“Too many young men are rejected for their Rishta proposals only because they’re at the start of their jobs/careers and haven’t earned a lucrative sum just yet. It’s very unfair to expect a man under 30 to have an income in lacs who is trying his best”
Was this post on X by an unsuspecting (or so we assume), young man, a simple, harmless thought, a need to seek support in an ‘unfair Rishta culture’ or… a loaded, ignorant, one-sided perspective that needed more perspective?
But, responded netizens, “You ask and you shall receive!”
When Pakistanis talk about marriage, it’s never quiet. The debate turns into an “Us vs Them’ war of words even before we’ve had time to say 3,2,1, – your time starts now!
Such are the sensitivities surrounding the marriage debate or more aptly, the Rishta Culture in our society that everything else might change but the marriage debate is permanent, etched in concrete!
Everyone has a Rishta story, and every story is riddled with pain, injury, anger if not rage and of course, a silent plea to those who promote this toxic culture – stop, please!
This time it was a young man caught in the crossfire who lamented about society’s expectations that eligible bachelors in our society (men under 30) need to have, and we quote: “ income in lacs” if they have to land themselves a wife.
For many Pakistanis, it’s not just a rite of passage it’s a national sport. But beneath the gossip, the WhatsApp aunties, and the over-filtered wedding snaps lies a deeply flawed system that props up misogyny, perpetuates gender stereotypes, and quietly damages both women and men.
There’s no denying that rishta culture, more often than not, tilts in favor of men. Women are put through the wringer, judged for their complexion, weight, height, cooking skills, even their laugh. The girl is expected to impress, to serve tea with just the right amount of confidence but not too much sass, while being assessed like she’s applying for a job that doesn’t come with a salary, just a lifelong performance review.
Girls are reduced to a checklist: fair, slim, educated, religious, homely (still trying to decode what that even means). And when they don’t fit the mold, the rejections roll in. Often silently. Sometimes harshly. And always leaving behind a sense of not being “enough.”
But while we’re calling out the system, and we should, let’s also not pretend that men always walk out winners. Yes, in many ways the process favors them. But it also shackles them to ridiculous standards of “stability.” There’s this expectation that the man should have a six-figure salary by 27, own a house, a car, preferably have a foreign degree, and oh, be tall, dark, and handsome while we’re at it. Any deviation from this picture-perfect prototype? Sorry beta, better luck next shaadi season. While women are scrutinized for their looks, men are scrutinized for their bank accounts. It’s like everyone’s value is being measured against a pre-loaded Instagram filter of “ideal spouse material.”
When the mother of a son seeks rishtas for her adult son, she looks out for a homemaker, a young girl of childbearing age who’s educated enough to work, but will stay at home too if she has to tend to her children, who’s able to adjust, blend in with the family, be a supportive partner to her son, someone who will get along with his sisters, keep the family together. Oh dear, that’s a tall order, and we wonder if the family is in jeopardy of falling apart lest the wrong bahu crosses the threshold?
But hold on, she is also the same mother who will seek a match for her daughter, hoping the prospective son in-law lives separately, away from his parents, or better still, abroad. It would not be too preposterous to stay complexion matters, because (unspoken rule), the future offspring and the colour genes they carry matter.
Then there’s the pressure. For women, to marry early before their “market value” drops (yes, people actually use that term). For men, to settle down once they’re “stable” – a term that now somehow includes owning property in a real estate market even their parents can’t afford. Both sides are being shoved into boxes they didn’t ask for.
Now, some of us have been lucky. We’ve been raised in families that haven’t forced these outdated ideals down our throats. Families that have said: your worth isn’t defined by how many rishtas show up or how soon you “settle.” But unfortunately, we’re still the exception, not the rule.
We see this in households across the country: mothers rejecting girls for the very things they themselves were once judged for. And here’s where the irony stings the most.
These are women who were once told they were “too dark,” “too outspoken,” “too educated”, yet years later, they sit on the other side of the table, wielding the same criticisms like weapons. The same women who were once told to “compromise” now expect perfection from someone else’s daughter. And they pass judgment with the same sharpness that once cut them.
It’s almost like a twisted rite of passage: I suffered, so must you. A generational cycle where internalized misogyny is wrapped up in concern and passed on like heirloom china. Instead of breaking the system, some women end up becoming its gatekeepers.
And the most painful part? They know better. They remember what it felt like to be scrutinized, to have their worth boiled down to their weight or the shade of their complexion. They cried in silence, wore fairness creams, stayed quiet when told to quit their job, and yet, when it’s their turn to choose a daughter-in-law, they expect a trophy. A “qualified” girl who won’t dare to outshine their son. A career woman, yes—but only till 5 p.m., and not on Sundays. In many cases, they want a girl with all the right degrees—doctor, engineer, MBA—but preferably one who doesn’t actually practice. Just enough education to look impressive in the wedding invite, but not so much that she forgets her “real duties” at home.
It’s the perfect paradox: Be ambitious, but not too ambitious. Be smart, but don’t act like you know more. Be educated, but stay available for house chores. Because God forbid the girl has opinions and a job.
And perhaps the worst part? The culture rarely encourages actual connection. Compatibility, values, shared goals, those things that matter in a lifelong partnership, take a backseat to degrees, dowries, and family status. The whole process feels more like a business negotiation than two people trying to build a future.
But there’s more to the system that needs to change. Rishta Culture is just one part of that system.
When two people are allowed to meet in an atmosphere of mutual respect and trust, away from the pressure of expectations, they can hold a conversation as mature adults. “Will you want to continue working? Do you plan to settle abroad? Do you want children? Do you plan to work after having a family? Are you willing to support my career if I’m working after kids? Can we hire a nanny? Are you outgoing? I am very close to my family and will you be okay with that? What are your friends like? What do you do on a day off?” Aren’t these some of the questions everyone would like to ask their prospective life partner? Rather than: larka kya karta hai and, what does she cook best?
Every time a young girl or boy meets frustration, anger and despair with the way things turn out on a Rishta spree (and there are many going through this emotion as we write this), know this: the process will not self-correct unless we instigate change in all our social and professional systems. Merely paying lip service to the concept, dismissing Rishta culture as a thing of the past, pretending to be too woke, yet quietly encouraging our son or daughter to meet up with so and so’s daughter or son because, well, they’d make a good match, is why we continue to be an integral part of the problem. And this is exactly why it survives today and empowers a prospective mother in-law to have the power to ’reject’ a young girl who harbors career goals and wants to raise a family. She is also the same girl who seeks a life partner whom she will support and who will support her in doing both.
