I recently listened to a group of psychologists discussing arranged marriages, specifically the notion that parents tend to select a partner for their child based on mirroring familiar family dynamics. Essentially, the logic is: “He reminds me of your uncle—quiet, responsible, and has his own cow.” This kind of psychological rationale attempts to normalize something that, in many cases, defies logic entirely. It struck me as peculiar—almost comically so—that professionals trained to understand the infinite complexity of human behavior would reduce romantic compatibility to a familiar pattern, as if trauma bonding is just another love language.
It becomes even more bizarre when you consider that two individuals—each born into vastly different environments, molded by distinct cultural, emotional, and educational experiences—are expected to fall into harmonious union merely because their parents say, “He’s from a good family.” Ah, yes, because nothing screams compatibility like matching last names or shared shame around public displays of affection.
Let’s be honest: arranged marriages are often a glorified game of Guess Who? except the stakes are lifelong and the winners rarely smile. “Does he have a stable income?” Yes. “Did his mother die of diabetes?” Also yes. “Can he communicate emotions without causing a scene at a wedding?” Sorry you lost. Try again.
Incompetency in arranged marriages can wear many disguises. There’s the brooding poet type who writes haiku’s about his loneliness but can’t boil an egg or ask how your day was. There’s the mama’s boy who needs written permission from his mother to buy new socks. And then there’s the classic—emotionally unavailable but financially present. A man who believes buying you a washing machine on your birthday is the height of romance. “Love language? Mine is appliances.”
Psychologists, with all due respect, often overlook the subtle tragedies embedded in these unions. They talk of compatibility as though it’s a software update—just click ‘agree to all terms’ and wait for love to download. But real life isn’t an algorithm. It’s messy, layered, and often deeply unfair—especially when choices are dictated by a committee of elders who still believe mental health is cured with turmeric milk.
Perhaps the darkest humor in this is that even when these marriages falter—when silence becomes the primary form of communication and resentment ages like fine wine—the families still hail them as “successful.” Why? Because they stayed together. Never mind the chronic anxiety, emotional starvation, or whispered midnight prayers asking for an early exit.
So yes, I find it odd—alarming, even—when psychologists lend their professional weight to justify or sanitize a process that often prioritizes tradition over emotional intelligence, and social appearances over authentic connection. At the very least, can we agree that choosing a life partner shouldn’t feel like selecting a durable carpet?
inspired to aspire 