About the Author
James Perry was born and raised in the Khasi Hills of Northeast India. Though Canadian by heritage, his life has been deeply shaped by the rhythms, values, and stories of the land and its people. His writing reflects a lifelong engagement with culture, belonging, and the quiet complexities of living between worlds—where reflection matters more than performance, and presence more than publicity.
He is currently working on a non-academic book titled Three Sons in a Matrilineal Society, which explores the emotional and social nuances of raising sons in a culture that privileges the girl child. The book delves into the psychological weight of tradition, the silent expectations of daily life, and the contrast with mainland India’s male-preference mindset—revealing how both systems profoundly shape identity, family, and feeling.
Woven through the narrative are personal stories from his own family’s journey—moving to the Khasi Hills, adapting across cultures, and the lasting impact those early experiences have had on their lives.
Why I choose to remain private about my family life and what it really means to belong to a culture rather than just talk about it.
On Intermarriage, Culture, and the Choice to Remain Private
From time to time, people ask me why I don’t share videos or blogs about my family life or what it’s like to be married into this culture. The simple answer is: for me, it’s not a spectacle—it’s life. I was born here, I grew up here, and this culture is not something I married into or discovered later. It shaped me. So, there’s no daily novelty, no “cultural difference” that demands commentary or content creation. It’s just home.
I understand that some foreigners who marry into the culture find meaning—or opportunity—in publicly documenting their experiences. That is their choice. But personally, I believe there are long-term risks to commodifying intimate aspects of one’s life and relationships, especially in the delicate space of cross-cultural unions.
What troubles me more is the way cultural representation is often handled. There are individuals who speak about the culture but don’t actually live it. They highlight what’s appealing or marketable, but miss—or ignore—its core values and deeper responsibilities. One example I’ve seen is foreigners taking a Khasi husband’s surname—perhaps without realizing that in a matrilineal society like the Khasis, identity passes through the mother, not the father. Children belong to the mother’s clan, or a new one that can be formed. For a woman to adopt her husband’s clan name is, culturally, a serious misstep—not just a name change, but a distortion of lineage and tradition.
Even more concerning is that this isn’t limited to outsiders. Increasingly, some local Khasi families are doing the same—wives taking their husband’s clan name, or children being identified by the father’s clan. While often explained as modern adaptation, these shifts quietly erode the foundations of matrilineal identity. Culture isn’t just about what we say or celebrate; it’s how we live, and the lineages we honour through practice, not preference.
It mirrors a broader trend—even among some Khasis today—to selectively adopt cultural practices for convenience or personal gain, rather than to genuinely live by their spirit. Culture, in this sense, becomes something to perform, not preserve.
I believe there is space for respectful conversation and learning across cultures. But for me, that conversation doesn’t have to be a public performance. I choose to keep certain things private not because I have nothing to say, but because some things—like family, like belonging—are not content. They are lived.