Getting Indian Parents Warmed To American Love

Prashant and Cristina Chopalli.

Indian parents don’t expect their sons to fall in love with American girls.

Eight months ago, O’Hare Airport; Prashant checked two enormous suitcases at the counter. Our embrace was too short. I watched him walk toward the international gate—en route to the unknown, the absolute, and the inevitable: go back home to India and tell your parents that you couldn’t marry an Archana, a Priya, or a Sruthi because you were in love with a Cristina. 

We aren’t the first Indian-American couple to stand in a terminal, crying; wondering how our relationship can absorb a heartbroken family.  In the U.S., American guys with Indian girls and Indian guys with American girls stroll shopping malls hand in hand and push raven-haired, fair-skinned babies along the beaches in chunky, plastic strollers. Sometimes parents bring up the rear: a father, newspaper tucked under his arm; a mother, white Reeboks shuffling below the fall of her sari.

How do these relationships begin? How do people from different cultures convince their families that being together isn’t just a good thing, but the right thing? Or, if unable to gain family acceptance—what keeps these relationships strong? 

Over the phone in Fremont, California, Kjirsten Koka recalls how she met her husband Vikram when working in Silicon Valley as a software engineer. “There were lots Indians in my company. Vikram was very friendly. I was immediately comfortable with him. We both love to read science-fiction books: Star Wars and Star Trek. We have this nerd affinity,” she laughs. “We started spending more time together and fell in love.”

The desire to be an artist brought Manjiri Acharekar from Bombay to San Francisco to Chicago to pursue graphic design. She lives in Oak Park, Illinois with her husband Jason Smothers.

“I first saw Jason in a club,” she giggles. He sits diagonally from her on a wicker rocker that resembles a giant spoon. “My friend thought he was looking at her.”  “She was disappointed when I came over and started talking to Manjiri,” Jason says with a smile. He adds, “I always liked girls with dark hair and eyes.” Manjiri puts her hands on her hips. “And I’ve always been fascinated with Asian culture,” he adds playfully. His wife’s pretend frown transforms into a grin.

For both couples, falling in love and making the decision to be together was easy, but when it came time to inform their families about their relationships, challenges ensued.

Manjiri’s sister broke the news to their parents about the relationship with Jason. Her parents came to Chicago shortly after to visit Manjiri. “My mom immediately liked Jason. But my dad was skeptical. He wanted to know if Jason could provide me a good life. It took some time to convince him,” she says with a smile.  Jason’s parents were more open to the idea. “They were a little surprised, but warmed up to her quickly,” he says, about them meeting Manjiri.

In Kjirsten’s case, Vikram asked a family friend to inform his parents of their intention to marry. “Vikram’s mom was upset. Her brother had married a German and they’d divorced. She was worried it wouldn’t work between us,” Kjirsten says. 

Her voice softens, “She had all these dreams for Vikram. That he would marry a wonderful girl and live with them in India.” She pauses. “His father worried what people would say about the family. And asked Vikram how he could do this to him.”

Her last sentence reverberates through my head.  Three days after arriving at his parents home, my fiancé Prashant was asked by his mother what his plans were, concerning marriage. He told her about me. First his mother, and then his father asked: “How could you do this to us?” There were tears and words of hurt. 

Back in Chicago, I try not to take the news personally. But it hurts. Probably more than it should because I don’t want mere approval—I want parents. 

Observing parents who love their children unconditionally is what initially interested me in Indian culture. When family assignments were being handed out, somehow, I ended up in the line for dysfunctional units. So my dream to have normal, loving parents depends on my future in-laws’ willingness to involve me in the family traditions and rituals that define their lives.

Months after Prashant told his parents about me, the dialogue with his mother hasn’t changed; she tells him what he’s doing is wrong, and he tells her that it will be all right. She tells him that they cannot adjust, and he says they can. He tells her we want to come to India and get married; she says it’s not possible.

Through Vikram’s and Kjirsten’s persistence, Vikram’s parents eventually gave their consent.  This year they celebrate fifteen years of marriage. They have two children, twelve-year-old Savithri, named after Vikram’s mother, and Rohan, age ten. “We were a catalyst for change in Vikram’s family. Three of his cousins are married to Americans.” 

In 2009, Manjiri and Jason were married on Madh Island, Mumbai. Their ceremony took place under a shelter made of oyster shells. Manjiri’s sister and brother-in-law stood in for Jason’s parents and performed the rituals.

The possibility that one day I will have a loving relationship with Prashant’s parents keeps my spirit positive. I have hope they would come to know the person I am; understand that my desire to be their daughter is genuine; not a fad, or a fascination, but a lifestyle choice; one that completes me.

Some Indian parents worry their children will lose their heritage if they marry Americans.  But Prashant’s parents shouldn’t fear because my real family is composed of Indian friends I’ve made over the past decade who’ve invited me into their culture. I choose to be with Prashant so that my children will have the same lifelong connectivity to family, education, and God, modeled by his parents.