Learning to become an Indian bride, one saree at a time

When my husband first told his mother about me, she had two questions – “Is she Indian?” and “What’s her date and time of birth?”

After my in-laws’ initial surprise that their son had chosen to bring home a Eurasian girl, they consulted a Hindu astrologer, who proclaimed that there was “no better lid for the jar”.

Apparently, we were perfect for each other, astrologically speaking.

I met my in-laws for the first time at Sri Mariamman Temple in Chinatown – the biggest and oldest Hindu temple in Singapore – because they wanted our first meeting to be in an auspicious place.

I had to shop for the occasion, as I did not have any attire appropriate for the temple, which frowns on shorts, skirts above the knee, sleeveless tops or revealing, overly tight clothing.

When I found myself alone with my mother-in-law at a coffee shop later that day – my husband and father-in-law had gone to buy food and drinks – I decided to take the bull by its horns.

“Aunty, you know I’m very open to learning about Indian culture and Hinduism, right?” I told her, wanting to acknowledge her reservations about having a non-Indian daughter-in-law.

Unused to such a direct approach, she merely smiled and nodded.

Soon after our first meeting, I was invited for dinner at my in-laws’ home in Boon Keng.

I arrived with a bouquet for my mother-in-law, and she – to my surprise – presented me with a pair of diamond earrings and my first saree.

When my husband and I decided to get married in 2018, just four months after we began dating, I learnt that Hindu temples are open for weddings only on certain auspicious dates.

We settled on a Sunday morning in late November, leaving us (or rather, my in-laws) six months to plan the wedding.

An Indian bride

Thus began my “Indian bride” education. Almost every weekend, we would go to the temple before having lunch – I tried to learn to eat with my hands – and visit jewellery and saree shops.

In the evenings, we would watch videos of Indian weddings on YouTube, my sister-in-law pausing the videos often to explain the rituals – and their significance – to me, so I would know what to expect on the big day.

The first time I wore a saree, I was terrified it might unravel, leaving me standing in the middle of a holy place in my underwear.

As my mother-in-law dressed me, wrapping the length of fabric around my body and pulling it tight, I vowed not to use the bathroom until we returned home.

At the temple, I could not walk up a flight of stairs without tripping over the hem of my saree. I spent the evening trying to stand still.

Soon, our wedding day arrived.

One of the first Indian weddings I attended was my own, a traditional Hindu ceremony at Sri Muneeswaran Temple in Queenstown.

My husband and I left most of the wedding preparations to his parents; I was unfamiliar with the elements involved, and he was unable to rein in his parents’ excitement.

Besides choosing the two Kanchipuram silk sarees I would wear for the ceremony, I, ever the journalist, wrote the English text for our invitation cards.

My main job was to show up and listen to the Iyer (Hindu priest) who would lead me through the rituals, which are performed in front of a ceremonial fire.

My in-laws pulled off a three-day wedding bash with about 500 guests, a “small” wedding by their standards. (My sister-in-law had 1,000 guests.) We even had an ice cream cart and a prata man, a hit with our guests.

My mother, stepfather, brother and brother-in-law flew in from Sydney, where they live, and took part in the ceremony.

Traditionally, the best man is the bride’s brother, and I will always cherish the memory of my brother gamely taking on this role, participating in the rites and taking them seriously.

People likely saw a big, happy family that day.

But before my husband and I decided to tie the knot – quite literally, as the groom knots a sacred thread, called the thali, around the bride’s neck – we had plenty of hard conversations.

These conversations, some ending in laughter and others in tears, forced us to be honest – with ourselves and with each other – about the compromises we were willing to make as an inter-ethnic couple still learning about each other’s history.

How did I feel about getting married in a Hindu temple? What would that ceremony look like, anyway?

Would we also throw a separate “Western” dinner party? (We did, complete with a dance floor, sugee cake – a must for the Eurasians – and speeches by our family and friends.)

What would married life look like? Did I mind building a Hindu altar in our matrimonial home?

Would I accompany my husband to the temple? Observe major Hindu festivals such as Pongal, Thaipusam, Tamil New Year and Deepavali?

Would he celebrate Christmas? What about Easter?

Should I stop eating beef?

Most importantly: how would we raise our children?

Changing face of Singapore

My husband and I are part of a growing demographic in Singapore. In 2023, 18.1 per cent of all marriages here were inter-ethnic unions, up from 17.8 per cent in 2013 and 11.5 per cent in 2003. The data is found in the Statistics on Marriages and Divorces 2023 that was published by the Department of Statistics on July 15, 2024.

It is clear that with inter-ethnic marriages on the rise, more couples will have to navigate not just a new family, but a new culture and religion too.

When my maternal grandparents married in 1953 at the Tamil Methodist Church in Short Street, my Chinese grandmother was promptly disowned by her family for marrying an Indian man.

I often think of this when I stop to admire a black-and-white photograph of my grandparents hanging in the dining room. I like that it reminds me of my husband and me, a kind of full circle moment: two inter-ethnic marriages, 65 years apart. One bride lost her family; the other was embraced by a new one.

I know my grandmother faced many of the same difficulties I did after marrying into an Indian family.

Like me, she did not understand Tamil and was sometimes unwittingly left out of conversations among her in-laws.

For me, this has changed over the years as I got to know the family, and they got to know me. (And my husband’s reminders of “in English, please”!)

As our sixth wedding anniversary approaches and I reflect on our family life, I have come to realise a few things.

My husband and I have arrived at a happy (most of the time) medium. As Maroon 5 says: “It’s not always rainbows and butterflies, it’s compromise that moves us along.”

My marriage has helped me embrace my Indian heritage (my paternal grandparents were of mixed European and Asian lineage), and I have come to enjoy being a part of my husband’s cultural and religious traditions.

I no longer feel like an “outsider” at the temple and have come to look forward to our visits, especially in the evenings, when the stone floor feels cool under my bare feet.

I am now more comfortable in a saree and have learnt to explain the significance of certain Hindu rituals to my family and friends, who have learnt alongside me.

I have developed an ear for the Tamil language and started to learn some Tamil with my twin boys.

We are looking forward to Deepavali, which involves early-morning oil baths, special prayers at home and receiving the blessings of elder family members.

As usual, we will be in matching family outfits specially tailored for Deepavali from fabric bought in India.