![]() ![]() But with the increased isolation brought on by the pandemic, I grew tired of swiping, ghosting, catfishing and no commitment. So initially, I was drawn to online dating. I'm much more suited to striking up a conversation with a stranger on my smartphone than I am in the real world. And as a millennial, I find it harder to date offline. (Ironically, if you are an unmarried Indian man in your 30s or maybe early 40s, you're still a catch.)ĭating is hard. But none of that changes my culture's valuation of a woman in my position - if you are an Indian girl unmarried in her 30s, you are fast approaching the status of an old maid. I can assemble IKEA furniture and even change a flat tire. I pay my own bills and I have my own house. I live in Toronto, work in television and am a stand-up comic. Pooja Joshi, seen as a baby, has grown up on a steady diet of Hollywood and Bollywood romcoms. Their child typically can then exercise "veto" power. But now it's more like a dating service enabled by families who pre-select "suitable" partners. In previous generations, the parents picked the partner. It's a common way to get married in the South Asian community - where parents find a prospective groom or bride for their adult children. If it were up to my family, I would have already married as my parents did: in an arranged match. ![]() They're expecting babies, while I'm still inspecting dating profiles. My younger cousins are all wed and seemingly happily so. In my culture, I am late to board the marriage train. But for my Indian family, alarm bells are ringing. I am 34 and still single which is no big deal for many people. ![]() For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. She currently works as a producer for CBC Radio's The Debaters. This First Person column is written by Pooja Joshi, a first-generation Indian Canadian. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |