April 29, 2004

When I am out and about town, I am frequently asked whether I am SWOT, our one time celebrated columnist whose identity we must protect in the cause of national interest. You can rest assured knowing that I am not SWOT, nor is my female colleague at TR. We are in fact two separate people who share the same last name but are in the midst of a serious identity crisis because people mistake us for the other. So much so that I recently became the long-lost sister to my colleague’s brothers and she became the big sister to my Chicago-based sister. I don’t have brothers. She doesn’t have sisters. End of story. But I digress.

My colleague, however, did play on the word SWOT when she wrote about Single Women Approaching Thirty (SWAT) and Single Men Over Thirty (SMOT). Recently, she posed the following question: for every SWOT or SWAT, there are an equal number of SMOTs and SMUTs so how come none of these people ever meet, marry and, as I later added, live happily ever after divorce?

That particular discussion got me thinking, as it usually does 24 hours before my column is due and I have no idea what to write about and am forced to grossly invade the privacy of my friends and family just to keep you entertained. For your information, I have angered and offended so many people that I have now officially run out of people to write about, except for FA, whom I can never tire writing about but have been legally warned against doing so. But I digress again.

I was thinking that if single men are looking for single women to marry (and vice versa) and there are apparently thousands of them around, what or who is preventing them from finding each other? Have standards gone up? Is there a general disillusionment about the institution of marriage? Do today’s single people not have the required dysfunctional traits that are needed for healthy marriages? Is my supervisor going to finally forbid me on writing about how single people have it so bad?

As a single woman myself, I have never had problems meeting men. I just have problems liking any of the men I meet. It turns out that every man whose company I have enjoyed for more than three hours — and with who I am willing to entertain the idea of sharing a bathroom for the rest of my life — has been of the “I don’t like women” orientation. I’m not so upset about this as my poor father is, given the rate that I am meeting and befriending these men. At least I know I will spend my old age, rocking on an antique teak chair, knitting booties for my friend’s grandchildren, surrounded by Pakistan’s best dressed, most sympathetic and empathetic, not to mention, fine looking men.

But not everyone is as fortunate as I and more often than not, a discussion with single people revolves around how they have not met the right guy/girl/Labrador. This is especially true during the wedding season when couples are tying the knot and single people are in knots at the prospect of being alone forever. Thiewretched wedding season reaffirms my faith in the fact that there’s nothing like a marriage to destroy great relationships.

You have all these SWOTs and SMOTs — independent, free spirited, financially stable, good looking, funny people — who can’t seem to find each other. And this in a country which released on the world the Pandora’s Box of a million women born to do nothing but arrange marriages. It sounds rather sad doesn’t it? But fear not for I’m about to propose a viable solution. It is not original as the solution, known as a marriage pact, has been around forever.

If you don’t want to end up alone on a beautiful villa in Murree, crocheting tea cozies and experimenting with denture adhesives — with Labradors as your only source of company — then I suggest you enter a pact with a buddy, and not a Labrador called Buddy.

It’s quite simple. You and a friend decide upon an age and if by that age you are both single, you marry each other. This notion of “marriage pacts” is gaining in popularity in the West too as single people are freaking out at remaining unattached forever.

I have always had a pact with a buddy albeit at different stages of my life. When I was 21, Friend One and I agreed that if by the time we were both 30 and still single, we’d move to Holland and grow old together, on a farm, not inhaling for the rest of our lives. When I was 25, Friend Two and I agreed that if we were both single at 35, we’d get married and join the Betty Ford clinic together. And more recently, as I was approaching 30, Friend Three and I agreed that if we were both single at 40, we’d shoot each other. Friend Four said that if Friend Three and I are still single at 40, and too wimpy to shoot ourselves, he’d do it for us.

My expiration date is a decade away so until that happens, I’m living it up with a bevy of beautiful friends by my side. The path to true love and happiness need not always be a straight one.

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