The Arranged Marriage

You looked around the room. You looked at all the people, the lights, and listened to the loud music playing. You were dressed in a blood red sari, covered in gold ornaments, and done up in so much makeup you hardly recognized yourself. It was your wedding day, but you had no idea who you were marrying.

Your name was Shivani. You had been born in India and immigrated to Canada at a young age with your family. You had grown up near Toronto, been to school in Canada, and made Canadian friends. You were more Canadian than you ever felt Indian. But your parents had always made sure you and your younger sister had kept strong routes to your culture. You followed all the rules every good Indian girl should. You never went out or partied, studied hard, never had any boyfriends, did chores, learned how to cook, and so on. You had grown up to be quite a beauty, passing through the awkward stages of puberty. You were slim standing at 5’6 with a firm perky ass and C-cup breasts. Your lips were full and though you hardly wore makeup when you did you knew you could pass for a Bollywood starlet. You were born with a light brown complexion that could easily pass of as a tan. You were more often naught mistaken for Latina than Indian. Your upbringing made sure you never had a chance to let your beauty get to your head.

Your whole life you had made it a priority to be as obedient to your parents as possible. Always trying to please them and never disappoint. So, when they came to you sullenly shortly after your 18th birthday and begged for your help, you knew you had no chance of ever disagreeing.

“Beta, there is a man in India. He comes from a family that is very good friends with us. They were the ones that helped us come to Canada when it became rough for our family back home. He also wants to come here now, but he cannot get a visa. He is asking that you marry him so he can come as a spouse,” Your father explained trying his best to sound sympathetic.

“Don’t worry baby, we have already checked the man out. His name is Vijay, he is an IT Manager, very educated. He is a good boy from a good family, and this is only so he can get a Visa to stay here permanently,” Your mother added in with her own sour enthusiasm.

Your little sister Yami, at 16 already looking like a carbon copy of you, was the only one to criticize the decision.

“You can’t be serious! You don’t even know what the guy looks like, you’ve never spoken to him, how are you going to marry this guy?” Yami demanded hysterical.

“I don’t know Yami. Mom and dad say he’s good and I don’t want to disappoint them. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you said trying to reassure yourself more than your sister.

Now weeks later and multiple parties onward you were in India and about to see your groom for the first time.