The Age of Matrimony - Printed article

 

For most women in Pakistan the rat race of life begins and ends during the “Age of Matrimony.” The time spent before and after are like pages from an autobiography that are usually left ignored. In fact, a woman can mingle in society almost wearing an invisible cloak unless she is living during this era. Then, the cloak is rudely lifted and passionately thrown aside and the woman is left naked and vulnerable to the scrutinizing eyes of eager mothers and the minds of opinionated, arrogant men.

This “Age of Matrimony” is a strange occurrence. It is an era that exists in the life of each woman in this strangely well knit country. It is a time some embrace with enthusiasm, butterflies fluttering in stomachs being sucked in, as they pose for that perfect picture. A picture that is passed around between prospects that draw perverse thrills at being in a position to judge, feeling like a coveted commodity.

These women are the pro-active hunters. They join the rat race, tearing through the barriers, eager to be put on a pedestal, convinced they will walk away with a prize. They spend hours and days, dreaming, planning, plotting, role playing, wanting… no yearning, to be scooped off the display shelf of the store comprised of untouched and untainted young women. Their attitudes slowly morph from sweet indifference to scripted coyness. Each day becomes an extended soap opera with all the actors working towards a single goal - a marriage that is executed within set timelines that are socially accepted.

Then there are the rest. They face this moment with dread, nervousness and apprehension. They are not sure as to how this battle for redemption will end. They worry they will not be considered valuable when pitted against a slew of worthy opponents. They wonder if this is really the apex of what life has to offer. Why must they always be the product, never the consumer? They yearn to go into hibernation and yank back the cloak that protects them before. They miss the times when they could go to gatherings and come back as much a stranger to others as others were to them. They wish for those days to return when life was carefree and love was considered a pleasant surprise, not a forced bond. I will call these the defensive worriers.

These women are those that turn their wrath for society towards working harder and longer, asserting their self worth, hoping the clocked hours will scream to the world that they truly are valuable. They dread the time spent alone because it will be drenched in questions and doubts. Perhaps a symptom of some deep-residing negativity as it hammers at a brain weary from pressure and overwork. Or maybe the insecurities of living in a society where talent seems useless and independent thought an added burden.

Living rooms become a much dreaded place in the home, potentially harbouring multiple surprises. They usually come in the form of a set of parents and one male suitor. Then begins the most excruciating half hour of this woman’s life. She must sit up straight, but not too straight so there is no nuance of eagerness. She shouldn’t slouch either. It might project her as a lazy and careless individual. Make up should be in between. Enough to appear natural yet giving off the air of being carefully sculpted on. Clothes should be modest, yet modern. Shoes should be heeled but not too high in case the man in question falls short of a ‘good height’. You would never want to let the poor man feel somehow inferior to a mere woman. That would be a slap on our so proper and righteous society.

So she sits staring at the clock. Waiting to be beckoned to perform the roles of server, conversationalist, coy bride and giggly girl at will. In all these roles and paradoxes, the exit from that room leaves one feeling lost, as if in all the role playing and the see-sawing of virtues, a part of you was lost. Swallowed by a black hole. Obviously unnoticed by others because the interested parties were much too focused in making sure she was ‘up to mark’ for their son, who is in most cases, quite below it. In fact, the mark might not have touched him even from a distance. Yet, it is she who must fit the bill. She must be that most worthy commodity that will one day stand on that wedding stage, the sacrificial altar that ends ones personal “Age of Matrimony” and tosses her to the dragons of the unknown into the “Era of Settlement.”

This Age of Matrimony creates issues within all households but mostly between relationships that could otherwise have flourished. Doubts and pressure are like a constant grey cloud hanging above the heads of two people. Lost in an abyss of confusion, ambivalent about their future but being pushed to make snap decisions. It makes you question what to do in a situation where the heart wants to pursue one thing but the head knows it needs to do something completely different.

It is then that you begin to doubt the intentions of all those around you because you don’t know who is caving to pressure, who just wants to see you settled, who is looking out for your happiness and who just needs a trophy to adorn their mantle.

Has our society become so caught up in numbers, obsessing about age that we have forgotten about the souls inside those bodies we so eagerly scrutinize and criticize? Have we forgotten the sacred union of marriage and converted the process of finding a soul mate into a fashion show where the girl becomes a trend only to be worn in one season, not the next? Do we not realize that in our eagerness of catching that train before it leaves the platform, we may be getting on the wrong train all together? Some don’t even get the chance to pick the platform. They are just conveniently transported to it, pushed into a cabin and then left to guess at which destination they will end up.

But what is the solution? That is where we all hold our heads in frustration and wonder about the eventual path to happiness? Should we all be left to our own devices, to figure out our destinies, wherever they may take us? Or do we all need a jolt, a push?

What then is this ‘Age of Matrimony’? No easy answers but definitely a lot of drama. No end and no escape. For years it will be met by some with pleasure, some with dread and others by numbness. But it will prevail. In each household. In each room. Right by the dressing table, adorned with devices to beautify and accessories to help her shine brightly. It will reside here because one day a girl will look at these objects and then up in the mirror at herself. She will prepare. She will arrange her face and her clothes and lift her head high as her spirit inside trembles with nervousness. She will plaster a smile. And she will realize. The Age will exist. And it will be all encompassing. The way she faces it is entirely her call. And she will open that door and walk out, a thousand thoughts floating in her head. Today, just maybe, it’s going to be a good day.

By:

Sarah B. Khan

(Printed in Health & Beauty)