It dawned on me one evening while my friend rummaged through my fridge in search of leftovers. “Wow, you guys have a lot of cheese!” she exclaimed. Initially, I thought she was referring to a smell, but as I turned around, I realized she was commenting on the sheer amount of cheese filling our refrigerator drawer.
This wasn’t just my fridge; it was “our” fridge, shared with my husband, who has a deep love for cheese. Cheddar, mozzarella, provolone, asiago, and parmigiano-reggiano—all are welcome in our home. As you’ve probably guessed, my husband is of Italian descent, while I proudly identify as East Indian. With his brown hair and olive complexion contrasting with my cappuccino skin, our marriage has beautifully blended our distinct backgrounds.
When we first moved in together nine years ago, I was unaware of how our cultural differences would organically emerge within our shared life. It commenced modestly, starting with our fridge and later manifested itself when we began planning our garden that summer. My husband, passionate about gardening, had his heart set on growing zucchini, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, parsley, and basil. However, he neglected to mention that he had planted not one but at least seven types of tomato plants. As a result, by August, our garden resembled a tomato jungle, prompting another friend to comment, “You guys really have a tomato surplus!” To which I cheekily replied, “I married an Italian – what did you expect?”
This became a go-to explanation for many quirky aspects of our shared life. Why did we have a stockpile of homemade wine, an abundance of tomato sauce, and a pantry filled with pasta? Because I married an Italian—what else could you expect? Surprisingly, I found immense joy in these Italian influences. My appreciation for red wine flourished since marrying him, and having homemade wine readily available was both cost-effective and more authentic.
The overabundance of tomatoes turned out to be a boon—not just for pasta sauce, but also for my newfound interest in Indian cuisine. Ironically, my husband’s pride in his culinary heritage encouraged me to reconnect with and embrace my own Indian culture, which I had previously shunned in an effort to fit in with my peers.
In elementary school, being Indian wasn’t seen as anything special. It meant that the aroma of spices clung to my clothes and backpack, often eliciting unwanted attention. I was embarrassed that my smell preceded me, leading me to keep my coat and bag as far away as possible from the kitchen while my mother prepared our traditional meals. Although I adored Indian food, I dreaded smelling like it.
Fast forward to today, and I actively seek out the very spices I once avoided. I’ve converted a cabinet in our outdated kitchen into an “Indian” spice storage area. The fragrances of cloves, cardamom, cumin, coriander, turmeric, and fenugreek waft through our home, especially since one cabinet door is slightly broken, leaving it perpetually ajar.
With my expanding spice collection has come an increase in Indian cooking. Rice has taken a more prominent place in our meals, supplanting pasta. One day, as we savored a meal of rice and curry, my husband remarked, “We eat a lot more curry now.” He genuinely enjoyed it.
In fact, everyone seemed to appreciate the delightful aromas of Indian cuisine wafting through our home. Colorful chicken curry simmering on the stove, fresh chapathis sizzling in the pan, and creamy raita to balance the flavors all appeared exotic to our non-Indian guests. My Italian in-laws would often ask, “Could you make chicken curry when we visit?” (Though, if my mother was present, they preferred her version—she is a far superior cook, and I’ve made peace with that.)
My home, clothes, and hair now carry the scents of my heritage, and I no longer feel embarrassed. While some may argue that marrying outside of one’s culture leads to a loss of identity, my experience has been the opposite. My marriage to an Italian has opened my eyes to my Indian roots in a more appreciative light. I now embrace and celebrate my heritage, especially through cuisine. Next summer, I plan to plant chilies, dhania (coriander), and shepu (dill) so that both our Italian and Indian backgrounds can flourish in our garden.
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In summary, marrying into a different culture can lead to a deeper appreciation of one’s origins, and for me, it has meant embracing my Indian roots through culinary exploration and shared experiences with my Italian husband.
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