"You got a photographer yet?"
"No"
"Are you travelling some place after?"
"I don't know"
"What are you wearing?"
"I haven't seen it yet. I trust Mom"
"How the fuck are you not losing your mind?"
I arrived three weeks in advance. Everything was almost done and as for the silly, trivial things, I was not going to let them get in my way. I would be a cool bride. I'd be the opposite of cold-feet, anti-bridezilla. I'd be composure pacified, chilled in the freezer. My friends were impressed.
Reality hit three minutes after I walked out of the airport. When was the last time I was in 38 degree Celsius heat? At 10:30 in the night? Someone once described "Jahannum" to me - "It'd be burning hot and the water would be boiling. You'd drink it, but it'd NEVER quench the thirst." That was what I landed in. But, what is a little heat stroke when you are set to marry the love of your life, right? WRONG. This good man, this sweet soul had never seen me under yellowed skies of dusty Indian summer. Or hung out with both my parents. Acclimatization was in order for both of us. No amount of chilled beer was going to help and it was too late to elope now.
I had heard all sorts of sordid tales of people getting married back home. I laughed and I sympathized. I never understood. "You are happy. Don't give a fuck and you'll be fine". But does that ever work? Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, has an opinion and a constant urge to share it with you. I was told by a neighbor Aunty to not sit cross-legged in front of his parents. "Yes, let's pretend they are old-fashioned fascists and my exposed feet will make them reject me as a sanskaari bahu. More importantly, do we even know each other, Aunty?" A saree salesman did not even bother veiling his indignation at my bias for light colored sarees. "Aap dulhan ho, inhe dekho bhi mat." I was left speechless. It always takes a little while to rediscover the existence of my tongue there. Enough of this Amreekan niceness. The ennui of an ordered life is not for the motherland. When in India, do as... Beast Mode On! I embraced the chaos. Morning runs, Bisleri hunts, seamstress woes, rings for toes - all of it.
And so it started. Multiple poojas to bless an agnostic couple seems hardly misplaced in India. Like good kids, we listened to the mothers. They don't ask for much anyway. Or so THEY think. Mine was determined to be perennially stressed with sudden bouts of absolute joy and then of categorical melancholia, surroundings be damned.
"Aww, we brought you home that very day from the hospital after you were born. And now you'll leave home on the same day again."
"Mom, I did leave home. Years ago. And who on earth remembers this kind of detail?"
"Aww you look like a bride (crying in the department store)."
"Mom..."
I gave her a hug and then I gave up. After all, what is an Indian wedding if you don't break down in boutiques in front of a hundred strangers? If you aren't found in vulnerable positions in "beauty" salons where at best you'd be naked and at worst in real, scream-inducing pain? If you aren't stuck in traffic en route to your own wedding? If your friends don't go looking for alcohol for you in the middle of the ceremonies. All this in search of socially acceptable means to be with a man who is as willing to jeopardize his own sanity for you. There exists no bigger test. I would have said we aced it. But then, that'd be egotistical indulgence. We barely survived. Our sanities have been on a break since, at a spa in the Himalayas. We wish them speedy recovery. And that they find their way back home soon or we be able to join them there.
Reality hit three minutes after I walked out of the airport. When was the last time I was in 38 degree Celsius heat? At 10:30 in the night? Someone once described "Jahannum" to me - "It'd be burning hot and the water would be boiling. You'd drink it, but it'd NEVER quench the thirst." That was what I landed in. But, what is a little heat stroke when you are set to marry the love of your life, right? WRONG. This good man, this sweet soul had never seen me under yellowed skies of dusty Indian summer. Or hung out with both my parents. Acclimatization was in order for both of us. No amount of chilled beer was going to help and it was too late to elope now.
I had heard all sorts of sordid tales of people getting married back home. I laughed and I sympathized. I never understood. "You are happy. Don't give a fuck and you'll be fine". But does that ever work? Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, has an opinion and a constant urge to share it with you. I was told by a neighbor Aunty to not sit cross-legged in front of his parents. "Yes, let's pretend they are old-fashioned fascists and my exposed feet will make them reject me as a sanskaari bahu. More importantly, do we even know each other, Aunty?" A saree salesman did not even bother veiling his indignation at my bias for light colored sarees. "Aap dulhan ho, inhe dekho bhi mat." I was left speechless. It always takes a little while to rediscover the existence of my tongue there. Enough of this Amreekan niceness. The ennui of an ordered life is not for the motherland. When in India, do as... Beast Mode On! I embraced the chaos. Morning runs, Bisleri hunts, seamstress woes, rings for toes - all of it.
And so it started. Multiple poojas to bless an agnostic couple seems hardly misplaced in India. Like good kids, we listened to the mothers. They don't ask for much anyway. Or so THEY think. Mine was determined to be perennially stressed with sudden bouts of absolute joy and then of categorical melancholia, surroundings be damned.
"Aww, we brought you home that very day from the hospital after you were born. And now you'll leave home on the same day again."
"Mom, I did leave home. Years ago. And who on earth remembers this kind of detail?"
"Aww you look like a bride (crying in the department store)
"Mom..."
I gave her a hug and then I gave up. After all, what is an Indian wedding if you don't break down in boutiques in front of a hundred strangers? If you aren't found in vulnerable positions in "beauty" salons where at best you'd be naked and at worst in real, scream-inducing pain? If you aren't stuck in traffic en route to your own wedding? If your friends don't go looking for alcohol for you in the middle of the ceremonies. All this in search of socially acceptable means to be with a man who is as willing to jeopardize his own sanity for you. There exists no bigger test. I would have said we aced it. But then, that'd be egotistical indulgence. We barely survived. Our sanities have been on a break since, at a spa in the Himalayas. We wish them speedy recovery. And that they find their way back home soon or we be able to join them there.
