Editor’s note: This essay is aof being stabbed “A Doctor’s DNA: How Education, Culture and Unbridled Ambition Determine Performance” (Post Hill Press, 2026)
Both of my grandmothers, who lived in two separate small villages in India, miles apart, had each secretly come to believe in Jesus. At that time it was dangerous to be a Christian in that environment. If you became a believer, it would have brought shame to your family.
Neither grandmother hid her faith from her children, but they did from everyone else. While most of their descendants returned to practicing Hinduism after marriage, my father and mother, independently and alone of all their many brothers and sisters, had each developed a strong Christian faith.
They just didn’t know this about each other.
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My parents came from different worlds. My father arrived in America in 1975 with seven dollars in his pocket. He had run away from home as a teenager, slept on train station benches and sent himself to school against his own father’s wishes. My mother broke barriers herself and graduated from medical school in India in the 1970s, when few women were educated. Both had sacrificed everything for a greater life.
The parents of Dr. Smita R. Ramanadham on their wedding day. (Dr. Smita R. Ramanadham)
When my father returned to India in 1978 to look for a bride, he met my mother through her younger brother at a bus station. She had a medical degree, had her own ideas and spoke her mind. But on this occasion, her brothers and uncles made things clear: she was not allowed to speak. She is not allowed to make eye contact. And there would be no question of her faith. Anything she said could disgrace the family name.
Four days later, my parents were married at 4:50 am in a Hindu ceremony officiated by a Hindu priest. Neither had said a word about their secret faith.
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On their honeymoon, while my father was in the shower, my mother sat in the hotel room full of doubt. ‘I don’t even know this person,’ she thought. “What have I done?” She took out her Bible and leafed through it, looking for comfort.
My father came back into the room. She stood up and quickly tried to hide the Bible behind her back.
“What are you hiding?” he asked.
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“Nothing,” she said.
“We can’t hide things from each other,” my father told her.
She reluctantly showed him what she had in her hands.
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“Praise God!” he exclaimed.
The chances of this happening in an arranged marriage in India were not that great at the time. Two secret Christians, from two separate villages, raised by two grandmothers who had come to faith independently of each other, found each other through a chance meeting at a bus station. It was unheard of. A miracle.
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God had brought them together.
Dr. Smita R. Ramanadham grew up the child of a wonderful marriage. (Dr. Smita R. Ramanadham)
Even though this isn’t my own story, it’s still one of my favorites to tell. My parents had led two completely separate lives. They were strangers in every sense of the word. And yet they were made for each other.
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Those of Christian faith, like me, believe that God has a plan for each of us, which may or may not align with the plans we make for ourselves. We can try, but we can’t always predict or plan every aspect of our lives. Sometimes the detour isn’t a failure. It’s protection. It’s a diversion.
I believe we are all led somewhere, even if we cannot see the path.
