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🌺 “From Parathas to Payasam: My In-Laws and the Art of Blending Cultures"

When I first told my North Indian family that I was marrying a boy from Kerala, there was a moment of pure silence—followed by a flood of questions:

"Will you have to wear a mundu too?"

"Can you even eat that much coconut?"

"Do they eat paneer down there?"

Despite the cultural storm brewing in everyone's minds, love, as always, was a stubborn little monsoon cloud, pouring joy across state lines.

My first trip to Kerala as a new bride was like stepping into another world. The lush green everywhere, the smell of banana chips frying, the musical sound of Malayalam—none of which I understood. My husband warned me: “They’re simple people, but very sharp observers. Just be yourself.”

That advice aged like fine toddy.

**Enter the in-laws.**

His **amma**, in a crisp white kasavu saree, greeted me with a shy smile and a garland of jasmine. His **achan**, a retired school principal, peered at me through his glasses like I was a syllabus he hadn’t seen before.

The language barrier was real. I spoke Hindi, English, and some polite smiles. They spoke Malayalam and a bit of broken English, heavily accented and charming.

But food—**food became our translator.**

On the third day, Amma caught me struggling with the fish curry and rice. I tried eating it with my hands (left hand still suspiciously idle). She giggled, then sat beside me, and patiently showed me how to scoop with grace. By the end of the week, I could even handle sambhar without it leaking down my wrist.

Then came my turn.

Back in North India, **parathas** were our love language. I decided to cook them for the family. The kitchen became my battleground—Amma looked skeptical as I kneaded the dough, rolled, flipped, and added a generous dollop of ghee. When I served them with pickle and curd, my achan took a bite and raised an eyebrow. “Very good. But spicy... like your Hindi films,” he chuckled.

That was the beginning of our beautiful culture-mix.

Amma now watches North Indian TV serials and keeps asking me what “Kya baat hai!” means. Achan calls me “Mol” (daughter) and tries to speak in Hindi—once accidentally telling a guest, “Aap chaawal ho” (you are rice). We laughed for ten minutes straight.

Festivals became fusion fests. During Onam, I wore a saree in Kerala style and helped with the pookalam, while Amma let me sneak in a tiny diya like in Diwali. On Holi, we sent them colors and sweets—they sent us a coconut and a prayer.

Over time, I realized that in-laws aren't about geography. They are about warmth, understanding, and the quiet acceptance that grows between people who choose to make space for each other.

Today, when I video call Amma, she holds up new recipes for me to try. “Next time, we make paratha with coconut. Fusion!” she says proudly.

And somewhere in between those parathas and payasams, we found family—not by blood, but by heart.