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'Last call!'. Running through security and as fast as I could I pelted down the terminal. 'Last call'. Triumphantly, covered in sweat panting heavily, I settled into my seat. Travelling solo in these parts of the world, as a white woman, usually brings an occasional glance of curiosity and I felt dark eyes scan me from every angle. My neighbour took his seat. I noted he was also white and travelling alone. "Where are you from?" casually, he responded, "France". He seemed laid back, more Dutch than French in tone. "My name is Florent". He was bright, witty and charming. Strikingly, lacking the arrogance I had become accustomed to with previous French encounters. As the flight took off, the conversation veered towards our destination, India. I explained that my husband had landed there two days before me we were attending a wedding. It had been five months since our last trip to India, for our own wedding, and I could still feel the trepidation in my stomach. "You got married in INDIA?!" He said. "Yes", I gave a brief synopsis of my wedding and how I met my husband. My travel companion was stunned. Eager not to let my old teacher tendencies take hold I bit my tongue and tried not to pry as to his own intentions in India. We discussed our hobbies and love of travel; he was a passionate photographer and like me, as a writer, felt it was impossible to create a life from his art. We laughed and concurred that perhaps we just weren't 'arty' enough to dedicate ourselves to a life of poverty and rejection. Nonetheless, for all our cynicism we were both still deeply passionate about our spheres. As our journey continued, each hour revealed, another commonality or strange coincidence. The oddest being our matching birthdays. "My god! I didn't expect to find my French twin on this flight!" I shrilled. Florent showed me some of his brilliant pictures of cities across the globe. One image however, had caught my eye, a beautiful Indian lady. "Who's she?" "Shalini" he confided quietly, he was travelling to meet her, in her home, for the first time and her parents did not know about him. I thought back to my first trip to India, the fear and trepidation I felt. Not towards the country itself, but at the structure of families. The overpowering presence of the parents, whom suffocate those they love. The imperativeness of marriage. Not an option of if, but when. I thought of where I was now 2 years later en-route to India for the 5th time, married, how much I had learned, how many of my own prejudices I had broken. Arranged marriages are common in India, yet synonymous with backwardness in the western world. However, Florent and I concurred that our own parents had illustrated to us clearly that, love does not in fact, conquer all. We had also learned over the years how marriage is as much a financial arrangement and a societal expectation in the West as much as in the East. Shailini was 28, prime age, and her parents had begun to introduce her to 'suitable matches'. Time was running out for them. Florent was beginning to feel apprehensive. He was in his late thirties, even by western standards he should have been married by now. Yet here he was, halfway across the world, to see, if he was ready to commit. Commit to, a culture; he would never fully understand, a religion which would have no meaning and a bonded family unit that was almost unbreakable. At this point, I thought it was a good time to reassure him, "You'll just know.." After all, it was ultimately a test of the person not the place.