Arranged marriages are common in Ireland's Indian community, and technology is revolutionising the match-making process. CATHERINE REILLYhears the stories of three such marriages
‘YOU GOT a girl in 10 days?” When Sudhansh Verma returned to Dublin after his holidays, a new engagement ring on his finger, the questions came forth and multiplied.
“Are you sure you’re doing her justice?” a co-worker enquired. “Are you crazy?” was a more blunt summation. The 35-year-old marketing executive smiles as he recounts reactions to his sudden engagement.
“My colleagues were surprised in the sense that when I went on holidays I was single, a bachelor, and was coming back engaged, with a date for the wedding as well,” says Sudhansh, who emigrated from northern India in 2001.
Had he made his announcement in Delhi and not Dublin, it wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow. Most Indians enter arranged marriages, although western-style dating is growing in urban middle-class areas. The practice is also “very popular” among Indian immigrants in Ireland, according to Sudhansh, while Africans and other Asian nationalities also engage in it.
After Sudhansh settled into life in Ireland, his parents back in Gola Gokaran Nath in the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, suggested it was time for him to marry. Parents in India are closely involved in the search for their son or daughter’s life partner, and both families assess the social and economic compatibilities of a potential couple. Some even employ astrology to see if it’s written in the stars.
In his late 20s, Sudhansh had readily responded to his parents’ suggestion. He’d had no Irish girlfriends (though he wasn’t opposed to the idea), nor any serious relationship here. He wanted someone to share his life with.
But first, some parameters would be set. Sudhansh was interested in “a professional girl”, a “forward thinker”, and feels that professionally mismatched couples have the odds against them. “If you’re a doctor, a marketing professional, an MBA, you cannot marry a girl who has only the equivalent of a Leaving Cert,” he says. “Maybe in the initial months and years it will be alright, but not long-term.” Similarly, a woman from an extravagantly wealthy or very poor family would not have been suitable, as he hails from the middle class.
He took to the internet for his search (there is a huge range of Indian matrimonial sites), and his online profile yielded around 100 “biodatas” with photos attached, all arriving at his parents’ house for Sudhansh to survey on a visit.
Another means of scouting matches is through local word of mouth – and this was how Sudhansh would ultimately meet his wife. His family had learned of a 24-year-old scientist from a respectable clan in the city of Lucknow, 200km from his family home. Her name was Surabhi, and she was looking for a husband. Studying for a master’s degree in botany at the time, Surabhi had been shown photos and biodatas of other men by her parents. She was also free to suggest matches.
“My parents are very liberal,” explains Surabhi, a softly-spoken and measured woman, “they had also asked me if I already had someone in mind.”
During Sudansh’s holidays in early 2004, a series of meetings (first between Sudhansh and Surabhi’s father) was set up. “It’s kind of like going for a job; will you get it or not,” says Sudhansh. “You could be rejected, you know.” But after 10 days of discussing shared interests and future hopes, Sudhansh and Surabhi agreed to get engaged. It was their choice to do so – although less liberal processes exist in rural areas.
Six years on, the relationship has, they both say, blossomed into love. A beautiful 16-month-old, Irish-born daughter, Shivali, has also entered their world.
“People do ask how we got married,” reflects Surabhi, “but it’s worked out really well, and that’s the main thing.”
“I think we got married and we fell in love after that”, Sudhansh elaborates. “For me, the definition of love is the smile, the happiness, the trust, all the components of every little thing that happens between us. I don’t believe in the bookish definition. For me the love is that she trusts me, and I trust her.”
THE WHOLE NOTION MAKES some Westerners uncomfortable, not least the idea of being intimate with someone you met on only a handful of occasions before marrying.
Newbridge-based Aruna Sharma (34), a mother-of-two from India, has been probed on this. “One of my Irish friends asked me how do you meet two or three times with a guy, say ‘okay I’ll marry him’ and then [when married] are physically involved with him? It takes time of course.”
“When you get to know each other, then you go near to each other and make a physical relationship.”
Her husband, Sidharath (36), underlines that finding “the right person” is more important than how they meet. Aruna agrees. “We are,” she beams, “very happy with each other.”
India’s divorce rate of just over 1 per cent seems like a stamp of approval on its arranged marriage system, but critics argue that the huge social stigma attached to divorce skews the statistic.
Aditya Mohan (33), an Indian software engineer living in Dublin, agrees that the divorce statistic is misleading – but not, he suggests, phenomenally so. “I’d still say things work out pretty well for the majority of arranged marriages,” says Aditya, who met his wife, Mukta, through the internet. “Even in cases where the people are not so insistent on their own choice, it’s not completely exploitative because ultimately parents do want to see their children happy, and [to know] that the other family are suitable.” But he acknowledges the challenges.
Greater choice has meant that parents can be taken aback by their sons and daughters’ selection criteria. Aditya’s own father was “very surprised” at his son’s demand that any proposed wife be “professionally qualified and working also”. Indians can also face parental objections if they want to marry outside their caste (popular websites, such as shadii.com, allow searches by caste, despite caste-based discrimination being outlawed in the Indian Constitution).
Meanwhile, the pressure to find a partner can sap one’s energy, as relatives inundate young Indians with proposed matches.
“If you’ve seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding, it’s a bit like that in that there’s many relatives all the time telling you what to do,” comments Aditya. “ and each one is trying to push their candidate.”
This reaches fever pitch as Indians approach 30. “If you go beyond 30, the general perception is that you’re not finding somebody. And if you’re not finding somebody, there is definitely something wrong with you – well, either you don’t earn well or there is something wrong with you.”
Aditya argues that the relationships blossom over time. “I’ve read that arranged marriages are passionless affairs. It’s not so,” he says. “If he takes care of you, if things start working out, you start liking each other. You’d have to be a very heartless person not to love someone who cares for you and is with you all the time. Love slowly develops.”
Of the romantic kind?
“Hmm,” considers Aditya. “I think I read this quote somewhere that ‘it would be good if I get to marry the person I love, but it would also be good if I get to love the person I marry’. Couples are tied into a bond, and then they try to consciously develop that. And love happens.”
