I’ve always had an interesting relationship with my father. It’s been defined by a lot of strong (and sometimes conflicting) emotions over the course of my life. I have however, always trusted him to be honest with me, and vice versa. While I’ve kept secrets from him in the past, I’ve never lied to him about anything important. My father has been known for his bouts of hardheadedness at times, but he’s generally been pretty honest with me over the course of the last few years. Or so I thought.

It all started about two months ago, when I first told him about Mely.

If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you probably know who Mely is. I’ve been with her for about two years now, and over that time, she’s become a confidante, a lover, a best friend, and most importantly, the single thing that keeps me sane in a world that has become increasingly intent on driving me mad.

While I’d never told my father about Mely, I’d never hidden it from him either. It was simple enough to put the pieces together, and I didn’t lie to him when he finally asked about it. While, he wasn’t  exactly thrilled by the idea, he didn’t seem to mind it either. This was both refreshing and an incredible relief, as my parents' reactions to my female friends in the past have been far less accepting.

The first question my father asked me afterward caught me a little off guard. Knowing how his mind operates, I should have expected it, but really, there was simply no way to prepare myself for, “Well, son? Are you planning on marrying this girl?”.

Augh.

It’s complicated. I’ve got a million things going on right now, and I’m really not in a place where I’m even considering marriage. Mely and I have joked about the idea before, and even talked about what we’d be like as parents, married people, roommates and whatnot, but the simple reality is this – come September, Mely is leaving for Japan. I don’t know how long she’s going to be gone, but at the moment it’s looking like she’s going to be gone for a year or two at the very least. Even if I did want to get married while finishing up grad school for whatever reason, it simply isn’t going to happen. I’ve done the long distance relationship thing with a wonderful girl once already, and truth be told, I’m not sure I want to do it again. A long distance marriage is definitely out of the question.

I can understand why my father would ask, though. My culture dictates that I find a suitable Indian bride before I hit my late twenties, so that I have lots of time to start making lots of healthy Indian babies (because really, the world needs more doctors, engineers, and tech support). While he’d previously said that he wasn’t going to force me into an arranged marriage, he’d implored me to keep my mind open to the option.

While I admitted to him that I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, I told him that I’d keep an open mind about it. I had no intentions whatsoever of letting my parents choose the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, but on the other hand, I also didn’t want to spit in the face to the culture that has come to define them. My parents have confessed to me that they’ve already started getting offers – the prospect of an masters-level graduate-to-be paired with my family’s decent-enough social standing have made me a top choice of many families who want their daughters to go off to the United States. While my parents haven’t registered me with any marriage brokers just yet (or so they’ve told me), word of mouth travels quickly enough (which explains the visits to my house by total strangers when I’m over in the motherland).

Anyway. Enough backstory. This brings us to last night, when my father and I were invited to dinner at the house of a fairly prominent South Indian family. I assumed that this was going to be a traditional Indian meet-and-greet over dinner, and to be fair, it started out as just that. I should have suspected something when there were only four people at the table – our host, his daughter Aishwarya, my father, and finally, myself.  Things became a lot more interesting when a fifth individual, a marriage broker, joined us at the table.

I was initially confused when he started listing Aishwarya’s “marital strengths” – she was training to be a pediatrician, she’d graduated at the top of her class at Colorado State, spoke three languages, had a clean criminal record, worked extensively with a number of local charities, and (perhaps most importantly, according to the broker) she’d gain access to considerable assets on her twenty-third birthday, when she would be eligible to access a large, unspecified sum of money that her grandparents had put away for her in CDs. When he first started rattling these things off, I was confused. I assumed that our host just wanted my father’s feedback on the broker’s pitch before he put his daughter on the market. I became even more confused when I realized that the four other people in the room were looking intently at me as the broker listed his points.

It didn’t take long for me to realize what was going on here, though. This wasn’t just a simple dinner. This was a marriage pitch. I was tempted to simply create a scene and force myself out of the selection process by embarrassing both my father and myself, but that sort of thing has never been my way of dealing with things (and doubly so in a public setting). I instead waited until the broker had finished his pitch and asked to talk to my father in private.

Once we were out of earshot, I cornered my father and demanded to know what was going on. My father seemed confused by my reaction to the situation, and assured me that if I didn’t like the girl, he’d be more than happy to find someone else for me. I responded by telling him (in no uncertain terms) that I needed no help finding a bride, and as far as I was concerned, I was in a wonderful place as far as my relationships were concerned.

My father however, remained unfazed, and gently reminded me that I’d previously assured him that I’d keep an open mind about the idea of an arranged marriage. Furthermore, he argued, Mely was leaving in a couple of months anyway, and as far as he was concerned, I would need to start looking to settle down and get involved in a “real relationship”.

I was flabbergasted. While my father isn’t exactly the most gifted of wordsmiths, he’d chanced upon just the right combination of words that cut me down and shut me up in one masterful stroke. Things would have been bad enough if they ended there, but they just seemed to start getting worse. My father pressed on, giving me two more reasons that this marriage was absolutely necessary.

First off, my status as a legal resident of this country expired yesterday, when the INS rejected my application for renewal of extended stay. The businessperson visa that my Dad applied for in 1995 clearly states that I’m no longer allowed a sponsor after I turn twenty-five (which is a little over four months away). This didn’t seem to be an issue back then, as both my parents and their lawyers expected us to be citizens by that point. Unfortunately for me however, being stuck in immigration limbo for the last thirteen years has complicated things.

Since my Dad can no longer serve as my sponsor, I was expected to do so on my own. I did, and as I’ve already stated, the verdict in not good. I’m expected to leave the country by August 20 unless I (a.) successfully argue for an appeal of emergency stay every six months, starting next week when I’m due at the INS offices, or (b.) am kept in the country by some extenuating circumstance – one option being, coincidentally enough, marrying Aishwarya, who just happens to be an American citizen.

Secondly, my Dad invested heavily in the stock market, and as a result, our finances have been greatly damaged by the current state of the economy. While we’ve still got enough to live on, the costs of putting two kids through college and other miscellaneous expenses have left quite a dent in our finances. Marrying Aishwarya would ensure that our family is linked to a family that has remained unscathed through the financial turmoil that has gripped the rest of the country.

I’ve told my Dad that I want no part of this, but I can’t help but wince as I realize what I’m giving up here. I’ve come to love this country, and the United States has become my home. I know that I’m going to miss it terribly, but at the same time, getting married as a means of staying in this country is dishonest at best, and an insult to my principles at worst.

The offer of marriage will remain on the table for another week, until the broker grants interviews to others suitors who Aishwarya’s father is interested in. I don’t think that I’m going to be changing my mind about this, so I can only hope that the INS decides to grant me emergency stays until I figure out a way to sort this mess out. In the event that this doesn’t work out however, I guess that this is goodbye. Thanks for the memories, folks.