“It is written.” That’s right. I’m going with a Slumdog Millionaire theme for this entry (which, ironically, I had never seen until my flight home from our India wedding). Curled up in my small airline seat, hungover on elation and exhaustion, I felt immediate sympathy for Jamal Malik as he went through hell and high water to be with Latika. My goodness, did I feel for him. While my love story didn’t have the violence and perilous-ness that Jamal’s did, I’m sure our hearts went through the same emotions.
This post began its slow formation on Christmas Day, when I was chatting with my cousin on Facebook, and he said, “The days are long but the years are short.” It was in reference, of course, to how fast Evelyn was growing, but it got me thinking back through the last several years. How fast they’ve all gone and how unbelievable it is that I’m here, and how, back when I was unmarried, each day seemed like a long, lonely struggle. I thought back through the all nighters with a sick infant, through the joys of watching Evelyn learn a new word or take a step, through the arguments and tears, through the 15-24 hours flights to and from India, through the tearful hello’s and goodbyes, through the “I love you’s” and “I miss you’s,” through the uncertainty, the heartache, the breakdowns, through Zac leaving the U.S., and finally meeting Zac for the first time. The year and a half we spent getting to know each other was a complete whirlwind. He was not an easy person to get to know, this mysterious Indian of mine, but he was so easy to talk to, and he was a great listener. I spent the initial months after meeting him pretending I was much cooler and more sophisticated than I actually was, but when I realized he would much rather watch “Rocky” and eat frozen pizzas with me, I heaved a huge sigh of relief, took my makeup off and threw on my sweatpants. And I never looked back. When he had to leave, amidst promises that he did love me and wanted to marry, I was utterly devastated. He called me from Newark International to say his final goodbye, and I collapsed on the stairs in the back room of Walgreens, where I worked as an assistant manager at the time. I don’t remember crying much, but I started to feel numb as my brain and heart were pulled in two different directions. My mind said, “You’ll never see him again. Once he gets assimilated back to his culture, he will drop you like a bag of dirt.” My heart, foolish thing that it was, said, “Don’t lose hope. You love each other. You will be together.” But how? How, how, how, how? – I kept wondering, and I had no answers. I had no plans. Nothing. I so very clearly remember, after he left the U.S. in August 2010, spending so many nights sleepless and in tears because I thought wishing and praying for a marriage to a man from such a traditional culture was hopeless. That he would turn around and marry a Malayalee woman who would bring money or gold or land or a successful career to the table, when all I could bring was my complete love and devotion (and sarcastic wit). But Zac is anything but traditional, and I am the most loyal person I know, so by God’s grace (and with the help of supportive family members and friends), here we are. I’m actually crying as I’m writing this because that was not a good time in my life at all. It was emotionally draining, and I don’t know how I did it.
Pretty sure many people thought I was crazy too. I could see it in the raised eyebrows and questionable looks when I would explain the situation – I have a sort of boyfriend/fiancé but nothing was or could be official because his culture is different from mine and those things are frowned upon without family approval. Crazy, indeed. I mean, I did EVERYTHING that Western culture tells you not to do when you’re uncertain about your relationship – I pretty much put my life on hold. I stayed in a job I didn’t like all that much to save as much money as I could for a wedding I wasn’t sure would actually ever happen, I devoted time every. single. day. for either writing to him or skyping with him. Good grief, this all sounds so pathetic in writing. Zac, for his part, did the best he could to be reassuring about everything. But time and space can do horrible things to your mind, especially when you’re alone, and that’s when doubt and hopelessness seep in. Zac also had cultural responsibilities weighing on his mind through this. He wasn’t sure how easy marriage to an American woman would be accepted, so he had to choose the right way to approach and the right time to ask. That’s something that I struggled with for a long time because I didn’t fully understand the Indian family dynamic. It was the opposite of what I did – I swept in to my parents’ living room, crying of course, and said essentially, “I love him, I want to marry him, and TOO BAD if you don’t like it.” (Side note – they’ve always liked Zac and heartily approved). I want to be clear though that I didn’t go through all this struggle because I thought Zac would make me happy. I went through it because I wanted my best friend always in my life. When I say we are the same person simply molded by different parts of the world, it’s not an exaggeration. We are both lazy, messy procrastinators. It’s a wonder we are both able to function properly in society, but we also push each other to be better people. We laugh at the same jokes, have the same basic desires (sit at home and do nothing), and we think the same things at the same times, it’s almost otherworldly.
He is and has been my greatest encourager. He has pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I am certain I could accomplish anything the universe throws at me. He knows how much I’ve sacrificed to get this marriage in place. I can see it in his eyes when I catch him quietly watching Evelyn and me reading together. I can hear it in his voice when he insists we hire someone to cook or clean because I have done enough. I am enough. Sometimes, he simply tells me things like, “Life is good with you and Evelyn. I couldn’t be happier.” My husband isn’t a person who doles out the compliments either, so when he says it, he means it.
I stood in front of the Taj Mahal a little less than a month ago, in absolute awe of its pristine beauty. It’s the great testament of love, of course, that Shah Jahan had for his Mumtaz – the intricate designs of the marble and the symmetry and hidden meaning in every curve and arch, and the overall majesty of the place, make it very clear. It certainly pales to any “testament of love” I can give to my husband. This is all I can give, along with lots of hugs and kisses. That, through everything, my love and hope burned strong enough to keep me going, even when all logic suggested otherwise. I would do it all again and choose you a hundred thousand times over, Zac. I would not have changed anything because then we may not have been brought right to where we are now. It was written for us to be together. I have no other explanation for it. I made my choices to pursue marriage with you, but at the time, it didn’t feel like a choice. There was no other acceptable option for me. And I haven’t truly realized that until now. I hope you know how much I love you. And here’s to our fourth year of marriage and all the others that are to come.
An American in Kerala 