I now arrange you husband and wife.

When you’re an Indian woman of a certain age, your options in the marriage pool become very limited. Typically, once you hit your late 20’s, it is deemed unlikely that you will ever meet a suitable mate; once you get to 30, it’s absolutely hopeless. In fact, my mother is currently hatching a plot in which she will move to Los Angeles and live with me, now that I won’t have any pesky husband or children to prevent me from giving her my undivided attention. Believe it or not, this was not her idea; it came at the suggestion of my grandmother, who seemed to believe that it was unlikely that I would ever get married at the old and decrepit age of 27.

Fortunately for me, I pulled myself out of that marriage pool many years ago; actually, it would probably be more accurate to say that I was never in it to begin with. I wouldn’t want to be a part of any social or cultural institution that determines a woman’s worth by her age (young), figure (slim), skin color (fair), or family background (rich). Nor would I want to live my life under the impression that I was destined to be an old maid if I happened to find myself unmarried after 25. After all, things in the marriage arena have certainly changed among my generation; many people are choosing to prolong marriage in favor of their careers, more couples are opting for cohabitation instead of taking vows, and some are washing their hands of this marriage business all together, instead choosing to live out their lives as swinging singles. In this day and age, anything is possible.

Or is it? Although I found myself feeling hopeful for my romantic future a few years ago, I’m now starting to feel that nagging doubt that I’ve missed the boat. Almost everyone I went to high school with is now married, most of them with children. Amongst my close circle of friends, more of them are now involved in long-term relationships. Every time I log onto Facebook, I’m bombarded by news that someone has either gotten engaged, tied the knot, or had a few babies (many of whom mysteriously resemble little pink kidney beans, until they get older and turn into adorable miniature people). I’m constantly pestered by relatives who think that I should “find a nice Sindhi boy to marry.” Even some of my clients ask me why I’m not married. In fact, not too long ago, I found myself in the middle of a particularly awkward exchange with a 5-year-old client during her therapy session.

Client: “You got a husband?”
Me: “Nope.”
Client: “You got a kid?”
Me: “Nope, no kids.”
Client: “You got a dog?”
Me: “Nope, no dog.”
Client: “Then who you got?!”

My thoughts exactly.

And the truth is, the older you get, the slimmer the pickings are. Nowadays, when I meet a single guy over 30, I find myself wondering what his problem is. Commitment-phobe? Pathalogical liar? Living in his mother’s basement, playing Magic the Gathering? Hell, a wife and 5 kids hidden on the side? What’s a girl to do? It’s like going to the buffet only to discover that all the good pieces of sweet-and-sour chicken have been snatched up by your fellow diners, and all that’s left are the soggy pieces of batter with no chicken inside.

When you’re starting to feel the pressure of being single at a later age, eventually you begin to consider options that certainly wouldn’t fly back when you were younger. In my case, that option would be…the dreaded arranged marriage. To be fair, it’s not truly dreaded among the Indian set. In fact, some within my community would say that arranged marriage is the only way to go. The marriage is orchestrated by family members, sometimes with the help of a matchmaker or a well-meaning great-grandparent, and all things are taken into consideration, from family upbringing to religion to education level. Think of it as a well-planned business deal: your marriage is arranged based on what makes sense, versus the idea of finding the romance of the century and living happily ever after.

When I was younger, the idea of an arranged marriage was horrifying. What if you were stuck with a dude who was a complete bore? What if you show up to your own wedding just to discover that the man you’ll be marrying is sporting a huge, hairy mole on his chin in the shape of some exotic country? And you couldn’t very well just walk away from mole-man with the knowledge that you’ll be shaming your family and labeling yourself as unmarriageable or mentally ill. I remember feeling particularly disturbed following a conversation with my aunt about her own arranged marriage. She shared that she saw her husband for the second time in her life on their wedding day, and they didn’t even speak to one another for the first time until after the ceremony. For the life of me, I couldn’t fathom how a person would be willing to make the commitment of a lifetime to a person they’ve never even spoken to. They might be lame and unintelligent. Worse still, they could be physically and emotionally abusive. They could be an ax-murderer, for all you know. So where’s the appeal?

I’ve been asking myself this question for several years, amidst the prying inquiries from relatives about my love life and the increasing stress on my parents, who worry that they will eventually die and leave me on this earth alone. I’d be lying if I said that the idea of spending the rest of my existence alone didn’t scare the hell out me. But is the prospect frightening enough to push me in the direction of a custom that I’ve always found somewhat barbaric? I’ve heard horrific stories about arranged marriage, and if you’ve ever read an article on dowry deaths and bride burning, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. For those of you who are unfamiliar, a dowry death is when a young bride is murdered or driven to suicide by her in-laws when her family is unable to pay a large dowry following the wedding. And if you do your homework, you’ll learn that there are far more acquittals than convictions for the murders of these young women. My mother always tells me that cases such as these only take place in villages amongst the uneducated, but I still find myself feeling disgusted at the thought of this type of violence against women being acceptable anywhere, let alone within a culture that I’m a part of. And why the hell should there be a dowry in the first place? Is it really necessary that I pay some fool to marry me? I want to attract a man’s interest because he finds me beautiful, intelligent and humorous—not because my parents are offering him some cash and a new refrigerator.

But in the best-case scenario, arranged marriages may be ideal for some, because the marriage is based on practicality and partnership as opposed to hormones and romantic notions. My aunts all had arranged marriages, and they seem happy with the cards dealt to them. And in reality, is arranged marriage really any more barbaric than some of the bullshit a single girl has to endure while taking a swim in the dating pool? If I had a nickel for every time I was treated disrespectfully by a man I dated, I’d be a goddamn millionaire….although if I were treated disrespectfully, you can bet I didn’t date them for too long. The point is that sometimes you just get tired of putting up with the nonsense attached to the process of finding love. The games, the mixed messages, the emotional exhaustion that comes from trying to read your date to determine if he’s a total loser. If I were to seek out an arranged marriage, you can bet your ass I’ll be matched up and married off within a year. And since I won’t know the guy from a hole in the wall, then I can’t be carried away by the affectionate feelings and unrealistic expectations that can sometimes develop when you fall hard for a man who, in the end, isn’t right for you at all.

I find myself asking the arranged marriage question more frequently these days. Time marches on; soon, most of my friends will be married with families of their own, and I will have to find new ways to spend my time. And many of my mother’s friends are now clamoring for me to marry their sons. Who knows? Maybe a few more years of the single life will shift my views. And I guess there are worse things than marrying a guy with bad breath and a hairy mole….right?