A couple weeks ago, while visiting my parents over the holidays, I overheard something very disturbing. As I made my way from the dining room (occupied by the younger generation) back to the kitchen for a second helping of Indian takeout, I overheard my mother say to the table, “You know, I’m not opposed to arranged marriage.”
A dollop of lamb saag dropped off my spoon onto the counter, along with my jaw. Had the masala gone to her head? My mother can’t even pick out a sweater for me, never mind a husband.
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