Oh, this intrusive nuptial query!

Oh, "When are you getting married?" There it is. The question that refuses to die, much like my patience every time you ask it. Honestly, that patience should be studied by scientists. It could be the eighth wonder of the world at this point. Maybe it's one of the things holding Pakistani society together.

In Pakistan, there are only three certainties: death, taxes, and someone at a funeral pulling you aside to ask, "When are you getting married?" because apparently, a grave is the perfect place to discuss rishta. Yes, Auntie. She is here burying a loved one, but please, do go on. Nothing says respect for the deceased like treating a graveyard as your personal matchmaking networking event. Perhaps she should bring a portfolio next time. Maybe a PowerPoint presentation. Really maximise the efficiency of the occasion.

In this circus we call life, you cannot even answer a wrong number without them adding, "Oh, sorry, wrong number. Also, when are you getting married?"

The woman could be single-handedly solving the country's economic crisis, bringing inflation to its knees, stabilising the rupee, negotiating IMF terms with one hand while performing open-heart surgery with the other. And some Auntie would still interrupt to ask, "When are you getting married?" as if inflation is waiting on her nikkah. "Finally, she is married. Now the dollar can drop." Yes, Auntie, the State Bank has been waiting for this moment. She was the miracle that finally arrived. The finance minister can finally rest. He has been losing sleep over this.

This is the delusion density we are contending with. At this point, she could lead a hostage rescue mission without firing a single shot, and the first question would still be, "But child, who will cook for you?" She could be named UN Secretary-General, and someone would yet say, "Congratulations, congratulations. But your womb… is it still… you know… functioning?"

And the best part? It is never in good faith a genuine inquiry. It is a non-negotiable ruling. A brutal verdict that a woman's current existence, her degrees, her career, her sanity, her accomplishments, and her entire being count for nothing until a man signs off on it. She could have a corner office overlooking the entire city, a passport full of stamps from countries you cannot pronounce, and a bank account that makes people weep with envy, but in their eyes, she is still a burden sitting in her father's house like an unsold inventory item. Until some man with a mediocre job, questionable hygiene, and the personality of a damp paper towel shows up to "take responsibility".

So here is my actual proposal: Ban this marriage question.

Not through any official rulebook, instead, put it into law alongside the most basic rights people are expected to respect in a society. Insert a "Right to Not Be Asked About Weddings at Inappropriate Moments". Make it something people actually live by. Make it socially unacceptable to keep asking it. First offense: Five thousand rupees. Second offense: You must attend a seminar on boundaries where you are forced to watch a PowerPoint presentation titled "Other People's Lives Are Not Your Content". Third offense: You are forced to plan your own daughter's wedding on a strict budget while she criticises every decision and invites only her friends, none of whom include you. Fair is fair. Cross the line, pay the fine.

So the next time someone asks me when I'm getting married - I don't know.

But I do know exactly when you are getting blocked if you ask me again. And trust me, the block button is very, very satisfying.