I am an Indian wannabe, I admit it. I long to look in the mirror and see dewy caramel skin, jet black hair, and raven eyes. Instead what I see reflected are the freckles passed on from my Irish ancestors, a petite frame and green eyes from my German grandmother, and perhaps more than your average amount of chutzpah from my paternal Russian-Jewish grandparents. I am quite a sight in a sari.

My Indian/French husband on the other hand, has it all; the caramel skin, the jet black hair, the raven eyes. More and more when we walk down the streets of every major city we visit, I see couples like us: little blond babies in the arms of their brown mamas, and little blond mamas toting their little brown babies. Even the restaurant signs reflect these ever increasing signs of globalization—We serve sake with pizza, and tandori with fries.

Personally, it invigorates me to see the world coming together on any scale. However, I would hate to see it be at the expense of the loss of culture. The challenge is to maintain a sense of who we are and where we come from, while embracing the uniqueness and the richness of the world around us.

As a part of a multi-cultural family our children get invited to every type of holiday, festival and ceremony. We go from Christmas to Hanukah parties, Diwali and Holi events, Communions and Bar Mitzvahs. While this enriches our lives immeasurably, it doesn’t go without an occasional confusion. When our daughter was in second grade, she spent several months thinking she was African American, because a fellow classmate told her that her father came from Africa. Apparently during a class lesson on the American Civil War, she raised her hand and said that her whole family was from Africa and that they were a part of the war. It was at this point that I sat her down, explained that both Africa and India were wonderful places to be from, but that they were not one and the same. I then ran out and bought “The Colors of Us”—a lovely children’s book by Karen Katz that lays out all of the different ethnicities and skin colors that are a part of our world.

This book also proved to be very useful when my youngest son went through a similar identity crisis. He thought for a long while that he would grow up looking Indian, even though he has fair skin and green eyes. I think his logic is that one’s skin just gets darker with age; a sign of manliness if you will. To this day, he proudly tells people that he is Indian, and would love nothing more than to be a pundit. I guess he is also an Indian wanna-be. Like mother, like son.

My husband’s family emigrated from Pondicherry, a former French colony in South India, to Marseilles in the South of France. My father’s family, Russian Jews fleeing the pogroms, immigrated to Peru before he was born. My mother is Irish-German, the descendant of immigrants who fled Europe in the 19th century for the open spaces and opportunities of America. My children and I are Americans, yet like most all Americans our ancestry is from other continents, other cultures, other worlds.

Indeed, this is the fundamental irony of our situation: We are a part of so many different worlds that it is difficult to call just one home. We have the privilege of being up close and personal with people in their most intimate of moments; celebrating the holidays and events that are a part of the framework of treasured memories passed from one generation to the next. On the other hand, we do not have a sense of owning any tradition completely. We are the flies on the wall at our own party. We have a sense of, but not ownership of, these traditions that touch the core of many peoples identity.

While at times this is a pinch, it also can be a blessing, because sometimes we are so attached to one world view that it doesn’t allow us to freely accept the world view of another.

Therefore, I have no conflict whatsoever having my tandori with fries, my crème brûlée with sushi, or my matzah with dahl. Life, and the world we live in, is a fabulous buffet, and I am more than happy to sample a little of each. And while I may never look in the mirror and see the jet black hair and creamy warm skin I desire, I can still sport my bangles and pashmina with jeans, and at least have the comfort of seeing my husband reflected back at me from the other side of the table.

Ms. Titus, a screenwriter, is president of Ruby Star Productions (www.rubystarproductions.com). She currently has two films in development; both projects deal with the concepts of East meets West, globalization, and the challenges of maintaining traditions in a modern age.