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My Mom’s Quest to Arrange Marriage Didn’t Stop in Quarantine

5 min read
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Pandemic Dating Diaries

Collage of a South Asian person with their hair in one low side braid typing on a phone. Multicolored swirls of woven fabric texture fly out of the phone.
Image: We Are/DigitalVision/Getty Images

The Pandemic Dating Diaries is a TBI series that features moments in love, dating, and sex during Covid-19 directly from our readers. Have a story you’d like to submit? Email us or DM us on Twitter or Instagram.

By Anonymous


A text conversation from April 5, 2020:

Me: I’ve had it. I’ve barely woken up, I go downstairs and my mom immediately starts talking to me about rishtai (marriage) and how I should get my sister to meet this guy.

Friend 1: Dude, your mom is relentless.

Friend 2: We are in QUARANTINE.

Friend 1: LOL She’s like this is essential business.

Me: My mom says it’s rude for my sister not to meet him because he said yes already. Being in quarantine is literally the best excuse you have to not meet someone.

Friend 2: LOL It’s literally the law.

My early days of the pandemic typically started like this. Before breakfast, before a shower, before I could even fully process that we were living in what seemed like the end of times, with horrifying news of Covid-19 deaths reaching me through multiple screens, my mother was wide awake and fully charged to discuss my older sister’s marriage prospects.

Living in a South Asian family, I’m familiar with the delicate dance between familial and societal expectations and personal desires. My sister being unmarried at 27 was considered sinful in the eyes of my mother and Punjabi society by extension, no matter how successful and brilliant she was. Every day in quarantine, I waded deeper into a sea of family strife as my mother ordered me to persuade my older sister to meet with guys she had selected through her meticulous screening process (i.e., doctor, educated, Sikh) while my older sister expected me to defend her against such antics.

The latest argument had been about a 28-year-old doctor, who my mother had come to know about from a friend of a friend’s sister on WhatsApp. My mother was always heartfelt with her intentions but a bit too persistent in her execution. She had the same argument daily with my older sister:

Mom: I’ve known about this boy for years. I was waiting until you were ready to get married to introduce you.

Sister: I’m not interested.

Mom: Why not?! He was born in America, he’s a doctor, he comes from a good background. He’s perfect.

Sister: If you like him so much, YOU marry him.

The door would slam shut, and the cycle would continue the following morning.

This family situation, albeit hilarious to my friends, required an intervention. I knew my older sister well enough to know that an introduction to a potential husband from my mother would never pan out, pandemic or not. It was too weird, too involved. Conversations with a suitor during these setups would immediately have to mean something, and rejection would be considered a personal affront to a prospect and their family. Plus, my sister felt wronged after my mother took things a step too far by covertly listing my older sister on South Asian dating apps without her approval.

My older sister often told me that, as a child, I was a meditator of the household, sorting out arguments between my two sisters and creating fake messages of forgiveness from one to the other if needed. Now, it felt like I needed to reprise my role as a tricky peacemaker for the sake of mitigating the pandemic-induced pressure cooker that had become our home.

And I’ll be honest, a little scheme seemed fun after the mundanity and dreariness of pandemic life.

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The plan was set. I had a man in mind that I thought would be perfect for my sister and appease my mother’s qualifications for her future husband. He was Sikh, close enough to my older sister’s age, and had a personality that extended beyond a passion for hiking and food. He and my sister had been friends in the past, and she was the one who had connected us a couple of years earlier for professional networking purposes.

I reached out to him via Instagram under the guise of getting career advice. I’d done this in the past, so my request to talk again didn’t seem out of the blue or suspicious. After our chat, I planned to casually say, “Want to say hi to my older sister?” They would then talk, rekindle their friendship, fall in love, get married, and my mother, who was currently unaware of this guy and the plan, would finally stop nagging everyone in the family.

Or at least that was the dream.

I had to admit, for a setup in quarantine, where meeting in person was not a possibility, my brain had cooked up a fairly decent plot. They already knew each other from college, and past interactions I had witnessed showed that they were interested in becoming more than acquaintances. They just needed a nudge.

He agreed to chat. When he picked up, we made small talk: I told him how gurdwara politics was starting to mirror American politics, and he told me about his life alone in quarantine. I had a list of professional questions to ask him, and he was kind enough to give genuine responses — of course he did since he didn’t realize this was a ruse. We talked for 30 minutes before I heard my older sister walking up the stairs and quickly made my segue on the phone.

I hadn’t informed her of the call — part of a setup is the element of surprise. I could tell that he hadn’t expected to talk to her either, and when I handed my older sister the phone, she was alarmed and flustered. To give them some privacy, I raced downstairs to the computer and furiously began messaging the group chat between my friends as I felt the jubilant rush of a scheme executed successfully.

An hour later, after I no longer heard any chatter, I came upstairs to my older sister shyly smiling. “Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to him?”

I disregarded her comment. “What did he say?”

“We just talked about work and quarantine. But he said we should meet up next week. Maybe a picnic in the park six feet apart.”

Both of us were trying hard to hide our excitement. Scheming is adrenaline-pumping, but scheming for good in a quarantine where only bad things seem to happen was a different drug altogether.

“You should go,” I said casually. And besides, I thought to myself. If nothing else, it’ll give my mom something to be optimistic about.


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Last Update: January 07, 2022

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