.
Apparently Jugtar’s mother had asked a mutual friend who I was and — after my family had made their own investigations into him, essentially to check he was honourable and financially sound — they quickly realised we would be a good match.
While dating apps might be rife with men who are, let’s say, economical with the truth in their profiles, you can’t get away with catfishing — luring someone in with a fictional online persona — in a community that has arranged marriages.
You certainly can’t hide anything in the Glaswegian Asian community — we used to joke that their networks are better than the KGB for winkling out the truth.
But there’s a serious point to be made about dating apps, which involve you meeting up with someone about whom you know nothing beyond exchanging a few messages online. And women especially know it’s risky, because so many will share details of a date’s location with friends before a first meeting and agree to check in when they’re home safely.
Arranged marriages provide that sense of context people used to have when they met partners through friends or work connections.
After my initial meeting with Jugtar, the next major event in my life was my graduation ceremony, and my mum invited him and his mother.
To say I was nervous was an understatement. I was already a bag of nerves at the thought of going up on the stage to receive my degree and
then throw into the mix that Jugtar was going to be there? It was daunting to say the least.
But his relaxed demeanour and cheeky smile helped calm me and cemented the feeling that we were right for one another. After that we had many chances to meet up alone, which we did. A year later, we were married.
Even on my wedding day, my father reiterated that I didn’t have to go ahead with it if I didn’t want to. But I always knew it was the right decision.
Growing up, the majority of my family members had had an arranged marriage, and the majority of those are still successful, therefore to me it always seemed like a no-brainer.
You go into it expecting the love to grow, rather than basing the whole relationship around sexual attraction that may not last.
And you both take this path knowing that there is a lot more riding on the success of the relationship because both your families are invested.
Essentially, there’s a huge amount of will to make things work and this is what you need for a marriage that will last for decades.
Compatibility and companionship might not sound sexy, but ask any couple who have been married for many years and they will say these are the most important qualities.
Respect is also a big part of an arranged marriage. Your family want the best for you, so they will pick someone who is most likely to be considerate to your feelings and views. However, I know from my friends who use dating apps that respect is sadly lacking on these.
So, with all this in mind, when my daughter Karam recently told me that she would have an arranged marriage I was pleased and relieved.
Though some of her friends think her decision odd, she tells them that in her mind it would be odder if she didn’t, given that she can see how well it’s worked for generations of her family.
And we’ve always been honest with her about our ups and downs, never hiding the bad times, so she’s under no illusion that arranged marriage is some fairy tale that automatically leads to eternal happiness.
It may be that she finds a partner on her own, but she says she likes the idea of having a ‘back-up plan’ if she doesn’t.
Ultimately, we want our children to be happy.
At 17, settling down isn’t something that my son Jeevan has considered yet, but if this is the path he chooses too, then that’s fabulous.
We would never pressure them to follow this course and would respect them if they chose not to.
Perhaps I know from my own experience that it’s better when it’s a path you pick for yourself.
Our responsibility is to present them with eligible suitors; the end decision is entirely theirs. We are here only to advise, not to steer them in one direction or the other.
And isn’t that, in a way, just what the best dating agencies do? Except in this case, it’s done with love.