Winter chills. Wedding bells.
As a hardcore Indian who sweats profusely under the blazing sun, and one who loves the smell of mehendi, this is my best quarter of the year.
Come November, invitations start flooding in by the dozen every week. Beautiful sarees, heavy jewelry and dark mehendi starts overpowering the Hindu households. Long lost cousins are placed awkwardly next to us and we're expected to make small talk which generally begins with "we met at *insert random name* didi's wedding last year, remember?" and ends with, "yes yes we should meet up". Next December, repeat.
Weddings are important to every member of the family for different reasons. The kids, because they get a day off from homework and their cheeks pulled by a hundred people. The women because they get to gather up and give and take gossip about the who's whos at the wedding and subtly show off their sarees and jewelry. The men, for it's more often than not, an open bar and temporary freedom from the endless clatter.
Growing up, I've fallen in love with the concept of marriage. The wedding ceremonies starting ten days prior to the D-Day, the attention paid to intricate details, the sanctity of the institution and the family reunions.
My grandmother whispered in my ear before we went to a wedding last week, "Carry yourself well. You're a woman now. People are always looking for matches to make at weddings." It made me laugh. But it made my heart flutter. What if the guy I'm going to spend the life with is at the next wedding I attend? What if he's out there looking for me and sees me doing something weird like choking over a PaniPuri or guffawing loudly? Will he fall in love with my weirdness or will it repulse him?
At my cousin's wedding last year, they clasped hands and smiled deeply at each other when the mangalsutra hitched them together for life. "I want that", I thought immediately. Not just married, but happily married.
Drape that saree, put on the heavy jewelry, let your hair fall over your shoulders, curl that eye liner and smack those red lips. He's somewhere out there, looking for you, waiting. Waiting for the Band to play the Baaja at your Baarat!
As a hardcore Indian who sweats profusely under the blazing sun, and one who loves the smell of mehendi, this is my best quarter of the year.
Come November, invitations start flooding in by the dozen every week. Beautiful sarees, heavy jewelry and dark mehendi starts overpowering the Hindu households. Long lost cousins are placed awkwardly next to us and we're expected to make small talk which generally begins with "we met at *insert random name* didi's wedding last year, remember?" and ends with, "yes yes we should meet up". Next December, repeat.
Weddings are important to every member of the family for different reasons. The kids, because they get a day off from homework and their cheeks pulled by a hundred people. The women because they get to gather up and give and take gossip about the who's whos at the wedding and subtly show off their sarees and jewelry. The men, for it's more often than not, an open bar and temporary freedom from the endless clatter.
Growing up, I've fallen in love with the concept of marriage. The wedding ceremonies starting ten days prior to the D-Day, the attention paid to intricate details, the sanctity of the institution and the family reunions.
My grandmother whispered in my ear before we went to a wedding last week, "Carry yourself well. You're a woman now. People are always looking for matches to make at weddings." It made me laugh. But it made my heart flutter. What if the guy I'm going to spend the life with is at the next wedding I attend? What if he's out there looking for me and sees me doing something weird like choking over a PaniPuri or guffawing loudly? Will he fall in love with my weirdness or will it repulse him?
At my cousin's wedding last year, they clasped hands and smiled deeply at each other when the mangalsutra hitched them together for life. "I want that", I thought immediately. Not just married, but happily married.
Drape that saree, put on the heavy jewelry, let your hair fall over your shoulders, curl that eye liner and smack those red lips. He's somewhere out there, looking for you, waiting. Waiting for the Band to play the Baaja at your Baarat!
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| Didi's Wedding, December '12. |
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