By Lughadarini Yogaraja 

At some point during the transition between the age of innocence and the age of "so when is the wedding?"Every Sri Lankan woman faces her ultimate battle with the Aunties. 

The Aunties are powerful, magical creatures that usually only make themselves known at weddings, funerals, family get-togethers or even when you're feeling especially brave, just out on a random shop stroll at Keells. They have an uncanny ability to ascertain your marital status from 600 metres away, employ subtle interrogation techniques, and have an intense fascination with your ovaries for some reason. 

I am 25. I am not married, and apparently that is a criminal offence. 

It begins innocently enough. Initially, it is a "So how's work?" with an unassuming "Do you cook?" - a hidden trap in the backhanded compliment. This progresses quickly to the often dreaded "So... is there someone in your life?"

And just like that, you are now a person of interest. No longer are you just yourself, someone who works hard and is figuring her life out. No. You are now Case No. 458-L in the "National Marital Security Database" currently being reviewed by the top forces of the Sri Lankan Aunty Bureau of Investigation (SLABI)

By the time you say, “No, aunty, not yet,” they have already hypothesised about all the things you could be doing while they jump to conclusions about you secretly dating a foreigner, since if it were a boy from home, they would have already investigated him. They would also have decided your standards are "too high", or, even worse, formulated the idea that you are a “feminist”..

And don't even begin to say, "I'm focusing on my career," unless you are ready for Aunty to gasp, clutch her pearls, and call your mom to then repeat those lines we have all heard: "In our time, we had 2 kids by 23!" / "Don't wait too long, ah. Otherwise… late, ah, no use.” And then the worst “Don't be too picky, ah. Good men are like mangoes in April, very rare, and usually taken.” Well, thank you, Aunty Shakespeare, for sharing that tidbit of seasonal wisdom. 

Let's talk about what happens when you actually do meet someone. Maybe you have finally come across a lovely and handsome man. Naturally, you are cautious. You want time. You want space. You want a relationship that is not monitored by the Ministry of Wedding Bells (MWB).

But before your second date could even happen, some aunty seated somewhere has just added your names to a wedding WhatsApp group, because she spotted them at a restaurant together, and now she's already chosen saree colours, started colour coding your caste, and checked he's got a decent piece of land in Polonnaruwa. Aunty, we love you for your unrivalled and sacrificial love, but can we not be culprits of someone else's deadline? 

I'm not saying all aunties are being problematic. Some are funny, others empowering, and some could just not care less. The problem is the social pressure to immediately get 'married' by 25, more than the aunties. You turn 25 and suddenly you're worth even less than a reasonable secondhand Alto, and your womb is now public property; a timeline is set until the age of 28, until society will constantly/relentlessly suggest you go live in a cave.

It is important to only discuss marriage when the time is right. We cannot afford to forget that so many people are financially challenged, especially right now, that relationships are way more complicated and not just a rom-com, and so many value their mental health, and perhaps, quite possibly, women are not all that hot on marriage. 

Imagine if only the aunties used this power and flipped the script on men: “Still don't own a house? How come?” “Still not CEO? That's extremely late, no?” “Still don’t have abs like Chris Hemsworth? Better run, men age also!” 

Now that sounds ludicrous, right? But when it comes to marriage, we feel we are fully entitled to poke, prod, and panic. Or we just want what anyone wants, the freedom to navigate life on our own terms, mess up, grow, create something real (with or without the ring), and not get harassed for buying onions. 

We want to talk about being: “Are you happy, happy with what you’re doing?” “What can I help you with?” “You deserve love, but don’t settle for less.” We want less unsolicited advice and more people who mind their business. 

To all the women who feel the pressure: You are not a checklist, you are a whole chapter.  Whether you marry at 25, 35, or not at all, that is valid, that is enough, and it is YOUR life. To all the lovely aunties who continue to act like the FBI, we commend your tenacity, but can you please investigate something that matters? Like who took that last piece of seeni sambol bun at the event without permission.