Yoi M I B \s| iik
Prearranged marriages ix>rmal
i am u vywmail. I nave IIU
choice. I have to many this guy my
parents chose for me! God, he’s
hairy, fat, sweats like a horse,
smells like a pig, and — above all
— spits when he speaks!”
This is what the Western World
thinks when they hear about
arranged marriages.
The concept of arranged mar
riage is prehistoric, unique as well
as foreign to the people of this
hemisphere. Westerners forget that
it is a norm in a lot of cultures and
is still practiced in many Eastern
countries today.
Let’s start from the beginning:
how the arranged marriages work.
First of all, dating is not a
common practice and is not
socially, culturally or religiously
accepted, especially among most of
the Muslim countries (but excep
tions are there).
So, if you don’t date, it is kind of
hard to have an affair, and marriage
for love is an impossibility. The
department of marriage is usually
handled by the mother and the
older female relatives.
When a girl is old enough to get
married, the word is spread by
women and women only. The
families whose sons are seeking a
life companion send formal
proposals to the girl’s family.
The one thing both families look
for in each other is a sound, strong
and respectable family background.
Family is all you have, and it would
not be wrong to say that, “A man is
known by the family he has.”
This is a negative side of the
arranged marriage system — no
matter what their personality is
like, he or she has to be from a
respectable family.
The next thing the family looks
for is financial stability and a
respectable personal background.
The guy’s family looks for polite
ness in a girl. She especially would
have to get along with the mother
in-law, as she would be dealing "
with her the most.
This is the traditional way of ar
ranged marriages. Those times
have long gone when neither had a
choice. Such instances still do exist,
but in a small, uneducated, dimin
ishing minority.
Age is another factor. Generally
a 5-year age difference between the
guy and a girl is common; the man
usually is older.
When both the families agree
upon these terms and are happy and
comfortable with them, they tell the
intended couple — most of the time
by showing photos and sometimes
letting them talk in private or on
the phone so that both of them have
at least a slight idea of whom they
are marrying. After that, the girl’s
parents ask her decision, and so
does the other side.
If her answer is yes, great.
Everyone is happy. The engagement
takes place, and later, the marriage.
And they live happily ever after.
But if her answer is no? What
now? Is it the end of the world?
Now, come on, it’s 1994; life goes
on. More proposals keep coming in,
and the whole process goes around
once more until the girl says yes.
(Very seldom have I seen the guy
say no! Why is that? Are they
desperate? No comment!)
This is the traditional way of
arranged marriages. Those times
have long gone when neither had a
choice. Such instances still do exist,
but in a small, uneducated, dimin
ishing minority.
But what if he or she is not good
looking? How can one be attracted
to that person? Or, how can one
love someone he or she barely
knows?
These are some of the questions
which strike the mmdfrx)f people, to
whom arranged marriages are new.
Good looks! Is that all? I know
they help. Look at it from this side.
The Creator made everyone, and he
made everyone beautiful. When we
perceive someone as ugly, there is
nothing wrong with that individual,
it is the mere fact that we just can't
immediately see the beauty in them.
Physical beauty is temporary.
Internal beauty is there to stay. And
when we can see the internal beauty
in a person and be attracted to it,
it’s true love, otherwise it's just
lust. And when you really love
someone, you can find beauty even
in their crooked teeth and slanted
nose — it’s not going to appear
ugly any more, but cute.
The other question is, how can
we love someone without barely
knowing the person? Remember,
it’s a common practice there, and
once you’ve said “yes,” it is
determined that he is yours and you
are his for life. Now you know that
you will be together rest of your
life, so why not make the best out of
it.
So then you begin to love and
give the person all the love you
have which you never shared with
anyone else. As the days pass, you
start loving that person more and
more, till death do you part.
(About 97 percent of the mar
riages in Pakistan are arranged in
this fashion; the divorce rate is less
than 2 percent, although divorce is
allowed in the religion and sup
ported by law).
Bashir is a senior food science major and
a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
CINDY 1 \\(,l -kl lilt K
Kids push parents to the edge
Walking home last night, I heard
a disembodied voice in the shadows
ahead: “When Mommy says to shut
up,” the male voice boomed, “that
means to shut the-up!”
My neighbor, I am sure, thought
he and his daughter were alone in
the darkness.
I know this man; we had
exchanged pleasantries on the
street. His 5-year-old daughter had
come to my door looking for a
playmate.
I know his face, and I know his
rage.
Parenting isn't just about
bonding and affection.
It's about anger and impotence;
it’s about the fine line between love
and hate — love and violence.
Our children are our blood. And
most parents would risk life and
limb for their offspring. They are
also our albatross — capable of
bringing out the worst in us.
Speech writer Robert Orben once
said, “I take my children every
where, but they always find their
way back home.” Umpteen parents,
frazzled and frustrated, have
probably fantasized about pulling a
Hansel and Gretel on their own
progeny, but most don’t.
In a society dominated by the
mass media, children left home
alone order room service and
bamboozle burglars. Large families
form rock groups and sing, “A
whole lot of lovin' is what we'll be
bringing; come on, get happy ...”
And disciplinary extremes are
exemplified by June Cleaver-like
raised eyebrows and plaintive
dictums, “Now Theodore, behave
yourself.”
For most parents, it appears that
every other family in America is
living life as a series of Kodak
moments.
In the real world, the dishearten
ing reality is that almost 3 million
American children were reported to
authorities as victims of abuse and
In the real world, the disheartening
reality is that almost 3 million
American children were reported
to authorities as victims of abuse
and neglect in 1993.
neglect in 1993.
In the real world, child abuse
fatalities have increased by SO
percent since 1985, according to
The National Committee for
Prevention of Child Abuse.
In the real world, poverty is
increasing, and the majority of
adults feel stressed and out of
control.
These statistics make their way
into the daily lives of the public
through TV and newspaper reports.
We frequently catch glimpses of
in-the-flesh folks who just can’t
cope:
Like the Pittsburgh couple who
left their kids for three days with a
teen-age sitter and returned 16 days
later to find them in foster care.
Or the adoptive parents of 84,
accused of neglect and abuse in the
deaths of three of those children.
We uncomprehendingly hear of
children who are burned and
beaten, scalded and suffocated by
those entrusted with their care —
their parents.
In our society there is a schism
— a dividing line between the
public and the private parent. The
cultural ideal and the behind
closed-doors reality.
Facing the world, we are at our
best. Most of us do not shame,
ridicule, belittle or beat our chil
dren at Kmart.
And those who do are always the
“other” — monsters who have no
relationship to the families on our
street. They are the people we
choose to believe did not come from
the same gene pool as the rest of us.
But most of us fall somewhere
along a continuum in the scale of
perfect parenting. We don’t stick
our son’s head in the toilet when he
defecates in his pants, and we don’t
cover our baby’s face with a pillow
when she won’t stop crying at 2
a.m.
But at the other extreme, most of
us aren’t like the Waltons. We
aren’t part of an extended family
that sang out its good nights in a
silent and peaceful home.
We don’t live in a perfect world.
We live on a planet where the
statistics in the news are our
neighbors or ourselves.
Before I had children of my own,
I may have lashed out at this man
berating his daughter under cover
of night. But after having been a
parent for almost 12 years, I know
that shame is not what this man
needs.
He does not need to be labeled as
“other” — as a monster.
And as I passed him in the
darkness, I didn’t know what else
to do but hope. Hope that this man
and his daughter would not become
statistics in a computer, faces on the
news.
Laage-Kubiek is ■ senior news-editorial
and sociology major and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
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