Yesterday, I got a proposal. A wedding proposal. No girlie squeals, no bended knee, no Tiffany's diamond - no, no - it wasn't *that* kind of a proposal, silly. Asians don't do soulmates, let alone cliched romance (that's just the Bollywood movies).


What I got was a proposal desi (read: Asian) style : a rishta. This means someone who knows my Mother knows a woman who lives three cities away whom my Mother's friend met once at a dinner at some other lady's house and, anyway, this woman, the one who lives three cities away, has a sister who lives up North whose neighbour has a son who is... wait for it... single, in his thirties, Asian and by default therefore must be in want of a wife.



So, somewhere along the line of the food chain of aunties and mothers and aunties, this man's mother found out about me. God only knows what she heard, but it's enough for her to ask for my hand for her son without even seeing me.

I don't know his name, but I know he likes to read - this, apparently, is a good sign, according to Mother. 'You like to read too,' she said, when conveying said proposal to me. He's 31. He Went To Cambridge. She is deadly serious. No, I am not making this up. Yes, this happens even among us educated ones with fancy jobs in big cities.


To be fair, Mother doesn't want me to marry Likes To Read and Went To Cambridge anytime soon. Or possibly at all. She just wants me to meet him. But the thing is, if it was a date that my best friend had set me up on, I'd be there (at least the fact he Went To Cambridge proves he has a brain - that's at least marginally better than some of the proposals I've had. At least we can argue over the better Oxbridge institution (naturally mine, not his), and who knows, sparks may fly).


But the thing is, this is marriage-Asian style, and call me prejudice, but I somehow don't think there's room for manoeuvre on sparks flying or otherwise. There's no such thing as 'dating', no such thing as 'chemistry' - nope, just one month to get to know each other, constant unsubtle quizzing from the parents on how it's going, and wham, it's all over.


There are some great things in Asian culture. Silk rugs, parathas, cricket. Arranged marriages however belong to the armpit of the sub-continent.

So, I don't know whether to meet him or not. Mother seems to think that if I meet him on my own, I will deliberately sabbotage the whole thing (she seems to think I have done this before...but that's another story entirely). So she's had the brilliant idea of suggesting they (his family - 'No pressure, mind') all come round. No doubt to watch me serve tea or, actually, just to watch me full stop.


I'm trying to think of five reasons why I should agree to have a bunch of random Indian people come to our house. It worries me that number three in the list is 3) he has a younger brother, who might be cuter and hence provide some flirtatious diversion. But even that, I fear might be wishful thinking.


The thing that keeps running through my mind is that it takes a special certain kind of guy who's in his thirties to suddenly turn around to mummy and ask him to find him a wife. It takes a certain kind of girl in her late twenties to accept that. I fear that by simply saying yes to a meeting, I'm caving into everything I've always stood against - an outdated and materialistic approach to human relationships. What happened to falling in love?