What's love got to do with it?

For anyone about to experience it, marriage requires a herculean leap of faith. A much shorter leap is needed to imagine what was running through Shelly Haque's mind on her second date with Kaiser Haque on June 6, 1998.

That date was their wedding.

"I was really scared," Shelly said. "I thought, 'He's totally a stranger to me.'"

The Haques have been in an arranged marriage for nearly 10 years. Natives of Bangladesh, they now live in Lino Lakes with their two young children. Both recall their wedding day with equal parts amusement and awe.

"I love her more now," said Kaiser, who works in e-commerce for Deluxe Corp. "I see her."

Shelly and Kaiser appreciate that their path to marriage is surprising, and not always understandable, to their Western friends (which is one reason many couples from other countries where arranged marriage is common, including Asia and parts of Africa, declined to be interviewed).

And they're gracious enough to not point out that those who pooh-pooh their arrangement may be doing much the same thing in an altered form, feverishly completing an elaborate eHarmony personality profile, for example, or nudging friends to fix them up.

"I'm not much of a fan of arranged marriage," confessed Raj Rajasekar, an IT specialist at Target Corp. While he believes people should be free to make such a monumental decision themselves, his own marriage to professional musician Nirmala Rajasekar was arranged 18 years ago, and he's grown to see its value. "It does have family support going for it," he said.

The couple, from India, live in Plymouth with their two children, Neeraj, 16, and Shruthi, 11.

In this week of valentines, we asked the two couples to share their journeys to love.

Nirmala and Raj Rajasekar Music is her life. He hums off-key in the shower and doesn't know classical from country. He's an engineer happy to work with computers. She travels the world to sing, compose, teach and perform with her veena, a plucked string instrument she has played since childhood.

But listen to the playful banter between these two and the only thing you'll wonder is: How could they not be married to each other? "Sometimes you luck out," Raj agrees. "She got me -- nice!" he said, as his wife burst into laughter. "And I got her."

The couple grew up within three blocks of each other in Chennai (formerly Madras), India, the country's fourth-largest city, but did not know each other. Each knew that an arranged marriage was likely, as their parents' and a few siblings' marriages had been arranged, but professional pursuits were a high priority for both. Raj had "lady friends," but nothing serious. His mother never asked about marriage. Instead, she asked the mother of all questions: "Am I going to see grandkids?"

In his late 20s, he agreed to meet eligible women, chosen by family elders carefully studying astrological horoscopes. The matches were nice women, fine women, he said, but there were issues. One wanted him to move. Another, a doctor, confessed her love for another doctor. One was too tall. Another had a father who was "too arrogant."

Meanwhile, Nirmala earned a computer science degree, but music drove her. She had several male companions in bands, but she felt nothing serious for any. Once in a while, her parents would ask: "Would you like us to help you? Do you have someone at work?" She knew that she was lucky. The pressures on young women to marry, arranged or not, were growing less as more women embraced careers and independent lives.

But one day, Raj's aunt visited Nirmala, and asked just the right question: "Would you play your veena for me?" "She was there to check me out, I guess," Nirmala said, "but I wasn't aware of it. It was very informal and went over real easy." A little later, her parents showed Nirmala a photo of Raj, explaining that the aunt had come to visit them, too. Nirmala's beloved uncle then checked in, writing his niece a letter about Raj. "He loves to read. He knows you're a musician. He's a professional engineer with a master's degree. And he's fun to talk to."

Nirmala was intrigued. The two sets of parents met on March 4, 1990, and liked each other. They asked their children for permission to move ahead with a formal engagement ceremony, which they did, without Raj (who was then working in London) or Nirmala present.

There seemed to be little danger of that. Nirmala and Raj started out with a coffee date; by day eight of their face-to-face courtship, they were having such fun together at a local beach that they lost track of time and returned home near midnight to shaking fingers from their parents: What would people think?

Today, 18 years into a solid union, they see the benefits and detriments of their path. Raj's sister's arranged marriage ended in divorce and "everybody thought it was for the best," Raj says. Other friends have found their partners through college or work. "Some marriages click, some don't," Raj said. "I don't think any one system makes it special."

Nirmala agrees, mostly. "Ultimately, a good marriage happens however you get there," she said. They all take work, compatibility (they both love football, travel, reading and trivia) and respect for each other's passions.

"Plus, I give her space," Raj said, "and she gives me space."

But their bond began with one additional element that could explain its magic. "The family net is cast so wide," Nirmala said. "You are entering marriage with as much as 80 years of [familial] experience behind you. The strength of arranged marriage is that you are looking through the eyes of people who have lived there."

He grew up in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh and, although he was a Muslim, he attended Catholic schools for 12 years. His father died when he was in 10th grade and his mother provided her only son with greater latitude to pursue a higher education.

"My father was very traditional," he said. "He would have married me off by 28 or 29." A cousin living in Moorhead, Minn., wooed him to Minnesota State University in 1982. After earning bachelor's degrees in management and business administration, plus an MBA, he moved to the Twin Cities in 1991 to work for Deluxe.

His lack of dates wasn't culturally driven. He was broke. "I never had more than $30 in my wallet after paying my bills," he said with a laugh. "It takes a lot of money to date."

In the late 1990s, Deluxe sent him to India, and he'd visit his mother in Bangladesh, "who would try to introduce me to prospective brides." But he had cold feet. Finally he asked one of his brothers-in-law a fascinating question:

"Why did you marry my sister?"

Kaiser smiles at the memory. "I saw the value in that. The person who brings the couple together knows their compatibility over the long run. The physical thing wears off fast. I can't see the forest. I only know the trees."

So, the matchmaking began through family friends. The first prospect was a university professor. He liked her. She was "simple, educated." His mother wanted him to keep looking. No. 2 was a schoolteacher. "It just didn't feel right, I guess," he said.

"I started wondering: Is this a meat market? It doesn't make sense!" He backed off. Later that year, his mother's college friend suggested a young woman she knew. She was born in Manchester, England, and was raised in five countries as her father traveled with the airlines. She was self-assured, had a master's degree in nutrition. And, apparently, she was very choosy, having already rejected the portfolios of dozens of men.

The two met on the Bengali New Year, April 14, 1998, both holding a plate of food and grasping awkwardly for something to say. Soon after their 30-minute date, he returned to India to work. But they talked regularly on the phone before seeing each other again face-to-face, on their wedding day. Shelly woke up terrified on her first morning of marriage. Yet, she joined Kaiser in India for six months, where "I slowly got to know him. I found him very gentle. He had humor. He's a gentleman."

They've faced rough patches as any marriage does. Shelly said her husband is much the same man she married, but having children has loosened him up a little.

"A lot," she agreed.

So, what explains their success so far? Is it their shared socioeconomic status? Their intellectual compatibility? Their common dreams?

Yes. All of that. But Shelly isn't making a list.

"Maybe some things," she said, "are still a mystery to me."

Gail Rosenblum • 612-673-7350