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The past few years have been a whirlwind of financial chaos — electricity prices shot up, basic necessities became luxury items, and the dollar rate ascended like it had a personal vendetta against Pakistanis. But did any of the aunties in my life bat an eyelash? Not even for a second.

To them, the real crisis was that I was an unmarried 25-year-old surviving wedding seasons with nothing but a smile.

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more sitcom-worthy, my younger sister tied the knot and marched off into the sunset with her perfect man.

But while I was happy with the news of me becoming an aunt that followed soon after the marriage, the world was not. “You will find the right man soon,” they said, trying to console a damsel in distress who felt no distress.

Just when I was about to lose my mind, my phupho came bearing tidings of yet another potential match. Unlike the villains of family tales in Pakistan, my phupho is the real deal and is genuinely invested in my happiness.

“He is an only child, with a house in Dubai and his mother is as innocent as a dove,” she whispered in my ear as we sat squeezed on a sofa —meant for three but hosting five — at a party the night before the drama started.

Before I could say no more rishta meet ups, my angelic aunt added, “He is a traveller and looking for someone to join him on his globetrotting adventures,” spinning her web of persuasion around me perfectly.

I paused, and let’s just say I slipped down the slippery slope from single and content to considering the possibility of tying the knot. But hey, who can resist the allure of travelling for free?

But I had to play it cool. “If it makes you happy,” I replied, masking the flips of excitement in my tummy.

Fast forward to the big night. The potential groom and his mother were invited for an elaborate three-course dinner.

When he stepped out of his Porsche with slicked-back hair and a smile showing off his sparkly white teeth, I thought Phupho might have hit the bullseye with this one. His mother was the epitome of chic, draped in a Sana Safinaz masterpiece paired with an elegant designer bag.

As for me, I debuted my finest perfume and my most understated-yet-charming outfit, ready to ace this matrimonial performance.

Taking a deep breath — the kind you take before entering an exam room where an A* is the only acceptable outcome — I braced myself. Downstairs, the performance was in full swing. My relatives sat with soft, dreamy eyes, mentally drafting wedding hashtags as they sized up the mother and son.

It was all perfect, he sat with the perfect posture and talked without a fake British accent. At this point, I really wanted to talk to him — alone.

After enduring 24 variations of “What do you do for fun?” I finally got the golden ticket — “Would you like to step outside and talk?” they asked.

While the guy hesitated, I shot up, ready for an escape. Forget the demure, blushing bride act — I was done playing cutesy. Time to find out if he was worth the perfume.

Until we lost sight of the room, I thought I would have to carry most of the conversation. That illusion cracked like the crust on a poorly baked pie the moment we stepped outside to talk.

What followed was a 20-minute TED Talk on his life, achievements, and a long list of his assets, travel experiences, and certificates — including Google certifications.

Now, I’m not a shy and quiet girl, but every time I opened my mouth, it was like he hit ‘skip ad’ because he could do better than whatever I did.

Here is how it went:

Me: I travelled to Germany last year.

Him: Oh, Germany’s great, I have done all of Europe — Amsterdam, Vienna, Paris, Italy. Solo travel is just unparalleled.

Me: Yes, it is quite the experience….

Him: Absolutely, don’t worry, though, you are not missing much. I could happily do it all over again — with you, of course.

I raised an eyebrow, which he missed.

Me: I travelled alone to Germany.

Now, this was where the game changed completely.

He asked me a loaded question — “Would you want to work after marriage?”

When you are new to the marriage market, these red flags are practically invisible —like trying to see a ghost in broad daylight.

But, I was no newbie — I was a veteran and I knew there was no right answer to this question because the game was rigged. No matter what you say, you can never give them a good enough response. The best way to tackle this question is to change the subject.

Fortunately, I did not have to because he launched into a sermon about how female CEOs regret not spending enough time with their kids.

“What about male CEOs? Don’t they regret it?” I asked, trying to inject some logic into this absurd line of thought.

“They don’t feel it as strongly,” he replied.

I was dumbfounded. Unfortunately, the horror did not end there.

His future wife, according to him, would receive an ‘allowance’ for personal and household expenses. He would monitor the account, because women are frivolous spenders incapable of financial responsibility.

At this point, my dreams of travelling withered and died a thousand deaths.

Thankfully, my sister rescued me, calling us back to the family gathering where he would get one final round of scrutiny. I knew I was not about to marry this man.

As I said that out loud, the dramatics only a desi family can perform ensued. They argued that I was rejecting a “perfectly good proposal” and “you can change him with love and good food.”

But by now, I had mastered the fine art of nodding with a blank smile while letting their words go in one ear and straight out the other.

The eternal saga of finding the ‘right man’ seems to be never-ending. With my late twenties approaching, wish me luck or a ticket to Europe. Maybe he’s waiting for me to travel across the seas to meet him?

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This is a partially satirical four-part series exploring the adventures of a young woman going through the rishta process. No suitors were harmed in the writing of this series.