Interracial Romance and the Indian Mindset

I recently watched a thoughtful discussion by Zarna Garg on interracial romance, featuring her own family. Based in the US, their candid conversation offers a refreshing glimpse into how Indian-American families are navigating such topics. It was heartening to see everyone, parents and kids, engage so openly. In many Indian households, these conversations either happen too late or not at all, often wrapped in hesitation or silence. But here was a family talking honestly about dating, identity, and interracial relationships. A big shoutout to them for their openness and clarity. It’s these dialogues that make a real difference.

Watch the video below:

Thoughts

I’ve spent most of my life abroad before choosing to return to India. Yet even while living overseas, I always knew my relationships would be with Indian men. Perhaps it’s because I studied in an Indian school and mostly socialized within the Indian community, even outside the country. I look Indian, dress Indian, and speak with an Indian accent. So it was natural to feel more comfortable with Indian men.

However, in today’s globalized world, with increasing interracial mingling, millennials like me must come to terms with the fact that more non-Indians are likely to become part of our families. Someone recently remarked how the world is blending in such a way that you can no longer easily tell someone’s ethnicity. Even appearances are getting “globalized.” It was an eye-opener. I’ve come to realize this holds especially true in the Indian context. Today’s new-generation kids often no longer look or sound traditionally Indian, especially the kids in Indian metros. Their accents, fashion, and even body language reflect a more global identity.

A few months ago, a relative married a Spanish man, the first white partner in our family. Surprisingly, everyone, including the older generation, was welcoming. No drama. No resistance. That in itself feels like progress. Our extended family no longer fusses over caste or religion in love marriages. Marrying someone from a “lower caste” has become normal (though I personally reject terms like “lower” and “upper” caste, which are inherently divisive). Only a few super-senior relatives seem to hold on to rigid views, but even that seems to be fading.

I wonder if this shift is due to the older generation’s growing access to YouTube and social media. Many now watch global discussions on love, identity, and acceptance. One moment really stood out: a senior aunt watched Kaathal, a Malayalam film about same-sex love, and casually remarked, “Being gay or lesbian is fine. It’s not a disease.” That kind of acceptance would’ve been unthinkable even a decade ago. But it’s happening now, and that matters.

More recently, one of my nieces fell in love with a white guy. It’s a bit more delicate because it hits closer to home. While I’m happy she found someone, I can’t help but feel a bit anxious. Our cultures are worlds apart, and it’s not just the couple that has to adjust, but the families too. At this age, do I or her parents have the patience? I’m unsure. On second thought, it doesn’t concern me or her family, as the relationship is hers to navigate. Still, as Zarna Garg wisely said in her family discussion, any relationship can thrive if the core values align: education, family, career, loyalty, and health. Everything else is secondary and can be worked around.

One comment from Zarna’s husband lingered with me. He mentioned that their eldest daughter has only dated white men, and he took it personally. He had read somewhere that girls whose fathers aren’t ideal husbands are more likely to do this. That struck a chord. My niece also has a pattern of dating white men, and to be honest, her father isn’t exactly the perfect partner either. Could there be a subconscious link? I wouldn’t dare bring it up now, especially since she lives abroad, but maybe someday in person.

There’s so much our generation is still figuring out. As millennials in our 40s, we stand between tradition and transition. We want to be open-minded and inclusive, but also grounded. At times, it worries us to see the younger generation drifting away from tradition. There’s a quiet fear: will our culture someday fade into oblivion? But these are changing times, and change demands a degree of acceptance. We may not always agree, but we must learn to adapt. I also see a growing trend among young parents today: trying too hard to be politically correct, often avoiding difficult conversations just to stay in their children’s good books. This might be a measure to ensure they don’t repeat their parents’ mistakes of being too restrictive. But experience teaches us that hard truths, spoken with love, are just as necessary today as it was yesterday.

Some of the advice I dismissed in my 20s now makes perfect sense. You only begin to understand your parents once you reach their age. That’s how life unfolds. You gain clarity with time. Until then, all we can do is trust, adapt, and hope it all works out in the end.

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Photo by Bhavitya Indora

Comedy Movie Review: Prince and Family

I think it’s safe to say I’m seriously craving a good comedy film. The genre seems to be fading in Indian cinema. I’m not enjoying that shift one bit. Remember the Andaz Apna Apna era? Pure classic. Even Malayalam cinema had its fair share of timeless comedies that still hold up today. That comedy void is exactly what led me to subscribe to Zee5, just to watch the Malayalam film Prince and Family.

To be honest, I’ve become quite disconnected from new movie releases. Life in your 40s tends to be more news-oriented and less in touch with the entertainment world. And to make it worse, the kind of feel-good content I enjoy seems to be rare these days. I was brought up in the era of Yash Chopra and Karan Johar movies. So it’s natural that I miss the soft aesthetics of good ol’ Bollywood romance and the comedy movies of Malayalee actors like Mohanlal and Sreenivasan.

Considering my disconnect, I actually discovered Prince and Family through Instagram Reels. It was the viral dance entry of Chinju Rani that caught my eye and motivated me to subscribe to Zee5.

What’s It About?

Prince and Family tells the story of Prince Chakkalakkal, a well-known fashion designer in his 40s working in Kerala. He carries the weight of his entire family, including his two unemployed brothers and their families, on his shoulders. Despite his success, Prince remains unmarried, struggling to find the right partner.

Enter Chinju Rani. A hyper-energetic woman in her 20s and a popular social media influencer. Their match is arranged through an online matrimonial site.

Chinju Rani lives for the ‘likes.’ Every decision she makes is filtered through the lens of her followers. So much so that on her wedding night, she’s busy editing and posting her wedding video, while her husband waits and eventually falls asleep.

Can two people from such different worlds build a happy marriage? That’s the heart of Prince and Family.

Thoughts

I enjoyed Prince and Family overall. It had a promising comic tone at the start. I only wish they had stuck with that all the way through. While I understand the film’s intention, that is to highlight the dangers of living through social media at the cost of real-life connections, the shift to a more serious tone felt a bit abrupt. Honestly, the world of influencers offers plenty of material for comedy, and the film could have explored that further in a subtle manner without losing its message.

Some of the emotional scenes felt exaggerated. But not to the point of losing interest. The film kept its entertainment quotient intact throughout.

Dileep’s character is particularly interesting. He’s choosy about marriage proposals, with one preference that seems to be clearly dominant over all others even though it’s not explicitly stated: he wants a young, unmarried, attractive woman. Despite being in his 40s, this mindset makes him dismiss proposals from women his own age with a certain disdain. It’s old-school thinking, but it mirrors real-life attitudes in India that still persist. This is why we see 50-year-old Indian male actors romancing 20-year-olds on-screen, while actresses of the same age group play their mothers.

The real star of the movie, though, is Raniya Raanaa. Some might say she’s overacting, but I think she nails the hyper energy of a social media influencer who lives for the camera. Her performance is full of life, and she handles emotional scenes with ease. Siddique and Bindu Panicker are excellent in their supporting roles as well.

All in all, Prince and Family is worth a watch. Just don’t expect too much logic or nuance. It’s streaming now on Zee5.

7 Memorable Quotes from The Love Queen of Malabar

The Love Queen of Malabar is a captivating exploration of the life of Kamala Das, also known as Kamala Surayya, one of India’s most celebrated poets. Written by Merrily Weisbord, the book is thought-provoking, highly controversial, poetic, melancholic, and at times, shocking.

Kamala Das shares her deepest emotions with Merrily, treating her as a confidante in revealing thoughts that range from lyrical to unexpected. While the book may not appeal to everyone, it left a lasting impression on me—an eye-opener that offered a rare glimpse into the intimate world of a literary icon.

I have carefully selected some non-controversial quotes from the book. Not everything Kamala says can be shared publicly due to its sensitive nature. However, the quotes listed here provide insight into Kamala’s thoughtful persona and capture the essence of Merrily’s book.

“A writer moves away from family, old relationships, very far with the speed of a falling star,” she says. “Otherwise the writer is destroyed, and only the member of the family remains: the mother, sister, daughter, wife. The writer at some point must ask, Do I want to be a well-loved member of the family? Or do I want to be a good writer? You can’t be both at the same time. The days when you are with the children and are being a very good mother, you cease to be the writer. You feel repelled by the pen and the paper, which are definitely going to come between you and your loved ones.”

“Because the writer can give all of herself only to that task of writing. She will have to write against her loved one, put him under the microscope, dissect him, analyze his thoughts, his words. After a while he is no longer the man you held in your arms at night. You have cut him into little slivers, everything is burst open, he is seeds and pulp and juice all spread out in little bits on your writer’s table. After that, you can’t go to his arms the same way.”

If I had not learned to write how would I have written away my loneliness or grief? Garnering them within my heart would have grown heavy as a vault, one that only death might open, a release then I would not be able to feel or sense.

“Ask the books that I read why I changed,” she says. “Ask the authors dead and alive who communicated with me and gave me the courage to be myself.”

“Make a woman laugh, then make her cry, that is the secret of a good film. Not make her cry, cry, cry. What message is that for women today?”

Her dislike of organized religion is so much more pronounced than on my last visit that I wonder if any beliefs remain to comfort her. “Yes,” she answers. “A concept of God. A presence in my room. I’m not alone. I visualize a shower of moonlight falling on someone in prayer. It is a soothing exercise. I feel bathed in light, and I know there is a God.”

She tells me that even in Kerala, which prides itself on religious coexistence, she is still being attacked from both sides. The Hindu Sangh Parivar, an association of Hindu nationalist organizations, protests her ownership of the snake shrine on her own ancestral property at Nalapat because she is a Muslim. The Muslims are “disgusted” with her because she speaks against their practices and clergy, refusing to support sectarian politics she finds unpalatable. “They feel they are losing their grip on me.”

An Ode to Lessons Learned in 2024

As the year comes to a close, it’s time to reflect on the lessons learned this year. I have the utmost gratitude for those who showered me with love, kindness, and patience. However, I also felt discomfort knowing that not everyone who greets me with gifts, smiles, and sweet words considers me as someone worth their time.

Small things that irked me this year:

A relative who never supported my writing ventures expected me to support her new Instagram page.
People being frighteningly okay with one kind of death over another based on religion, beliefs, and ideologies.
When people whom I consider dear went to events without informing me.

The lessons I learned from each of these:

You need not feel guilt for treating people like they treat you. You are not a holy saint but a living, breathing, ordinary human being who harbors a myriad of emotions. Having expectations from people you care about is healthy so that boundaries aren’t crossed. Consistent compromises can affect your mental health and even bring down your self-esteem.
People are inherently biased. This fact is uncomfortable and dark but true. The way we look at anything is colored by our upbringing, our own experiences, and our way of life. So, for example, when you see someone advocating for human rights, you need to be wary of their agenda – is it genuine? Do they advocate for the rights of all humans or only a select few?
We have to accept that we are not everyone’s cup of tea. This holds more true for someone like me, an unmarried woman who says the most unorthodox things and is a social hermit by nature. When you live a life that is the most authentic to you, you will not gain many friends, as you are largely unrelatable. This self-realization will help reduce unnecessary expectations from people who genuinely require something else from the people around them, not what you have to offer.

Instead of blaming people, the solution often lies within. It’s impossible to change everyone and everything to your liking. The answer sometimes is to accept the reality and move on. Maybe in this quest, you will find your tribe that understands and accepts the person that you are, and things will feel less forced and more genuine.

For me, it’s often not the acts, like seasonal gift-giving, that show someone’s true nature, but in the little things – remembering you and asking you to tag along to events they know you would enjoy, uninhibited support to passions that mean a lot to you, and not finding you weird when you show your vulnerable side. It’s also the acknowledgment of the fact that you expected something more and them making an effort to meet that expectation the next time around. Touch wood, I have a select few who understand me the way I want to be understood. But being a hypersensitive individual could mean you get disturbed when people you expected to cheer you take a step back and treat you and the things you love with indifference.

But such is life. Every year, you learn new lessons and new aspects of people around you that you never observed before. You communicate your grievances. But if the subpar treatment continues, you accept, adapt, and move on. It’s the only way to live. The disappointment may linger for some time, but then the lessons merge and become a part of you, and eventually, you start embracing the new normal. That is until you learn your next lesson.

P.S.: This would be my last post for the month and year. Holidays beckon. I wish you and your family a happy, joyous new year!

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Photo by Madison Inouye

Cultural Surprises and Shocks in Zard Patton Ka Bunn

I have only completed one episode of Zard Patton Ka Bunn (I have no idea what this means) so far on YouTube, but I already have a feeling I will like this Pakistani drama better than Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum. Sharjeena and Mustafa were cute and the series started off well but I didn’t find the story engrossing enough towards the end.

The first episode of ZPKB is endearing. A girl is praying intensely that she passes her exams, while the Maulawi (religious scholar) requests everyone through the mic in the mosque to pray for her. He says it’s admirable that a girl in the village wants to study more.

This Maulawi is hilarious! When a village officer visits the mosque to announce a population control drive, the Maulawi asks, “What’s the population of Pakistan?” The officer replies, “It’s now 22 crore.” The Maulawi then mumbles to himself in a lighthearted moment, “What’s the use of these 22 crore people if they can’t even sponsor one motor for the mosque well!”

It’s funny how the Maulawi is shown as a comical character who no one in the village takes seriously. It’s surprising because I always thought Maulawis were treated with utmost respect. On the contrary, this series treats the Maulawi exactly like how some Indian movies show swamis and gurus in a funny light. In the first episode, the villagers are shown berating him for overusing the mosque mic. He’s on it every other minute, asking for donations for the motor.

Now, the shocking part was how casually a female character scolded her husband for waking up late, saying, “You’re a Muslim, not a kafir,” as if it were normal, everyday language. The way the word “kafir” (non-believer) was used so casually suggests it’s deeply ingrained in the cultural discourse. To a Hindu, like me, the word hit me like a jolt. In contemporary times, the word kafir can be seen as an insult by non-Muslims, especially when it is used to highlight the superiority of one religion over another. As a tolerant kafir, I’ll let it slide and move on, but it does make me wonder about its impact, especially among impressionable Indian youth who are into Pakistani dramas. My concern is that it could reinforce divisive ideas, encouraging people to see others through a binary lens of “believers” and “kafirs”. That’s a troubling thought in any diverse, multi-faith society. But here’s hoping Pakistani dramas will be more mindful of such polarized language in the future. As the world becomes more interconnected and local entertainment reaches a global audience, paying attention to details like language can help ensure you don’t alienate anyone who appreciates your work.

That said, I have no intention of boycotting the series. I look forward to watching the remaining episodes on YouTube. It’s not every day you come across such feel-good wholesome witty content. I will savor every moment of it.

Korean Drama Spotlight: No Gain No Love

Recently, I watched the Korean drama “No Gain No Love” on Amazon Prime. I was going through a Korean drama slump, so I was unsure if I would be able to complete the drama. However, the cute chemistry between the lead characters kept me going.

What’s It About?

No Gain No Love is precisely what the name implies – if there’s no gain involved, don’t expect any love.

An ambitious woman, Son Hae-yeong, decides to enter into a fake marriage with a younger man, Kim Ji-uk, to claim office benefits. The man has his own share of secrets that he needs to safeguard from Son Hae-yeong.

Thoughts

I adored the chemistry between Shin Min-a and Kim Young-dae. Their pairing appeared fresh and different, accentuated by Shin Min-a’s perfect comedy timing and Kim Young-dae’s boyish charms.

Surprisingly, the series is bold in the sense it navigates different characters commonly unexplored in family-oriented Korean dramas. You have the leads indulging in mature, flirty conversations at the start, a departure from the usual cutesy romantic lines we are subjected to. Then, you have a writer who authors erotic books. Plus, there’s another couple engaged in an unconventional love story. The effort is commendable.

The newness of the characters aside, the story could have been written better. The plot is predictable and drags in the later episodes. However, the superlative performances save the series. It was Shin Min-a’s show through and through.

Another grievance is the considerable effort to portray the lead actress as someone younger than her age. Shin Min-a is 40 years old, whereas the character in the series is around 32-33. The smoothening filter felt overdone. Despite that flaw, the chemistry still worked for me, unlike “The Idea of You”, which had a much older character, played by Anne Hathaway, falling for a flirtatious, BTS-que boy band singer, played by Nicholas Galitzine. As long as the story and the chemistry make sense, the age difference does not matter. In “The Idea of You” the chemistry nor the story was convincing enough, but in “No Gain No Love” it was.

No Gain No Love is streaming on Amazon Prime. The series has 12 episodes, with each episode lasting roughly an hour.