Marcus and Shrota’s Story
In a small, candle-lit room half way around the world, the terms of the deal were discussed. Although unconventional and non-traditional—the arrangement was made quickly and decisively. Shrota and Marcus were to be married—and yet they had never even met. In fact, neither had the families. The matchmaker, shuffling through sheets of biodata, placed Marcus and Shrota in a folder together and filed them away in a drawer. This arranged marriage would be unlike any before it. A marriage arranged not by family, but by fate.
Half way back around the world, as the “screaming eagle of soul” belted out some of his now famous ballads, Shrota and I, unknown to each other, stood and sang along together in a crowd at UCLA’s Royce Hall. It was a Thursday in December. At a performance by Charles Bradley and The Menahan Street Band, we met for the first time—both of us, at that time, just “friends of a friend.”
DJ JT, also known as Javier Torres, my friend from high school, had a radio show at UC Irvine. As fate would have it, Shrota also had a radio show at UC Irvine. I would call the hotline for Javier’s show to “win” tickets to the next concert. Shrota, a fellow DJ on KUCI’s student-run radio and a college friend of Javi’s, would somehow find her way to the same exact concerts. First Charles Bradley and The Menahan Street Band. Then Lee Fields and the Expressions. Then music festivals. Nights out dancing in Los Angeles. Funkysole at the Echoplex. The Virgil. Our shared love of music continued to lead our paths to cross. Time spent together and in the company of friends led to time spent with just each other. Weekends together. Week nights together. Time spent just listening to music, pondering life, and trying to figure out how to be adults in our early 20s.
Fast forward five years. We still hadn’t figured out life, but we had figured out one thing: we were inseparable—whether we liked to admit it (to each other) or not. Each of us stubborn in his or her own way, we delayed destiny. Yet as the matchmaker’s folder gathered dust, the files inside it were at work. As time passed, our two once independent lives became one, immeasurably intertwined and fantastically tangled. In every moment and at every turn, we became each other’s way through the world. Two threads joined together as one.
We’ve navigated through almost everything together: her graduate school; my law school; living apart; living together; having our first dog together; having our second dog together; running a vintage furniture business together; traveling across the world together.
On one hand, we found out that being business partners maybe isn’t the best idea, but on the other hand we found out that we might need to adopt a third dog one day. And a fourth. We’re kind of crazy about our dogs Pepper and Cherry. But our story was not destined to stop at dogs, and so fate most recently called us back to India for the occasion of her brother Josh’s wedding.
Back again half way around the world, the matchmaker sensed our presence and pulled our file from his drawer in that small, candle-lit room. As he dusted off the folder, a glass of water spilled over the length of his desk, completely covering the folder and its contents. When he pulled the sheets from within, they were matted together by the water, and he struggled to pull them apart. “A place for water,” he thought, and put the sheets aside so they might dry.
Ugrasen ki Baoli is a centuries old, historic stepwell located in New Dehli, India. This stepwell was a sort of ancient reservoir used to store water for the city. A place of temperance, of prudence, of reserve. A place of knowing. A place of quiet, unspoken resolve. A certain air of purpose. While visiting the city with her parents, we toured a number of historic sites. This particular place felt like fate. A place for water. A place for life.
And there, at that ancient stepwell, I came to the same conclusion that always was, and that I always reach when I think about our lives together—when I think about how we met, how we managed, and how we found ourselves back in India. Every time I pull at the fabric of our lives together, in search of the start of it all, to find where it all began, to see if I picked her or if she picked me, I always find that the fabric unfurls into a single thread. Not just her and not just me but at the same time both I and she.
So I got down on one knee—
“Will you marry me?”
Destiny decided. Like I said before, this was an arranged marriage. Still, shaking as she was, Shrota nodded her head up and down, and said, “Yes.”
I was elated. Over the course of our relationship, thoughts of “my life” have transformed into thoughts of “our life,” and I could not be more grateful for that change. And so in the spirit of that same gratitude, we are now both so excited to invite you all to celebrate our wedding ceremonies and to become part of our story in Antigua, Guatemala.
I’ve heard people say life is what you make it, and we sincerely hope that you can make it! And before you ask, no, I don’t know why Guatemala! Actually, yes, I do know. I just can’t explain it. Something about fate. Or destiny. It was in the matchmaker’s files; you’ll have to ask him.
