Ten minutes after meeting my future mother-in-law, I was wearing only underwear and socks. Acres of magenta chiffon and piles of gold sequins and faux-emerald jewelry — the regalia for my engagement ceremony — lay on the bed. I sucked in my stomach as she deftly wrapped the fabric around my waist. But in the Kolkata humidity, the sari clung to my skin like Saran Wrap. My consternation must have been apparent, because she rushed to reassure me. “Don’t worry!” she said warmly. “You will look sundor!” That means beautiful in Bengali.

My fiancé, Gourab, had for the most part abandoned me to his mother’s ministrations. But as she pinned and tucked the sari around me, I periodically saw his face bob up behind me in the mirror with an approving smile. For several months before our trip, he had asked me to study a Bengali-English dictionary. He also rehearsed with me the gestures of respect for Bengali elders, leading me to believe that his family was very traditional. So I was quite nervous about our stay in his hometown, worried that I would embarrass everyone with my boisterousness or incorrect pronunciations.

My parents left India for the United States 40 years ago, and we returned only occasionally for brief visits to see my grandparents. This trip to Kolkata was my first exposure to a modern Indian family, albeit one that could trace its roots in the city for generations, and I was meeting them not as a casual visitor but as a bride. Among the American-born Indians I knew, I was perhaps the least likely to fall in love with someone from my parents’ homeland. I grew up in a household that only selectively embraced Indian culture. We adhered to the basic values: respect for elders, education and hard work. But when it came to religious rituals, superstition, three-hour Bollywood bonanzas and strict vegetarianism, my parents — both physicists — opted out. By the time I met Gourab, I was an expert in rolling my eyes at Indian tradition.

Image Anjali Vaidya Credit... Joshua Zuckerman

Gourab embraced his Indian-ness fully. He didn’t just watch Bollywood films, he knew the dance routines and lyrics. All his Tupperware was stained yellow from turmeric. His friends were all Bengali. “Don’t you want some diversity?” I would ask when we returned from yet another party where the conversation quickly switched from English to Bengali. He would smile and say: “Sure! But we’ll get diversity with your friends.” So I approached our relationship cautiously, wary of being sucked into the Indian culture I’d learned to keep at bay.