Today's New York Times Modern Love piece is swaying me to think us Westerners may need to not be so phobic of "arranged marriage."
Try it on for size. If only in our heads. (Briefly.) Before fucking and then breaking it off with whomever we've been sharing bodily fluids with for the past month.
The narrator is an Indian man, educated, software developer, who jumps through his family's arranged marriage hoops because, as he says, he is a "good boy."
His wife was the neighbor's daughter. He describes her as "cute" (cute enough, we presume). When she was presented to him he "nodded in approval" in what sounds like the same horribly unromantic vain as us Westerners when "approving" whomever we're seated next at our neighborhood bar.
So they married. Have two son. Are still together. Are they happy?
