Famous Poet ~

My Indian In-laws – Belinda Subraman

I remember India: palm trees, monkey families, fresh lime juice in the streets, the sensual inundation of sights and smells, and excess in everything. I was exotic and believable there.   I was walking through dirt in my sari,  to temples of the deities following the lead of my Indian in-laws. I was scooping up the fire with my hands, glancing at idols that held no meaning for me, being marked by the ash.   They smiled at the Western woman, acting religiously, knowing it was my way of showing respect. It was an adventure for me but an arm around their culture for them. To me it was living a dream I knew I could wake up from. To them, it was the willingness to be Indian that pleased them. We were holding hands across a cultural cosmos, knowing there were no differences hearts could not soothe. They accepted me as I accepted them, baffled but in love with our wedded mystery.