A few weeks ago, I reflected on the seven invaluable tips I wish I could have given myself at seven. I hope you enjoyed them and had a chance to reflect on what you might have told your seven-year-old self that might not be too late to learn even now.

Today, I pass on an eighth bonus tip for myself and you – whether at eight, 18, or 80! This tip emerged from a very entertaining conversation with a friend and my sister over a Ramadan iftar (a meal after breaking fast). Although it seems very culturally specific, the tip is universally true when we think about our loved ones or even those we fleetingly encounter, how they’re set in their ways, and how we would do better to accept that than try to change what can never be changed!

Tip 8: “You can take the people out of India, but you’ll never take the India out of them!” (Try replacing India with New Jersey, Alabama, or Uganda – you’ll find the same maxim to be true!)

Our bellies were bulging with spaghetti smothered with deliciously seasoned Halal beef meatballs, perfectly spiced mushrooms, and a delectable garlic confit after a long fast. Just when we thought we couldn’t move, we doubled over with laughter – twice!

“So, I went to this really beautiful apartment in this posh building in Southwest DC,” my friend began. “And this was supposed to be an iftar party for a bunch of recent alums from my university, hosted by two guys from our class. I dragged my brother with me because I said he shouldn’t have iftar at home alone. The guys’ mom – the aunty – approached me immediately. She was so friendly! She said I wasn’t eating and kept asking if I needed something or needed help getting food – they had a very large buffet spread out in their apartment. Aunty kept coming up to me, finding excuses to chat. I just thought she was sweet. Then, she said, ‘Beta (Child), can I talk to you in private?’ I didn’t suspect anything… Then it got so awkward.

“She cornered me and told me, ‘You know, my older son has completed his Master’s and has a great job, and my younger son is finishing soon. He will have a great job too! And I’m looking for a girl for them. And you look nice and speak so nicely. Can I have your number? Maybe you can come over and meet them sometime. You would be a nice girl for them to marry – I really like you!’

“My brother had the biggest grin on his face as I tried to extricate myself from this very unwieldy conversation. I mean, I was polite, but I didn’t know what to say… I just kept saying thank you! What else could I say?! It was as if she was giving me a choice to pick one of her sons! I didn’t even finish iftar – I just left!”

My friend’s brother burst out laughing: “I knew it all along! I can’t believe she couldn’t figure it out! I was really glad I went then, and loved the food and free entertainment!”

My friend, still visibly embarrassed, said, “You can take them out of the des but can never take the desi out of them!” (Des means place or country in several South Asian languages.)

My sister hissed in sympathy. “Yikes! Something like that happened to me too! Remember that time I’d gone to Meesha’s Gyros in Berkeley when I called you, M?”

I had little recollection as I was still painfully gasping after my first bout of laughter at my poor friend’s expense.

“I’d picked up lunch at Meesha’s that day and was eating in the courtyard. The Meesha guy suddenly came over and handed me the phone,” my sister continued. “He said, ‘Someone wants to speak with you.’ I was so confused! But when I politely took the phone and said hello, the voice on the other end turned out to be his sister!

“‘My brother says such wonderful things about you. What is your name? Where are you from?’ And I didn’t want to be rude! So, I sat there answering this complete stranger’s questions, until she finally says, after a bunch of Ma’shallahs [God willed it], ‘You know, I have a son, and he is very nice. I’m looking for a wife for him. So, can I get your number, and will you meet him? He’s very nice – a very good boy!’

“And when I explained that I wasn’t ready to meet him, she seemed so sad! She tried to convince me some more, and I don’t know how, but I finally got off the phone, ran inside, handed the Meesha guy his phone, and finished eating my food as fast as I could so I could get out of there! I was so shocked. And I called you right after!”

“What did I say?” I asked my sister, in stitches again at her retelling of this episode that occurred some 15 years ago.

“Nothing – I think you just laughed!” she groaned.

My husband, thoroughly enjoying the recounting of these tales, later reminded me about how, in big and small ways, my own family remains persistently South Asian. “Remember when you were in elementary school and studying for the spelling bee? They pronounced tortoise as tor-toys  instead of tor-tus, and you didn’t realize that when you were asked to spell tortoise, the examiner was actually saying tor-toys!”

And I later recalled that, for years after we had moved to the United States, my parents still insistently spelled “favorite” as “favourite” and “color” as “colour” – chiding me that I was not being taught spelling correctly in an American elementary school!

Living in the United States for over three decades now, my parents have changed in several significant ways. For instance, in part because of the force of my own and my sister’s personalities, and in part because of their own open-mindedness, my parents have raised two fiercely independent, strong-willed daughters. My mom once jokingly complained to my dad about me, “You gave her too much freedom!”

My response, which I didn’t voice at the time, was that it was never his (or hers) to give. Freedom is taken, not given on some ornate silver platter.

Despite attempting very poorly to set me up in stealth nearly two decades ago in an arranged marriage (a story for another time), my dad told a prospective suitor, “My daughter has her own opinions and makes her own decisions. I’ll give you her email address. You try your luck. If she decides to communicate with you and carry this forward, that’s her choice. If she doesn’t, there’s nothing I can do about it. Don’t come back to me. All I can do is give her contact information to you. The rest is up to her.”

My dad may not know even today (unless he reads the blog) that I became aware of this conversation. But looking back over the years, I’ve always thought that was quite enlightened of him and, in part, his recognition of our individualism and cross-cultural heritage that were distinct characteristics of our environment.

The Meesha guy and the hostess aunty are, like my parents and me, products of their environments. I don’t know how long they had been here, and how comfortable, willing, and open they were to accepting new cultures, new ways of thinking, and new norms. Regardless of the accent with which they may speak, how they may drive, how they might dress, or how they may eat, people are just people. Some may never change because they’ve grown up in a particular environment, as we have happily in ours.

When I travel to the Middle East or South Asia, I sometimes must remind people that, while I may talk and look like them, I don’t necessarily share their thinking or priorities. And that’s okay as long as we agree to accept each other, celebrate our common humanity, and disagree without being disagreeable. Sometimes, especially with those who are close or who we love, we want to change them, or want them to change – arguably for what we consider to be better. But better is in the eye of the beholder. And while we can’t control or change them, our actions and reactions – our acceptance and accommodation of them – are totally within our control.

As we grow older and more set in our ways, so do the people around us, becoming even more entrenched in their thinking and perceptions of how the world should be. So, if you struggle with accepting rather than changing others, you’re not alone. I’m right there with you!

Do you have a humorous vignette that taught you about the inability of someone you encountered to change? How did you deal with the situation in the moment, and what did you learn or reflect upon since then? Share with me in the comments and on social media!

Adieu – until we’re together next week!