How anniversaries, national holidays, and teenage chaos collide across two continents.
Anniversary circled. PTO denied. Laundry wins.
Any time an Indian learns the date of my wedding anniversary, there’s a pause. Then a smirk.
“Ohhh… poor guy. Lost his independence forever.”
Cue my eye roll. Everyone sympathizes with the groom. And me? I’m just the extra in this rom-com called life, clutching a wilted rose.
The truth is, in our family, anniversaries don’t just mark romance—they come stamped with historical significance. Stick with me—there’s a surprising logic to it all.
From dinner cruises and hot air balloons to a single rose grabbed on the way home with a quick, “Happy Anniversary, I guess”—after a quarter century, I’ll take it. Especially in a family where anniversary dates are picked not just for sentiment, but for their spot on the national calendar.
My parents got married on January 26—India’s Republic Day. Patriotic. Poetic. Comes with a guaranteed parade and a public holiday. My dad likes to joke he’s been “off the hook” for anniversaries ever since; no restaurant reservation will ever top a 21-gun salute — ikkis topi ki salami (इक्कीस तोपों की सलामी).
Not to be outdone, my husband picked August 15—India’s Independence Day—for our wedding. Because nothing says lifelong commitment like freedom from colonial rule.
Brilliant, until we moved to the U.S. and discovered that here, it’s just another workday. India celebrates while I’m on duty—Chief of Domestic Operations, juggling teen diplomacy, snack supply chains, and laundry surges. Frankly, my dear… I could use a day off!
My husband? Head of Transportation and Strategic Pizza Acquisition—a nonstop gig.
My workplace PTO form has boxes for jury duty, voting, and caring for sick kids—but nothing for Marriage Anniversary, a.k.a. Mental Recharge Day. I’ve tried filing it under “National Emergency,” but HR frowns on that. “Mission anniversary: impossible. Abort!”
My brother once complained that we’d hogged all the good wedding dates. I suggested February 29—a leap year wedding. Four times the meaning, one-fourth the anniversary pressure. He wisely chose a February date that avoided both the leap year and Valentine’s Day. Practical. And allergic to surge pricing.
For our 25th anniversary celebrations, we dreamed of returning to the Lake Palace in Udaipur—that floating marble oasis where it all started. We pictured regal arches, the palace lights shimmering on the water, and a breezy boat ride under the moon with our eye-rolling teens in the background—a full-circle moment, maybe even with our parents dressed like extras in a Leela Bhansali film.
Spoiler alert: we ended up in Hawaii. Hawaii—Paradise of the Pacific—rose to the occasion, with its smoking craters, green mountains, endless ocean, and divine sunsets. Somewhere between hiking in Volcanoes National Park and spotting coral under the Pacific, I got to decompress.
Mental recharge — done. Teen eye roll — stopped in its tracks. PTO — denied. Peace — priceless.
Now I’ve started lobbying my teenage sons to plan ahead. If this is going to be a family tradition, let’s do it properly—with built-in PTO.
Top contenders:
July 4 – Fireworks and barbecue included, with a blockbuster tie-in. (Independence Day. Will Smith optional.)
Labor Day – Because marriage is, let’s be honest, a labor of love.
Veterans Day – After surviving the teenage years together, we parents have earned at least one medal.
Two rings, one date, zero PTO.
One day, when the boys are grown and the calendar clears a little, maybe we’ll make it back to that marble palace on the lake. Or maybe we’ll be on another Hawaiian beach, watching our family’s love story quietly sprawl across two continents’ calendars.
If they listen, this might just become a family tradition: one national holiday, one love story at a time. Independence? Redefined. Cue Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum swaggering away from the wreckage—of loneliness, I mean. Love: conquered. PTO: optional.
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