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I humored my parents and played the role of demure prospective bride when they asked me to meet suitable matches.
    I RECALL ON ONE PARTICULAR OCCASION, my parents asked me to dress in my best traditional clothes as they accompanied me to meet another prospective groom. I wore a deep pink raw-silk top with delicate embroidery around its broad neckline. I had a fine, pastel pink lace shawl with matching embroidered trim loosely draped over my head and shoulders in order to project an air of modesty. This outfit was completed with silk pants in pastel blue, and a pair of pale pink stiletto pumps.
    I remember clearly that during the entire car ride, I was mentally constructing a checklist of definite conversational no-nos in this situation. I found myself thinking that I mustn’t let slip that I was much more comfortable in jeans and sneakers or hiking boots than in traditional Indian clothes. And another faux pas would be admitting that unlike in my earlier years, I rarely visited the Hindu temple for weekly prayers, except maybe during festivals. I knew that I must also refrain from talking about my hobbies and other interests—my affinity for eclectic music; my love of art, astronomy, and stargazing; and my passion for being out in nature. I decided that I shouldn’t talk about any of my aspirations for the future, of someday biking across Africa, backpacking through Europe, visiting Egypt, being a social activist involved with organizations that build self-sustaining and environmentally friendly global villages in developing countries, or working to improve the prospects for people in some of the poverty-stricken nations in Asia.
    No, I told myself, I must remember not to bring up any of that.
    I recall making a mental note to specifically mention, in the presence of my prospective mother-in-law, my recently acquired skill of rolling a perfect chapatti . This traditional unleavened bread is a staple in most Indian households, and requires great skill to roll evenly so that the dough forms in a perfect circle. I knew that would please the family sufficiently.
    I really thought I had it all worked out. I believed I’d thought through all the possible scenarios this time and that nothing could go wrong. But it turned out that I hadn’t done my homework properly. When we got to the venue, a lovely colonial club nestled in the hillside of Old Peak Road, the waiter came around to take everyone’s orders. I asked for a tuna sandwich, not realizing that the prospective groom and his family were all strict vegetarians. It didn’t even occur to me as each member of the family ordered either a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich, a cheese-and-onion pie, or some other vegetarian option.
    The words “I’ll have a tuna sandwich” had barely left my lips when the prospective groom’s mother shot a look at me that felt as though it were boring through the core of my being. In unison, the rest of the family followed her gaze. As all eyes fell on me, I just sat there, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me.
    I felt so stupid for my mistake! How could I not have noticed—or even considered—that they could be vegetarian? I chastised myself over and over again. After all, it’s not something that’s uncommon in my culture.
    Needless to say, that particular arrangement didn’t go further than the first meeting.
    A T ONE POINT, HOWEVER, ONE OF THE MATCHMAKING EFFORTS did lead to an engagement. After only meeting twice, the young man and I had to make a decision as to whether we wanted to get engaged before we could see each other again.
    We weren’t allowed to spend more time together until we decided how we wanted to move forward. He was tall, handsome, and well spoken. I was attracted to him and could tell that he felt the same way about me. We were interested in getting to know each other better, so much to the delight of our parents, we agreed to make the commitment. This took place in the form of a religious ceremony at