Here's the status I updated that day:
Weddings are
beautiful, colorful, joyous occasions. In this country especially, where
weddings involve a lot of drunk dancing, colorful, shimmery clothes,
horse-back riding, henna designs, fat aunts pulling your
cheeks, and whatnot. As a child, I had attended several weddings with
my parents, but my main aim in those days used to be sampling the
various dishes at the buffet table. I was not a big eater (back then, at
least *wink wink*), but I simply had to have more
than one serving of gulab jamun, if nothing else. The first wedding
that I was really a “part of” was my brother’s wedding. That was fun. I
was his only sister, and being a delusional teenager, I was convinced
all eyes were on me (the bride was right there
of course, looking really beautiful; but sure, all eyes on me! LOL).
All the cousins were at home and we all talked late into the night, kept
pulling my brother’s legs for being the first one of us to get hitched
and all the customary wedding jokes made their
rounds. Best time of my life, I thought.
Many years later,
preparations for my own engagement were going on at home. I had assumed
(as a delusional teenager years ago) that if my brother’s wedding was so
much fun, and all eyes were on me, then mine
would be bigger, better, with more eyes on me (cos, you know, I am the
bride). But on my engagement, I felt like a spectator. The relatives,
the cousins, were all the same. The clothes were shiny. The henna was
deep on my palms. But I stood in a corner, watching
things unfold. I knew everyone was there to celebrate a new chapter in
my life. But I felt disconnected from everything. I watched and watched
like everything was happening to someone else, like it was a movie I was
watching. My ears felt hollow, like I had
a cold. All the conversations were just a buzzing in my ears. I did not
know why. I was bored. I stood there, updating my Facebook status,
because I did not know what else to do. Even the cousins left me alone.
No one pulled my legs (they did, after the engagement;
it was quite hilarious)
After the engagement,
there was the wedding. Now, I could say I was too influenced by that
one episode of How I Met Your Mother, where Lily and Marshall were
getting married, and Barney would make absolutely
irrational demands, all in the name of “the bride”. I must say, I
expected a similar sort of treatment. I thought I’d be lazing around and
people would pamper me just because, you know, I am the bride. But
bookworm that I am, my idea of lazing and bossing
people around was sitting in a corner and reading a book (Mario Puzo’s
Omerta, to be exact (oh yeah, I remember which book I was reading the
day before my wedding!)). This angered my parents a little bit, as there
was a lot of work to be done before the relatives
started pouring in and I was not helping. “But I am the bride!” I said,
scandalized. I was made to shut my book, and march straight into the
kitchen. I consoled myself that this is just a glimpse of the rest of my
life, and the earlier I get started, the better.
I was in a grumpy mood.
The guests arrived
that evening for the day-before-the-wedding party. People I had never
seen before walked up to me with very wide smiles to tell me how
beautiful I looked. I was still in a grumpy mood. The
photographers wanted me to change clothes every half an hour and pose
for them with one hand up in the air, one strand of hair flying, one
flower too close to my nose bla bla. The grumpy mood became grumpier.
In most Indian
families, the daughter’s wedding, though a happy occasion, has elements
of tragedy in it. The scripture says that a woman is an object merely meant to be protected by the parents till the day she gets married, after which she is not allowed to keep in touch with her parents. Most Indian parents adhere to
this strictly (even today, from what I hear!) and don’t ever meet their daughter
once she’s married off. While some may argue that times have changed
and parents do meet their daughters after marriage, the elements of
tragedy exists in terms of dowry (in some Indian cultures, even after the
daughter is married off, the parents still have to keep
paying the groom and his family, like a never-ending EMI!) Fortunately,
where I belong, women are held in very high esteem and we are a
matriarchal society (yeah, what else can be expected from blasphemous
beef-eaters, right? *sarcasm*) So, even after I got
married, my parents could come and visit as they like. But, when I
think of other families, I got to thinking, if I am so grumpy, then how
would brides of other regions feel? Truly happy and excited? Or scared sh*tless?
I did not have cold
feet. I did not think, oh this is the point in time when I should run as
fast as I can. But I was nervous, ill-at-ease. Like when you’re joining
a new school. You know you’ll probably make
new friends. But you’re leaving all the old ones behind. You will miss
them. And you don’t know what sort of an environment you’re stepping
into (Indian marriage = Dulha le lo, dulha… ji, madam, rishtedaar muft
mein milenge! Har rang aur har size mein!)
Weddings are
beautiful, colorful, joyous occasions. If they are happening to someone
else, and you’re merely watching from the sidelines with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Not when it’s your
own, and you feel you’re merely watching from the
sidelines and even the popcorn doesn't cheer you up.
Here's the status I updated that day:
Here's the status I updated that day: