Why Do I Still Hate The Idea Of Marriage? - A Daughter's Perspective

My sister got married last week to the love of her life, and it was the most beautiful wedding I have ever seen, also the only wedding I have ever seen. I was happy. Obviously, right? Marriage is a celebration. It's a joyous occasion. Am I right? And rightly so, I was happy, with a heavy heart. Must I be happy in an absolute, unconditional way? Is there anything that exists in absolutism? Marriage and I have a peculiar relationship, expectant with scepticism and hatred, ensconced in a state of contentment tinged with melancholy. I hate the idea of marriage. Period. I was in my first year when my professor took me to the other side, the downside of our existence, beyond which lay the reality that I was sheltered from. 

Discourses On Marriage

Engaging with a plethora of feminist discourse on marriage, where it's depicted as a contractual bond designed to subjugate women and suppress their sexual autonomy under the guise of protection, chastity, and obedience, my perspective on its essence has undergone a profound metamorphosis. Feminist thinkers have dismantled the conventional perception of marriage, portraying it not as a manifestation of love but as a patriarchal instrument of control.

Andrea Dworkin, a radical feminist who proposed lesbianism as the way had an extreme take on marriage. She said, “Marriage as an institution developed from rape as a practice. Rape, originally defined as abduction, became marriage by capture. Marriage meant the taking was to extend in time, to be not only use of but possession of, or ownership.”

Kate Millet, the author of Sexual Politics, has talked about how marriage is an “exchange of servitude for protection,” and to be a male “is to be a master, hero, brute, and pimp […] stupid and cowardly”. Talking about how marriage tends to invoke and reinforce the public-private dichotomy, Millet points out how women are always 

Furthering the argument, Simone De Beauvoir in her seminal work, The Second Sex goes on to argue how marriage is a different thing for man and woman. According to Beauvoir, the institution of marriage is not based on a 'footing of equality'. She further says whether the marriage is 'arranged' or a 'love' marriage, the woman gives up autonomy to survive in marriage. 

Other feminists like Susan Moller Okin in Justice, Gender and the Family have raised eyebrows on the outcome of marriage- a gender-structured family where power is unequally distributed between man and woman.

Marriage is emotionally cruel, unjust and brutal

So, you can expect I wasn't particularly elated when I heard my sister was getting married, let alone in a traditional Hindu marriage. I buried my opinions and promised myself to not impose. Everyone's entitled to their opinion and free to choose. As a feminist, in the end, all that matters is choice and freedom. You are free, so choose. 

So, along with my lehengas and sarees, I packed my opinions in a box, never to open it. And I succeeded, I was happy. I still can feel the pain and the numbness in my thighs because of all the dancing. I cried but mind you, they were happy tears. I saw love being celebrated, in beautiful hues of red and white. It was gorgeous. 

I sat through the problematic rituals without so much a fuss, a hiccup. I ignored the noise to enjoy my sister's happiness in silence. And guess what, seeing a marriage where equality reigned supreme in matters of finances, respect, chores, and everything was a splendid sight. At that moment, I found myself whispering, "Ah, perhaps marriage isn't so dismal after all. It can indeed exude beauty." 

These days, marriage is truly about the aesthetic. Look at all our celebrities popularising the glamour of Indian weddings. It's like a movie in itself, with songs sung, cute little choreographed hook-steps, the drama, the tears, the laughs, the iconic poses. And then fatigued dawned as I sat in my red saree, playing with my anklets. Sitting across me was my mother with her puffy eyes, and swollen cheeks, crying. In another room was my dad, sobbing. I sat there, still busy with my anklets, clueless. What am I supposed to say to make them feel better? What can I do? Can I even do anything? How can a moment of celebration and joy turn into moments of despair?

It hit me, I still hate marriage. This time, I am a daughter. A daughter sitting in front of her grieving mother. Marriages aren't just a social injustice marked by unequal power distribution and unequal access to advantage. It isn't just an unequal exchange characterised by patriarchal rituals. It isn't just a problematic affair producing and reproducing gendered narratives. 

The whole concept of ‘bidai’ doesn’t just reinforce the age-old idea that daughters are ‘paraya dhan’, to be blissfully given away. Yes, it is a patriarchal ritual but there is something deeper and meaner that is concealed behind the veil. It unleashes injustice on an emotional level because it’s never the man who cries, never his family who feels a dawning void, never. 

Deconstructing 'Bidai'

Further delving into the whole concept of ‘bidai’, this injustice can be best analysed from two angles:

1. You know how it's said that marriage is not just a union of individuals, but also of families. This implies that marriage is thus a way of addition of different individuals into the families. But, is it? Wait, I don’t remember seeing my sister's husband in my home when I came back. So, this addition is only on a superficial level for one side while it's visible for the other. You know what I mean? My mum and dad only felt a loss, a void when they came from the wedding. While the other side was busy welcoming my sister who was very much there, in the flesh. How is that fair? Why do the women have to leave? Why is it us, the woman’s side, who feels the tangible void? 

2. The very idea of ‘bidai’ signifies crying but when did you notice the guy's side of the family shedding tears? How did patriarchy manifest itself into something as innocent and abstract thing as crying? Crying is a simple emotion. But, sadly even if those tears are transparent, it’s still coloured in the hues of patriarchy. One side smiles, while the other cries and it’s an accepted, glorified, much-awaited part of marriage. 

I know, I know, I know. I know that these aren’t unconscious things that keep occurring in our lives. It’s a conscious, planned, beautifully scripted chapter that everyone is expected to read. Yet, amid the tears, the whispered tales, and the customary hush, I find myself seated, idly toying with my anklets, pondering a question that lingers: Can marriage ever be feminist?

Views expressed are the author's own