The Wedding
February is wedding season in India. Weddings are the rage as well as inevitable that time of the year. Rampant is the word that comes to mind- like asthma in Bangalore, during allergy season. Actually more appropriately the feeling is one of pressure. A pressure to sow while the time is right so one can reap later. Unfortunately there is too much truth in the abundance of the harvest that ensues. It may be an explanation for the 1.4 billion that now reside here. As you sow, so you shall reap!!!
There were two weddings in the family in this high season. Having just moved to Bangalore there was considerable pressure and expectation to attend these weddings. For me it was during the first flush of being "home" so I felt that I would really like to attend. Punjabi weddings are raucous and can be fun. I have some of the most vivid memories of weddings of uncles and aunts when I was a child. There was a lot of singing and dancing and unchecked eating. But now it seems that all types of consumption have taken on a life of their own.
In typical fashion my job would not behave - my class kept getting postponed. In India ones time is owned by others - it’s the default situation. When I discovered that I had a short window of opportunity to make it to one of the two weddings I bought myself a cheap ticket on Air Deccan airlines. The night before I packed my bags with the 2.5 wedding appropriate outfits I owned - I figured these would cover three necessary occasions. Mathematically this would have given me 4 possibilities - color blindness not being an issue. Who cares about clothes? I convinced myself. Boy was I off base. It was more the case that all people cared about was what you wore and not the personality that was shining underneath it all. At the 11th hour I got a call saying that one more function had been added to the list and it was spelled out to me that I should dress appropriately. How do you rustle up another shiny outfit in the middle of the night?
I arrived in Delhi a full 5 days before the wedding intending to look up friends that I had not met during my rushed December trip. It is a good feeling to hop on a plane and land and still be in India - I am too used to crossing an ocean.
Even my mother was not impressed by my outfits. Usually you can get anything by her. So the first order of business was to hurry to the tailor and get all kinds of alterations (turning into altercations) done. He promised to fit and tuck and hem. He did. Plenty of it. When I went for a trial I could get into an outfit but not out of it. I saw my puffed up image in the mirror and would not have stopped laughing had I not been so severely constrained by the attire.
“Don’t worry Didi" - he said "I will set it right. I have done only temporary stitching - just now only I will open".
It took a lot of exhaling of air and someone else tugging to get it all off. To his credit- he did a great job the second time. But stupidly I have since hand washed the garment causing the outside material to shrink and the inside lining to expand so it’s now trying to accomplish impossible topological shapes.
The groom’s side hosted the first function. I was told that they were teetotalers and vegetarians. They held the function in a NY style nightclub with a full bar. The claimed purpose of this function was for the families to get to know each other. One thing we did get to know was the persistent drum beat in the head. The music was set to 10 decibels higher than necessary to induce deafness. I asked the DJ to reduce the noise – someone else asked to raise it; and so on it went for a while. I figured I was growing old but the average age must have been 55 at this swanky night club and no teenagers in sight – this is the last of the cousins to be married not counting a couple of swinging bachelorettes among us. What was I missing in the picture?
We staggered home that night. In the morning the drum beat resumed in my head.
The days followed in a blur. We woke up, we ate breakfast and we headed to the next function. I have realized that I probably know more people in Delhi than anywhere else in the world. Just the “close” relatives amount to about 70 people. It was great fun to reacquaint. I also shocked people into silence by telling them that I had moved to Bangalore. Some refused to believe and pointed out again and again that perhaps I should move back to India. Or I would hear “when you go back to the US……” Listening is not a skill that we Indians can be proud off. Or rather we seem unable to hear and listen at the same time –especially true of the male species. They seem to be raised to listen to one sound – that of their own voices, and they seem mesmerized by it. But it was great fun to exploit the situation by saying off the wall things. By day 3 I got the distinct feeling that my worth had declined – I had moved back to India and that too in a government job. An uncle looked at me sadly and said “I hope that they give you a car and driver at least”. Someone else said “couldn’t you get a job in the US?” And there were many men well over seventy who thumped me in the back and said well done for returning home. I find myself getting along best with the old chaps. The aggression in most of them is gone and I don’t feel like I have to constantly justify myself.
By day 5 – the wedding day, faces got more haggard, tempers got shorter, stomachs got loser and there was a longing in the air for simple food. But still people squeezed more energy out of themselves, or so it seemed to me. The motivation to give it a last oomph was so high. What motivated ? I think it was age old tradition that runs deep. Indian weddings have a certain finality about the way money and energy is spent. It’s the only thing one builds up to in life. It reminds me of the Kurosawa movie where the Japanese woman crawls to her death cooking the last meal for her family while she is egged on by them to fulfill this final duty.
The finality of the woman leaving her parents house is very real while it seems symbolic. There is an acceptance of the passing on of a burden (which is also a gift). The single-mindedness of giving a daughter’s wedding one’s all is almost frightening. By golly what the hell for?
I suppose its all about perspective. The robustness with which we absorb and retain values as we grow from infancy to adulthood is probably unparalleled in the animal kingdom. The down side is one gets programmed in all kinds of strange ways. If one could plug people in and re-program them what attitude would one give them with regard to marriages? It’s the most fake of fake institutions but held on to so firmly. So much so that if you do not to enter the sanctity of this institution, in India, one is without status of one’s own. You find women giving up their jobs and careers “in preparation for their wedding”. Both my cousins gave up their jobs so they could focus on their wedding. Fortunately the bosses wanted them back so gave them long vacation. Frivolous treatment of ones career and outside interests is encouraged if you are female. And so we egged ourselves on. The brides parents approached exhaustion and hence relief when it was over. Which everyone interpreted as relief of getting the duty done – of getting rid of the burden that one has raised.
The wedding day was a grand finale. A truly bollywood affair. The wedding dress was heavier than the bride could carry. This appropriately reflects the wealth burden to be carried. There was a heroine status attributed to the bride and women hovered around her. The younger ones and some of the older ones slicked their way into every photo, as though some of the shine would rub off on them. The bride made a choreographed entrance under a moving awning of flowers – the brothers of the bride marched side by side carrying the awning above her head. People swarmed to the center of attention. The bride and groom were hoisted on the stage and then for the next two hours posed for snapshots with various and sundry. The actual ceremony was a non-event. Nobody paid attention. People talked loudly and chatted and yawned. Nobody understood the words uttered by the priest and nobody wanted to. Men scratched their scrotums- a privilege only they exhibit. Once the ceremony was over guests went off to eat and then left. The bride and groom got photographed for another 2 hours while they starved. People and the flowers began to wilt. Only close relatives – about 100 of them stayed on for the curtain drop. Finally the couple ate and I heard someone say loud and clear – “tell them to leave”!!
In India I have found that while some things have changed, some things are so deeply entrenched that changing them would be akin to moving the Taj Mahal. Roles of men and women are fixed – no crossing over takes place especially from the man’s side. Women may wear all kinds of hats but they must claim their female role at the end of the day. The men are raised to be spoilt brats and the women are raised to take care of the men. This is the primary purpose of our existence here. Weddings just enhance these roles.
There were two weddings in the family in this high season. Having just moved to Bangalore there was considerable pressure and expectation to attend these weddings. For me it was during the first flush of being "home" so I felt that I would really like to attend. Punjabi weddings are raucous and can be fun. I have some of the most vivid memories of weddings of uncles and aunts when I was a child. There was a lot of singing and dancing and unchecked eating. But now it seems that all types of consumption have taken on a life of their own.
In typical fashion my job would not behave - my class kept getting postponed. In India ones time is owned by others - it’s the default situation. When I discovered that I had a short window of opportunity to make it to one of the two weddings I bought myself a cheap ticket on Air Deccan airlines. The night before I packed my bags with the 2.5 wedding appropriate outfits I owned - I figured these would cover three necessary occasions. Mathematically this would have given me 4 possibilities - color blindness not being an issue. Who cares about clothes? I convinced myself. Boy was I off base. It was more the case that all people cared about was what you wore and not the personality that was shining underneath it all. At the 11th hour I got a call saying that one more function had been added to the list and it was spelled out to me that I should dress appropriately. How do you rustle up another shiny outfit in the middle of the night?
I arrived in Delhi a full 5 days before the wedding intending to look up friends that I had not met during my rushed December trip. It is a good feeling to hop on a plane and land and still be in India - I am too used to crossing an ocean.
Even my mother was not impressed by my outfits. Usually you can get anything by her. So the first order of business was to hurry to the tailor and get all kinds of alterations (turning into altercations) done. He promised to fit and tuck and hem. He did. Plenty of it. When I went for a trial I could get into an outfit but not out of it. I saw my puffed up image in the mirror and would not have stopped laughing had I not been so severely constrained by the attire.
“Don’t worry Didi" - he said "I will set it right. I have done only temporary stitching - just now only I will open".
It took a lot of exhaling of air and someone else tugging to get it all off. To his credit- he did a great job the second time. But stupidly I have since hand washed the garment causing the outside material to shrink and the inside lining to expand so it’s now trying to accomplish impossible topological shapes.
The groom’s side hosted the first function. I was told that they were teetotalers and vegetarians. They held the function in a NY style nightclub with a full bar. The claimed purpose of this function was for the families to get to know each other. One thing we did get to know was the persistent drum beat in the head. The music was set to 10 decibels higher than necessary to induce deafness. I asked the DJ to reduce the noise – someone else asked to raise it; and so on it went for a while. I figured I was growing old but the average age must have been 55 at this swanky night club and no teenagers in sight – this is the last of the cousins to be married not counting a couple of swinging bachelorettes among us. What was I missing in the picture?
We staggered home that night. In the morning the drum beat resumed in my head.
The days followed in a blur. We woke up, we ate breakfast and we headed to the next function. I have realized that I probably know more people in Delhi than anywhere else in the world. Just the “close” relatives amount to about 70 people. It was great fun to reacquaint. I also shocked people into silence by telling them that I had moved to Bangalore. Some refused to believe and pointed out again and again that perhaps I should move back to India. Or I would hear “when you go back to the US……” Listening is not a skill that we Indians can be proud off. Or rather we seem unable to hear and listen at the same time –especially true of the male species. They seem to be raised to listen to one sound – that of their own voices, and they seem mesmerized by it. But it was great fun to exploit the situation by saying off the wall things. By day 3 I got the distinct feeling that my worth had declined – I had moved back to India and that too in a government job. An uncle looked at me sadly and said “I hope that they give you a car and driver at least”. Someone else said “couldn’t you get a job in the US?” And there were many men well over seventy who thumped me in the back and said well done for returning home. I find myself getting along best with the old chaps. The aggression in most of them is gone and I don’t feel like I have to constantly justify myself.
By day 5 – the wedding day, faces got more haggard, tempers got shorter, stomachs got loser and there was a longing in the air for simple food. But still people squeezed more energy out of themselves, or so it seemed to me. The motivation to give it a last oomph was so high. What motivated ? I think it was age old tradition that runs deep. Indian weddings have a certain finality about the way money and energy is spent. It’s the only thing one builds up to in life. It reminds me of the Kurosawa movie where the Japanese woman crawls to her death cooking the last meal for her family while she is egged on by them to fulfill this final duty.
The finality of the woman leaving her parents house is very real while it seems symbolic. There is an acceptance of the passing on of a burden (which is also a gift). The single-mindedness of giving a daughter’s wedding one’s all is almost frightening. By golly what the hell for?
I suppose its all about perspective. The robustness with which we absorb and retain values as we grow from infancy to adulthood is probably unparalleled in the animal kingdom. The down side is one gets programmed in all kinds of strange ways. If one could plug people in and re-program them what attitude would one give them with regard to marriages? It’s the most fake of fake institutions but held on to so firmly. So much so that if you do not to enter the sanctity of this institution, in India, one is without status of one’s own. You find women giving up their jobs and careers “in preparation for their wedding”. Both my cousins gave up their jobs so they could focus on their wedding. Fortunately the bosses wanted them back so gave them long vacation. Frivolous treatment of ones career and outside interests is encouraged if you are female. And so we egged ourselves on. The brides parents approached exhaustion and hence relief when it was over. Which everyone interpreted as relief of getting the duty done – of getting rid of the burden that one has raised.
The wedding day was a grand finale. A truly bollywood affair. The wedding dress was heavier than the bride could carry. This appropriately reflects the wealth burden to be carried. There was a heroine status attributed to the bride and women hovered around her. The younger ones and some of the older ones slicked their way into every photo, as though some of the shine would rub off on them. The bride made a choreographed entrance under a moving awning of flowers – the brothers of the bride marched side by side carrying the awning above her head. People swarmed to the center of attention. The bride and groom were hoisted on the stage and then for the next two hours posed for snapshots with various and sundry. The actual ceremony was a non-event. Nobody paid attention. People talked loudly and chatted and yawned. Nobody understood the words uttered by the priest and nobody wanted to. Men scratched their scrotums- a privilege only they exhibit. Once the ceremony was over guests went off to eat and then left. The bride and groom got photographed for another 2 hours while they starved. People and the flowers began to wilt. Only close relatives – about 100 of them stayed on for the curtain drop. Finally the couple ate and I heard someone say loud and clear – “tell them to leave”!!
In India I have found that while some things have changed, some things are so deeply entrenched that changing them would be akin to moving the Taj Mahal. Roles of men and women are fixed – no crossing over takes place especially from the man’s side. Women may wear all kinds of hats but they must claim their female role at the end of the day. The men are raised to be spoilt brats and the women are raised to take care of the men. This is the primary purpose of our existence here. Weddings just enhance these roles.
posted by Iss Desh ki Dharti at
6:12 AM
1 Comments
