There are two things you should know about Indian parents: they raise their kids to be “nice,” and they live in mortal fear of the phrase log kya kahenge?—“What will people say?” As an Indian kid, you better be “nice,” or else log kya kahenge? And if you’re a girl, you’ve got to be “your wish is my command” level nice.

What is being nice, Arshi? Good question. I’ll tell you what it isn’t. Scoring low on a math test, pursuing arts instead of sciences (oh, the horror!), or marrying into a different caste—try these, and you’re sure to evoke a wrath that would humble even lord Shiva.

Indian parents have their own customized “nice girl” rule book, with strict do’s, don’ts, and plenty of “you should be thanking us for allowing this.” Take my family for example—I was allowed to drop science in high school, but how dare I fail a test? Parties and sleeveless tops were a strict no-no, but my marriage was completely my choice!

I took this liberty a little too far—jumping not castes, but religions. I picked a Christian. Had it been any other Hindu family, I would’ve been instantly disowned. My parents, to the surprise of my friends, were okay with this “blasphemy.” 

Alright, alright, my dad was okay with this. My mum—she did her best to pretend to be okay.

As the wedding preparations unfolded, my mum got creative with ideas to avoid raised eyebrows. Her friends were sent invites to the culture-neutral wedding reception, which carefully avoided any mention of a church wedding. She even came up with a clever way to add a syllable to my husband’s Christian name to make it sound Hindu! And once the wedding was over, only pictures of me in a traditional red sari made it to her friends. What an insult to my expensive white wedding gown!

A year after the wedding, when my mother and I were visiting a long-lost acquaintance of hers, she instructed me to hide the fact that I was now married from her friends, if it came up. She believed the truth would lead to a series of questions and might reveal my husband’s non-Hindu identity. The “nice girl” in me quietly played along. 

Years later, I look at these episodes with a distant lens, finding them funny and troubling. Funny for how my mum found ways to navigate my “unseemly” wedding. Troubling for our collective lack of courage—my mum never dared question the unsaid rules of our society, and I never dared question her need to please the gatekeepers of these rules. 

In most Indian households, authenticity is never a virtue. Acquiescence is. Silence is. Looking back at the decisions I’ve made—from the clothes I wore to the career I chose—I realize how much of my life I’ve spent wondering whether my parents, their friends, and their friends’ friends would approve. I have spent decades trying to measure up to my engineer first cousin, who never leaves home without her dupatta (nice-girl basics) and cooks like she’s auditioning for MasterChef, making her the indisputable family favourite!

Years have passed. I’ve aged, moved halfway across the world, and gathered enough perspective to see some of these rules for what they are. Today, my “nice girl” rule book sits hidden beneath a pile of free will, reasoning, and courage. 

Until… my mum comes to visit. 

That’s when the liberated woman clocks out, and the obedient daughter takes over. Because no matter how far I’ve come, the “nice girl” in me still whispers: log kya kahenge?