I love my husband but am less enamored with having his parents as a fixture in our home—and a relationship with his mother that’s the stuff of Bollywood dramas. Newly married, my husband, Deepak, and I were still unpacking all the boxes in our tiny one-bedroom New York City apartment when we heard a knock on the door. His parents, Kashvi and Param, had flown in from their home in Mumbai, India, for what I thought was a short visit to meet me. Deepak and I had skipped the hoopla of a big, traditional wedding in favor of exchanging our vows at city hall. We wanted to keep things simple. This wasn’t a concept his parents easily embraced. The six giant suitcases that Deepak lugged inside should have prepared me for what followed: His parents moved into our living room and stayed for six months. Each morning as I smelled their ayurvedic herbs brewing in our teapot, I swallowed a scream. I wanted to shout: “I need my privacy back! You’re camped out on the sofa of newlyweds—don’t you see anything wrong with that?” Deepak didn’t share my discomfort. After all, his parents had traveled 8,000 miles to help a working couple take care of the cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping—for free. It was a cultural tradition. When expired visas forced them from our couch, my father-in-law pulled me aside, surely for an overdue apology. Nope, he showed me where he was storing one of his enormous suitcases for the next visit. So began a series of extended stays over the past ten years. Now, with a 6-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter, I have to admit that the in-laws have been a big help on many occasions. My son loves learning about Indian culture and prizes the laminated family tree his grandfather gave him. Me, I still have bouts of culture clash. Is my teaching career preventing me from caring for my husband the way he expects? Sometimes I look at Deepak’s mom, resplendent in her flowing dress—salwar kameez—preparing my husband’s favorite chicken curry and chickpea recipe, and I feel the jealousy run through me. I feel like a bad wife. The conflict between mother-in-law (saas) and daughter-in-law (bahu) is the main fault line in Indian family life and the most popular plotline in Bollywood dramas, so I should have seen this coming. In these films, the daughter-in-law must defer to “Mummyji,” her husband’s mother. Okay, so Deepak’s mother did defer to me once or twice, with questions like how short Deepak’s pant cuffs should be—while she’s on her hands and knees with pins in her mouth. When a friend asked, “Didn’t you consider the cultural differences before you got married?” I barked, “Of course,” wondering why she would think love was rational. “The different culture was the whole attraction!” Indeed, the close-knit traditional Indian family was what I thought I wanted, since I was the child of divorce. Hoping to depart from the tragic finale of Bollywood dramas, I finally emailed Kashvi and Param. They are welcome to visit, but I need to know when and for how long. Also, there would be no more 11:00 p.m. dinners, since they kept us all awake. Their afternoon tea would not include sugary treats for the kids. Yes, my mother-in-law wrote in a warm note, they would respect my wishes. Who knows, this drama may have a happy ending yet.