Though I avoid the cut and paste routine this excerpt from a full article I just had to share with all of you.....enjoy!
Source: A Pakistani Magazine called Zameen.
Author: Aassia Haroon
In the lounge of a flat in the upscale Clifton neighbourhood of Karachi, sit
two young women named Farah and Fauzia. They are employed as
secretaries by the lady known as the grand dame of Karachi’s
matchmaking business, Mrs Mumtaz Qureshi – who has arranged
thousands of marriages since she entered the business in 1982. I have to
stop myself from informing Farah and Fauzia, who eye me up and down
when I walk in, that I, for one, am not here in search of a husband. I am
here to meet broker of contracts, champion of wedded life, queen of
connections, the near-legendary Mrs Qureshi who has spawned an
industry among middle-class women. She was one of the first to begin the
practice of taking a small fee to set up meetings between families seeking
suitable matches for their children, and advertises her services in the
Sunday papers each week. Through home-based marriage bureaus like
hers, enterprising women can earn money whilst staying "respectable".
This unique ladies’ circle now includes women like Mrs Khan, who has
been in the business for five years; and new entrant Mrs Lakhani, who
began advertising in the Sunday classified of Pakistan’s widely-circulated
Dawn newspaper under the heading Marriage Bureaus, just a few weeks
ago.
But Mrs Qureshi, it seems, is an aeroplane ride ahead of her competition, since she has just opened a branch in
Freemont, California, to deal with a slew of US-based clients seeking matches at home, or with other expatriates in the
land of the (almost) free. The grand old ma’am herself ambles out of her bedroom just in time for our appointment.
"I deal with the cream of the city," begins Mrs Qureshi proudly, "and also with the middle-class. But not the lower class.
I do not have the resources or the connections for that." About fifty per cent of those that call up seeking matches on
the phone are refused an appointment, and yet Mrs Qureshi estimates that around 150-200 families still drop in to see
her each month. "For every ten larki wallahs there are about six larkah wallahs," she says. And they seek the same
things: "Shareef, well-educated, good family and good looks." When a family visits Mrs Qureshi’s home, they are
asked to fill in a form, detailing particulars like caste, age, income and even the complexion of the prospective bride or
groom – including an all-important section called "requirements" – and pay a registration fee of 450 rupees. This
one-time fee covers all meetings until a suitable match is brokered: "Agar un kay naseeb mai hai, of course." A mark
of Pakistani fatalism, perhaps, but more likely meant to protect Mrs Qureshi from clients seeking matches so perfect –
or improbable – that they are only the stuff of fantasy. But how can the complex business of marriage be reduced to a
few lines on a form? The section called requirements is a fascinating, if disturbing peephole into what applicants seek in
a match: "Doctor, engineer, status, living in the right area, US citizenship, and Green cards top the list," Mrs Qureshi
reels off.
Says new entrant, Mrs Lakhani: "I really don’t understand what people seek. Men who are certainly not Prince Charles,
want Lady Dianas. They should look at themselves before asking for the earth. They do not have degrees, they have
no money but they want a girl with a job, beauty, a foreign citizenship and her own flat."
Mrs Qureshi says that she has also encountered those who seek what she deems unworkable matches, a subtle way of
saying that some families seek to aim above their own levels of education and income. And according to another
popular marriage maker, Mrs Khan, who deals with clients rich and poor: "No one is seeking emotional compatibility. I
have women who come to me and say ‘Please don’t show me girls beyond KDA and PECHS’ (affluent Karachi
localities)." Mrs Khan does a good impersonation of the airs these women put on. She mimics them saying, "You know,
Mrs Khan, our status is too high to settle for a girl from Nazimabad or Federal B Area." Yet often, she claims, these
people are themselves from questionable backgrounds. A self-proclaimed expert in the politics of locality, Mrs Khan
says "Federal B Area and Nazimabad often have families who are much more sound in their values, than some of
these nouveau riche Defence types." She gives an example: "Girls have called me up complaining about families I
have sent to them. They ask me why I am sending them estate agents instead of rishtas: apparently some families call
ahead and ask the size of the girls’ kitchens and drawing-rooms. You see, this is what our people want and they are
very candid about it."
Source: A Pakistani Magazine called Zameen.
Author: Aassia Haroon
In the lounge of a flat in the upscale Clifton neighbourhood of Karachi, sit
two young women named Farah and Fauzia. They are employed as
secretaries by the lady known as the grand dame of Karachi’s
matchmaking business, Mrs Mumtaz Qureshi – who has arranged
thousands of marriages since she entered the business in 1982. I have to
stop myself from informing Farah and Fauzia, who eye me up and down
when I walk in, that I, for one, am not here in search of a husband. I am
here to meet broker of contracts, champion of wedded life, queen of
connections, the near-legendary Mrs Qureshi who has spawned an
industry among middle-class women. She was one of the first to begin the
practice of taking a small fee to set up meetings between families seeking
suitable matches for their children, and advertises her services in the
Sunday papers each week. Through home-based marriage bureaus like
hers, enterprising women can earn money whilst staying "respectable".
This unique ladies’ circle now includes women like Mrs Khan, who has
been in the business for five years; and new entrant Mrs Lakhani, who
began advertising in the Sunday classified of Pakistan’s widely-circulated
Dawn newspaper under the heading Marriage Bureaus, just a few weeks
ago.
But Mrs Qureshi, it seems, is an aeroplane ride ahead of her competition, since she has just opened a branch in
Freemont, California, to deal with a slew of US-based clients seeking matches at home, or with other expatriates in the
land of the (almost) free. The grand old ma’am herself ambles out of her bedroom just in time for our appointment.
"I deal with the cream of the city," begins Mrs Qureshi proudly, "and also with the middle-class. But not the lower class.
I do not have the resources or the connections for that." About fifty per cent of those that call up seeking matches on
the phone are refused an appointment, and yet Mrs Qureshi estimates that around 150-200 families still drop in to see
her each month. "For every ten larki wallahs there are about six larkah wallahs," she says. And they seek the same
things: "Shareef, well-educated, good family and good looks." When a family visits Mrs Qureshi’s home, they are
asked to fill in a form, detailing particulars like caste, age, income and even the complexion of the prospective bride or
groom – including an all-important section called "requirements" – and pay a registration fee of 450 rupees. This
one-time fee covers all meetings until a suitable match is brokered: "Agar un kay naseeb mai hai, of course." A mark
of Pakistani fatalism, perhaps, but more likely meant to protect Mrs Qureshi from clients seeking matches so perfect –
or improbable – that they are only the stuff of fantasy. But how can the complex business of marriage be reduced to a
few lines on a form? The section called requirements is a fascinating, if disturbing peephole into what applicants seek in
a match: "Doctor, engineer, status, living in the right area, US citizenship, and Green cards top the list," Mrs Qureshi
reels off.
Says new entrant, Mrs Lakhani: "I really don’t understand what people seek. Men who are certainly not Prince Charles,
want Lady Dianas. They should look at themselves before asking for the earth. They do not have degrees, they have
no money but they want a girl with a job, beauty, a foreign citizenship and her own flat."
Mrs Qureshi says that she has also encountered those who seek what she deems unworkable matches, a subtle way of
saying that some families seek to aim above their own levels of education and income. And according to another
popular marriage maker, Mrs Khan, who deals with clients rich and poor: "No one is seeking emotional compatibility. I
have women who come to me and say ‘Please don’t show me girls beyond KDA and PECHS’ (affluent Karachi
localities)." Mrs Khan does a good impersonation of the airs these women put on. She mimics them saying, "You know,
Mrs Khan, our status is too high to settle for a girl from Nazimabad or Federal B Area." Yet often, she claims, these
people are themselves from questionable backgrounds. A self-proclaimed expert in the politics of locality, Mrs Khan
says "Federal B Area and Nazimabad often have families who are much more sound in their values, than some of
these nouveau riche Defence types." She gives an example: "Girls have called me up complaining about families I
have sent to them. They ask me why I am sending them estate agents instead of rishtas: apparently some families call
ahead and ask the size of the girls’ kitchens and drawing-rooms. You see, this is what our people want and they are
very candid about it."
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