Author’s note: Pun intended
If you are intending to go through the madness, I would say, do it thoroughly: Visit the first two parts I do: The Indian Way (Part 1) and I do: The Indian Way (Part 2). It will help you understand the whole song and dance sequence that ensued before we reached this point in an Indian “arranged marriage” where everyone knows everything about the “boy” and the “girl” except the boy and the girl themselves. For the unversed, “arranged marriage” is a complex process to simplify the process of finding a man for every girl and a girl for every man” ((henceforth incorrectly called “the boy” though he is probably in his late twenties or early thirties).
In the previous two posts, we have already covered the first twelve steps of the process.
The boy and the girl are now engaged and are totally unaware of each other, except that their relationship is now official. Infact, if the event wasn’t photographed, you could swap the girl with a cousin and the boy will probably not notice because they met only for 10 minutes, and she was wearing so much make up, he can’t tell her from Lady Gaga. The girl would also not notice swapping the boy because, in all probability, she never saw his face—she was supposed to behave shy and look at her feet all the time.
The family is beside itself with sheer relief that the “whole thing was finally done”—a mistaken belief that is soon broken by the grandmother’s proclamation that they must perform the marriage within three months. “You must not keep a marriage waiting, else something will go wrong!” By ‘something’, she obviously means that the boy will find out about the girl’s motorbiking aspirations and her lack of culinary skills! So, the madness begins afresh.
Step 13: Pandit ji’s approval again
The father, brother and everybody else interested runs to Pandit ji (the priest) and requests him to check the star-chart and decide a date that is within the next three months. 7 times out of 10, there is none. So, they ask him to look more carefully—there has to be something! Rather reluctantly, he then quotes a couple of dates when marriage is possible. The time, for some reason, is always at some ungodly hour of night (or early morning if it is after 3.30 am).
The date is shared with the middleman, who then shares it with the boy’s family. They had been through the same scenario with their own grandmother and had been consulting their own Pandit ji, who had given three totally different dates instead.
To-and-fro ensues between the two parties, both pulling to make sure their own Pandit ji wins. Eventually the boy’s party wins because they are the ladkewala (boy’s party) and cannot be reasoned with.
Author’s note: Unbeknown to the parties, the difference in the number of dates provided to them is due to the availability of the two Pandit jis on the said dates.
You see, the astrological arrangements (which most of us don’t understand) are such that there are only 7-8 auspicious dates every month. Now, you can’t get married in December or January because it is too cold and women have to wear sweaters, unable to show-off the embroidery on their dresses. You can’t get married from April till September because it is too hot and the make-up becomes runny and clothes sweaty. Apparently, there is no water-proof make-up invented yet that can deal with the Indian summer.
So, if a family ever daringly ventures into a marriage in the other inhospitable months, it is forever remembered as a family with bad choices, bad living arrangements, not enough ACs, coolers and water geysers, thoughtless of other people’s inconvenience, supplier of hot drinking water in summers/cold bathing water in winters and, in general, harbinger of bad news. It is a reputation the family is never able to live down and is looked upon suspiciously in all the upcoming marriages in the family.
So, you must get married in Feb, March, October or November. So, there are around 30 suitable marriage dates per year. At least one Pandit ji must preside on the event. Considering that there are millions of marriages every year in India, the competition to book Pandit ji is crazy.
Step 14: The guesthouse owner’s approval
Now the fight for an open venue begins. While the boy’s party is looking for a guest house big enough to house their entire extended family and close friends (150+ guests) for 3-4 days of the various ceremonies. Cramped though they are, all these 150+ people will stay in the same place—inspite of having to share rooms—and not separately at hotels because where is the fun in that?
Rest of the 500+ people are local and will attend the ceremonies directly. The girl’s family is looking for a venue big enough to house the same size of family and close friends for 3-4 days as well. They must also look for a place big enough to allow around 1500 people to mill around, sit, eat and not step on each-other’s shoes. The place must look grand and have good lighting due to the ungodly hours of the marriage.
Unfortunately, many other parties have the same date and hence, such a place is either not available at all or not available on the set dates. So, now they start looking for accommodation for all the five dates from both Pandit jis, never being able find something that fits the date requirements of both parties.
And hence the date with an available marriage venue and guest houses wins. Both Pandit jis give in and agree to the date, even though it wasn’t “half as good as what they had suggested”.
Step 15: The caterer’s, tent supplier’s, flower arranger’s, beautician’s, tailor’s, jeweller’s and other approvals
I will not get into the details of a marriage preparation because I love my audience and would like them to be awake by the time this post ends. So, I would just briefly say that now the entire clan of the girl begins hunting for a halwai (cook), tent-chair-bedding supplier, flower arranger, jeweller, beauty parlour, furniture-maker (for dowry), electric appliance supplier (for dowry), tailor, cars and drivers.
There are many layers of arrangements within each piece. Tempers start running high and quarrels break out at the drop of a pin…or a plate…Someone shouts, someone else shouts back. In the end, someone starts crying (“What did I do wrong to end up with this man?”). While venturing to marry someone, many other marriages are put to test.
Step 16: The groom’s brother-in-law’s approval
The boy has, so far, been sulking in silence. In spite of being promised to marry a certain girl, he hasn’t seen her or talked to her and would be totally lost if he is asked to pick her out of the throng of lehenga-clad girls in his own marriage. So, he approaches his brother-in-law to intercept.
So far, the boy’s brother-in-law has been in the background sulking as well since he was informed but not consulted as much as he would like. It hurts his self-esteem. This is his opportunity to shine. So, he concocts this grand scheme.
His wife (boy’s sister, of course) calls the girl’s family and asks for the girl’s phone number to “get her measurements” for dresses to be gifted. They, of course, know such tactics already along with the evils of bride talking to groom, which can lead to uncomfortable discoveries. So, they give her the measurements they already have ready and let her know that the girl doesn’t own a mobile phone.
The brother-in-law rises up to the challenge. He takes his wife to meet the girl in person and “see how she is faring”. And while the girl’s mother is in the kitchen, they slip her a new mobile phone (with unlimited talk-time and on vibration mode). The girl, naturally, hides it, knowing well from her previous experiences (with various non-existent boyfriends) that any mobile phone will be confiscated immediately upon detection.
The brother-in-law, thus satisfied, gives his blessings to the couple.
Step 17: The groom and bride’s true approval
Exactly five minutes after the brother-in-law leaves, the phone rings.
Then onwards, the boy and girl spend a lot of time hiding on the roof, in the bathroom and inside rajai (superheavy cotton-filled blankets meant for weightlifting), talking to each other. By the third day, they are usually familiar enough to plan the honeymoon spot and make bookings. They are extremely excited, though they haven’t seen each other, at least they can tell each other how to spot them.
“I will be in the fuchsia lehenga.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Magenta colour, you know…”
“ummmm…”
“Dark pink, you dork! And make sure your floral veil has magenta roses to match my lehenga.”
Now that they are better acquainted and colour-coordinated, there is only the wedding day to dread.
Step 18: Pre-marriage days
A week before the marriage, the house begins filling with relatives who must be escorted from bus stand, railway station and airport. Soon, it is too full, and people are moved to the guest house where they are happy to “adjust” and live in dorm-like arrangements. No one is ready to go to any hotel rooms booked in hopes that someone will be wise enough.
Mehendi ceremony
The festivities begin with Mehendi ceremony (Henna ceremony where all women of the family get mehendi tattoos done) when someone realises that no one remembered to book a Mehendi artist. The brother-in-law shines again with the proposal to arrange one through his “contacts”. The Halwai decides this moment to drop the bomb and announce that he had forgotten more than half the grocery items and got the quantity of the rest wrong, sending the brothers in a flurry of activity around the city, making you feel truly sorry for them.
The bedding supplier is either late or the beddings are either not enough or smelly. The happy bride has put on weight, and someone must go to the tailor to resize her lehenga-top and all the other dresses that she is wearing in the coming days. Meanwhile, some of the hopefuls have lost weight and someone must get their lehenga-top adjusted as well. Meanwhile, the tailor hasn’t come back with the bride’s wardrobe yet, so someone needs to sit in his shop all day to force him to act quickly.
Someone needs to repack the gift-wrapped dresses for the groom, his father, mother, brothers, sisters, brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents, granduncles and grandaunts because they look just so plain! So, someone needs to get the decoration supplies.
Not to mention that dresses for each occasion need accessories which women have dutifully forgotten at home. The children need diapers of various sizes and do not want to eat what Halwai has to offer. Mothers have started yelling at the top of their lungs as children are ruining their new dresses at the speed of lightening.
The “girl” need to go to the beauty parlour (She has four sessions starting a month before the day, then a week before the day, then three days before the day and the day itself.) Someone needs to drive her to and fro.
The brothers and brothers-in-law are running around, playing chauffeur, food arranger, child-handler, delivery man and escort, while uncles are discussing politics and dowry rates while keeping an eye on the Halwai and helpers.
Tilak ceremony
The next day, the girl’s family (except the girl, her mother and the elderly with knee pain) must go for Tilak ceremony at the guest house where boy’s family has arranged a big party. The same routine is followed with increased giggling, yelling and running around. Mothers are now in hysterics since some of the children are nowhere to be found (hiding in the cupboard, playing hard to get). They are finally found, dusted with firm hands (“You dare hide in a cupboard again and you will pray you were never born!”) and changed in fresh dresses again.
The transport is late, as usual, or less spacious than expected. It is also not clean enough and “would certainly ruin the lehengas” of all the hopefuls travelling to the groom’s guesthouse. So, bride’s brothers are cleaning it while grumbling about useless people and bad arrangements while all women are smugly looking at them while holding up their lehengas as an excuse for not helping. The children are held tightly so they are not left behind. As people board bus, someone suggests a game of Antakshari.
People start singing in non-matching voices. Hard to find the rhythm but it is a perfect opportunity for friends of bride’s brothers. They are now making musical passes at bride’s female cousins. The said cousins are now making passes back at these guys discretely, knowing well that there will be more opportunities where they were going.
The journey goes uneventfully, unless it is long enough for a loo break. If it is long enough, people lose several children on the way to loo. They are often found (after a lot of chaos) hiding in their bus. After they have been “dusted” well by weeping mothers [“You dare step out of my sight and I am going to shut you up in a kothari (a small and dark room, which is forever the bane of all Indian children who are never told or shown where this kothari is, keeping it’s terror alive till they become parents themselves)”], the journey is continued. Depending on the number of loo breaks required in the journey, fathers need to step in to stop their wives from entering full-cry mode (thereby ruining their make up and delaying the journey further).
The boy’s family must not see the confusion though, so as soon as the bus enters the premises, everyone becomes a sea of calm.
Some of the female cousins, decked up in their best finery, begin taking pictures of the groom to send them to the bride on her mobile phone. The brothers of the groom edge closer to them, offering food and drinks and trying to get their attention. But the girls are protected by the unyielding wall of male cousins and their friends who, impressed by their earlier passes, now consider them under their protection. So, the brothers of the groom decide to try again on the coming day when these men will be occupied in arranging the marriage.
Sangeet and Ratjaga ceremonies
The same night after the party has returned home, Sangeet (music) and Ratjaga (staying awake all night) ceremonies take place.
Someone realises there is no dholak (Indian drums) and after half an hour of calling all contacts, they give up. Not that they knew how to play a dholak anyway. Someone tries to sing; others join in the chorus. Half an hour later, someone smuggles in the stereo and starts Bollywood songs and that is the end of awful singing. Everyone gets up and dances while the bride sits quietly wondering if they would remember to beg her to dance at all…
By midnight, everyone is too exhausted but must stay awake all night for Ratjaga. People quietly start disappearing on various premises–important phone calls, children needing to lie down, back pain, head ache, call of nature…
Soon, all but the sturdiest stay awake till the sun rises. Of course, all the friends of the bride’s brothers and her female cousins stay awake looking for an opportunity to pass phone numbers. But the elderly mothers and grandmothers with their penetrating gaze and “weak knees” keep them busy.
The D-day–Haldi and Gaurpuja ceremonies
The day of marriage begins really early with Haldi (Turmeric) ceremony. Earlier, turmeric products were used to beautify the brides all month long but now it is a horror show for the brides who have spent a pretty dime on four rounds of facials, pedicure, manicure and probably body polishing as well. The thought of turmeric recolouring their skin or sticking to their fresh perm can lead to a full-scale panic attack.
But it has to be done, so the mother, aunts and especially all bhabhis are conscious to not touch the face and only apply it on the dress for minimal damage. Once the ceremony is over, the bride quickly runs to the bath to take it all off just in case some of the colour has penetrated the clothes.
Gaurpuja (Goddess worship) is next on the list where the entire family offers pre-declared gifts (including pricey ornaments and dresses) to the now-washed girl. The girl is supposed to be fasting (“supposed” being the operative word here) and she is treated as mother goddess. It is an event full of open weeping and downright crying. Because there will be no more opportunity later. The girl is about to set off to the beauty parlour and when she returns with her bridal make-up on, she is not supposed to cry until the time for Vidai (Send-off). (At Vidai, she is supposed to cry in the earnest, else there will raised eyebrows… But that is a story for another day.)
The gifts are then quickly packed by the stylish bhabhi along with other dowry and under custody of the grandmothers and grandaunts, ready to be driven to the venue with the elderly whho can’t move around anyway so will be “willing to stay-put and be useful”.
Meanwhile all the brothers, uncles and male cousins are either at the wedding venue or driving people around or bringing more flowers for the flower arranger or arranging seating. Grandparents and granduncles are together discussing the wasteful and showy marriages now a days and comparing them with their own simpler times…all the while tasting food and arguing with the food caterer about food quantity or quality.
So, now close to the last leg of the Indian Wedding fiasco, the bride boards her car–driven by a male cousin who has been playing driver all day–and realises she has to take 10 tag-alongs with her. But there isn’t enough space for all of them and they will cramp her style. So, there is a lot of negotiations at the door, a lot of crying and name calling. In the end, the stylish bhabhi saunters in, offering her services to the girls who stay back. The offer is readily accepted by those who see no other hope. The car moves towards beauty parlour with the bride and four others (who will likely cramp her style but she can’t shake them off).
There is anticipation in the air that will only be relieved when the marriage is over and approved by the entire guest list.
To be continued if I survive to write the rest of the process. Considering that it has taken me more than 3 months to finish this post, my hopes are not too high. Let me know if you survive it and dare to know more.
Disclaimer: No part of this story is fiction, may be a little exaggerated but, in spirit, is accurate. I have seen it happen to most of my cousins. Lately, I played the part of clueless bhabhi in my brother-in-law’s marriage as well as engagement of one of my husband’s cousin and marriage of another, while my daughter was adding to the general crazydom. These experiences made me believe that no matter the religion, we Indians are united in our love for arranged marriages. The experiences also added finer details to the post.
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 