Tag: Marriage

Posted in Random Thoughts

I do: The Indian Way (Part 3)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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.

Posted in Blogging, Random Thoughts

New excuses: Marriage(s)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The best part about my blog posts is how I come up with innovative excuses for not posting anything. I think half of my planning time (I get around 20 minutes a day to plan and create posts, if any) goes in thinking of excuses for not posting this time and the rest of the time goes in typing it. Like today. My latest excuse is marriages… that is, in plural.

Not mine, of course. I got married nearly 10 years back…Gosh! 10 years!? And have no intention of repeating the experience of an Indian wedding. To know my thoughts about an Indian wedding, you can go through my previous posts (I do: Part 1 and I do: Part 2). To say that part 3 and 4 are still being written says volumes about the amount of time and energy that goes in describing an Indian marriage. For an immersive experience, you can watch the movie Hum Apke Hain Kaun. If you survive till the end, you can tell me what you think of it 🤣

Getting back to the point, everyone around me is suddenly getting married. For 10 years, I had been cocooned in a false sense of safety which was suddenly torn away from me when one of my husband’s cousin got engaged in August. Considering we are Indians, obviously everyone was involved. I played the clueless bhabhi (brother’s wife), and played it well. So, people decided to take it up a notch and another close cousin got engaged, then my own brother-in-law and then one of my older nieces. And since, it is inauspicious (and potentially unsafe) to keep a marriage waiting for more than three months (lest the bride or groom decide to elope–alone, of course), the marriages had to happen soon.

Ramadan is anyway a busy time but with three weddings–one in each weekend after Ramadan (one of them being my brother-in-law’s)–we were cleaning up, shopping, hosting guests, shopping, hosting guests, booking, hosting guests, attending marriage, attending guests, cleaning up, attending guests, cooking, hosting guests… hosting more guests until we couldn’t stand and couldn’t walk. Ultimately, I decided not to visit the third marriage. (I still need to talk to my aunt and apologize for bailing. I hope she forgives me.)

And did I forget to mention, I had to look nice…perfect…immaculate…polished to shiny perfection…

Especially me, because I am the eldest bhabhi of the clan. I had the duty to look like someone who was holding herself together perfectly well while all I wanted to do was whine about having to run up and down the stairs all day. I had to put on face packs while cooking and apply make up while attending guests who were filling the house to seams. I would apply blush on one cheek and go meet someone, apply shadow on half an eye and go help someone, apply lipstick on half a lip and deal with my daughter. And then I would apply mascara. And spread on different spots of my face. Then I would wash it and start over.

Sometimes I think that make up brushes are equipment of modern torture. They can’t beat you anymore so they tell you to apply make up– there are brushes for everything blush, highlighter, powder, liner, eye shadow application, shadow mixing, mascara, eyebrow… And they always poke you in the eye. You apply eye shadow–it throws powder in your eyes. You put on liner–it is more inside the eyes than out. You clean it and put on just mascara and it pokes you in the eye until you drop the brush (on your cheeks, of course) and howl in pain and swear to god’s that you would never do it again. Then you wash your face and do it again!

Not sure if I got the order correct. I never got the order correct so I got a Color Correction (CC) cream to avoid primer, foundation, concealer, highlighter… It didn’t do anything but it made it look like I was trying, so no one commented. My pathetic attempts to make up were lauded as “Well tried!” “Look at you, you have actually put on make up!”

As far as I am concerned, I looked like a pink-faced monkey. Well at least, I wasn’t looking like a silver-faced monkey like nine years back when my sister-in-law tried to do my makeup. That experience was what drove me to do my own makeup. Of course, I could have got a professional help. But I didn’t have the time in the many days of festivities.

So, I just trudged on. I would say, I did well.

Honestly, in retrospect, it wasn’t so bad. I met a lot of nice people I couldn’t recognise (because of make up, of course) but it was nice to see smiling faces and spend time with my sister-in-law who lives far away. We had a housefull of kids and loads of drama going on that it part of every Indian marriage, but it was fun.

Now, I still have laundry to deal with, which is a remnant of the marriages that started three weeks back. So, goodbye for now. I hope I have given an excuse good enough that you will excuse me for not posting for another few days! 🤣🤣🤣

Posted in Random Thoughts

I do: The Indian Way (Part 2)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Pun intended

Before jumping into this article, I would advise you to visit the original post I do: The Indian Way (Part 1) so that you can understand the beginning of the madness that we Indians lovingly refer to as “arranged marriage”, which is a complex process to simplify the process of finding a man for every girl and a girl for every man (usually 5-10 years older than the girl, henceforth incorrectly termed as the “the boy”). Had the process been in place in England and USA, books like Pride and Prejudice and Little Women 2 would have not existed in the first place.

In the original post, we have already covered the first seven steps of the process.

Step 8: The meeting preparation and the approval of the bhabhi

So far, the stage is all set for the big reveal. The girl (probably in early twenties) and the boy (probably in his thirties) are about to meet for the grand finale. The entire khandan (extended family big enough to fill a football stadium) is either already there or waiting on Zoom and Whatsapp to hear the good news.

The house is in a general state of disarray with cousin’s running around, children crying, father and uncles on phone, grandfather and granduncles pacing around, mothers, grandmothers and aunts cooking and discussing the various scenarios that can possibly unfold–What if one of them is diabetic? Do we have something for them? Do we have green tea? What if they want more dowry? What if they see one of the prettier cousins and choose her instead?

The dining table is creaking under the combined weight of fruits, various types of sweets, pakodas, samosas, namkeens (various salt savories), lemonade, cold drinks and the best possible crockery loaned from concerned neighbours and relatives to serve it in. The kitchen is busy with lunch/dinner preparations high on matar-paneer, daal makkhani, dahi-bade and dhaniya ke aaloo to be served with puris, an assortment of sauces, pickles and fried papad.

A stylish bhabhi (brother’s/cousin’s wife) has draped the girl’s sari so all her curves are visible to lure the boy in while the skin is covered so as not to provoke the boy’s parents. Every bit of the girl’s face is covered with 9 -10 layers of cosmetics, each one smelling of different flowers, making her feel like a walking flower shop with no visible flowers. Her blood pressure is increasing with each make-up application and the friendly advise:

  • Don’t rub your eyes. You’ll smear the mascara.
  • Why didn’t you tell me what shade of Fushia your sari was. Now I got a lipstick three tones lighter!
  • Don’t move your lips. You’ll mess up the lipstick.
  • Don’t eat. You’ll mess up the lipstick.
  • Only drink the cold drink I will set in front of you. It will have a straw.
  • Don’t speak, you’ll mess up the lipstick.
  • Don’t laugh. Indian brides don’t laugh. Besides, it puts wrinkles on the makeup.
  • Don’t sweat, you’ll mess up the makeup.
  • Act shy. Don’t look at anyone straight in the eyes.
  • Don’t ask too many questions.
  • Don’t ask about his girlfriends.
  • Don’t tell him about your boyfriends.
  • If he asks your hobbies, say that you like cooking. Don’t tell him you play football and ride a motorbike.
  • Just stay quiet. We will manage the rest…

By this time, a low growl can be heard starting from the bottom of the girl’s throat, which is bhabhi‘s cue to take her baby for a diaper change. We will not discuss the case she doesn’t take the cue, because this is not an article about mass murder.

The blood pressure is at all-time high when the cousin who was posted at the gate comes running inside and stage-whispers through the door, “They are here!”

Step 9: The joint approval of khandan and neighbours

All the noise stops suddenly. Even the children who had been throwing a tantrum a second back suck in a breath and wait with abated breath as the boy’s party approaches the gates. Father, uncles, grandfather and granduncles wipe their brows and run towards the gates to greet the party at the gates and smile with hands folded in “Namaste”. After this, their hands are forever folded in their laps as they stand around obediently taking orders from the in-laws.

As the boy’s party along with the middleman is ushered in, the mother, aunts, grandmother and grandaunts greet them indoors and show them where to sit. The stylish bhabhi, together with a party of well-trained cousins, brings in water and beverages. Someone quietly clicks the picture of “the boy” and posts it on family group on Whatsapp for the rest of the relatives to approve. The bride, who is also part of the group, looks at the picture and is petrified, for the said “boy” is at least 7-8 years older than the picture shared by the middleman.

The parents seem unaffected. They probably expected the situation and have already decided to fill the receding hairline with extra zeroes in his salary. The boy is now the new animal in the zoo, inspected by the girl’s younger giggly cousins and accosted by the younger children of the house who want to climb on his back, try on his glasses and check if he knows how to give a piggy-back ride. One of them has already pulled out his uber expensive pen from his shirt pocket while he is trying to explain to another child why he cannot play on his iPhone.

And he is bearing it all with gritted teeth and a smile that shows he would rather be at office drinking horrible coffee. His parents are trying to pick children off him one by one on the pretext of asking their names before the boy runs out shrieking bloody murder (He too has been through a grooming experience mirroring the bride, except the makeup part, but we will not talk about that. It is not his story).

The neighbours are now beginning to show up under various pretext following the trail of the variety of food fragrances, knowing well exactly what it could mean. They all express curiosity that goes beyond the girl’s parents and ask questions missed during the earlier interrogation, including growth opportunities in the boy’s line of job, frequency of salary hikes and where they see themselves in 10-years time (hopefully, in Canada). Once the khandan and neighbours have expressed their satisfaction at the responses they have received, a cousin is sent to “bring the girl in”.

Step 10: The big reveal and boy’s and girl’s approval…sort of…

Now that everybody else in the known universe has agreed to the match, the girl “is brought into the room” by the aforementioned bhabhi. The boy is more interested in the bhabhi who is curvaceous and confident. He is looking at her with an interest but when he realises all eyes are on him, he moves his eyes towards the girl (because he is supposed to). The girl is a bundle of nerves and shivering as she “is settled” in front of the boy so that he cannot touch her. He is scared witless and trying to act confident but his parents beat him to it–they begin talking to the girl, who keeps her answers monosyllabic, as instructed by bhabhi to keep the make-up intact. His parents assume it to be shyness. The girl’s parents assume it to be nerves. Only the bhabhi really knows as she places the cold drink with straw strategically in front of the girl.

The discussion is generally about education and interests, which is mostly loads of lies.

Then someone suggests that the boy and girl should be left alone to talk! And everyone moves out of the room. Everyone, except the said bhabhi and the bhaiya (elder brother/cousin) standing close enough to the door to eavesdrop and remain faintly in sight so that the boy doesn’t gets any ideas.

Now, the sudden retreat of the people leaves the girl and the boy conscious and tongue-tied and it take a couple of minutes to gather their wits, another couple of minutes to get through the basic introductions and they are still discussing education when everybody decides to return to their posts in the room. And someone mentions lunch/dinner.

Immediately, the girl is whisked away to her previous hideout since obviously she can’t eat without ruining her make-up.

During the lunch/dinner, the bhabhi in girl’s room is dropping hints about how a well-paid boy with medium looks is the best proposition because he is more willing to keep the girl happy and has the means to fulfil her dreams. (What those dreams are is never discussed since it could be riding a motorbike to the highest mountain pass in Leh-Ladakh.)

The girl, having no opportunity for a real conversation with the boy, relies totally on her family’s opinion. Already overwhelmed with all the attention and performance pressure in front of the entire family and neighbours, she nods her head with exhaustion. Right at that moment, the bhabhi relays the news to the mother, who is overheard by the grandmother, who calls her husband aside and reiterates it to him, who instructs the girl’s father. The girl’s mother, meanwhile, congratulates the girl for her perfect choice and hugs her, and the girl’s fate is sealed.

Someone sends a message on Whatsapp and everybody expresses their opinion of how rushed things were but how happy they were that everything came out so well.

Step 11: The boy’s party’s approval

The girl’s father immediately starts dropping hints about their willingness in front of the boy’s family. The boy’s family is already prepared for engagement ceremony. But they still state that they need time to think this over (because they really can’t show that they came prepared for the ceremony and lose their bargaining power). They go to the middleman’s house after the lunch/dinner while the girl’s family is chewing their nails.

On the way, they talk to the boy about the virtues of marrying in a well-to-do family and praise the girl for being homely and shy; and that living on outside food is bad for health; and that it is high time he is married so he has someone who can cook a proper meal for him wherever he lives. The boy, having no opportunity for a real conversation with the girl, relies totally on his family’s opinion. He is dealing with similar family pressure where his own khandan is waiting on Whatsapp for the good news, nods his head (he still doesn’t know about the football and motorbike).

The boy’s family take another couple of hours until the girl’s party calls them to ask for their verdict again. They reply in a long-suffering tone that they are okay with the match and would need to prepare for the ceremony. They sit around doing nothing on the pretext of preparing for the “roka ceremony“, second guessing if they had been too rash or whether they should have delayed a bit longer. They make a move to leave the middleman’s home at least an hour later than promised.

Step 12: The approval of the girl’ side of the world

The boy’s party reaches the girl’s the house famously late, where the entire house is crazier than before and, yet, stands to attention at their arrival. Suddenly, hands are being wrung, the boy is crushed under the hugs of all of girl’s male cousins (including those who had been earlier waiting on Whatsapp). The female cousins are looking down from the roof or waiting at the threshold giggling and whispering and adding to the general conundrum. The boy’s own cousins are back in his city, so he is alone to deal with the attention.

The house is filled to gills with people, ready to burst at seams. Cousins are pouring in and pouring out (for arrangements). A photographer, arranged to create proof of the ceremony, is busily arranging lights. A bunch of cousins are busily spreading chandani (white silky cloth) on hired beddings across the floor to arrange enough sitting space for all the invited (and uninvited) gentry. People keep getting in each other’s way apologizing with smiles, and trying not to get irritated with the way sweat drips from their forehead because no number of hired fans is enough to kill the heat generated by breathing of so many people.

The boy’s party produces a basket of fruits and a large box of sweets arranged on the way to the venue.

The girl is being prepared again by the same bhabhi along with the instructions along the same lines–don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t speak, don’t breathe… The girl has given in and is not growling anymore, so the bhabhi shows her exactly how to eat baby-sized bites without smearing her lipstick and drinking with a straw (because she had smeared her lipstick the last time). The heat is making the make-up runny and the women in the house are suggesting all the possible ways to make it steady…none of which is possible anymore since the make-up is already done.

Someone comments that they should have hired a bridal artist rather than a novice, at which the bhabhi helpfully reminds them that they are free to bring one in if they think so which effectively shuts everyone up. The girl’s hair is done in elegant curls and has more make-up than she had earlier that day and she shivers at the woman she sees in the mirror. But everyone is telling how wonderful she looks and she trusts them because that is all she can do. The girl is then “taken” (you would think she can’t walk on her own) to the room where everyone is sitting.

The boy’s eyes zeroes down on the bhabhi (wearing a magenta sari that shows all her curves and plenty of skin) holding the shivering girl (shivering from nerves being close to nervous breakdown). Then again, he realises the photographer is shooting his reaction and slides his eyes to look at the girl. The girl “is sat” next to the boy this time (where he can touch her if he dares to take on an entire family of feral brothers). The girl sits as delicately as possibly for the fear of causing a tear in her silk sari. The boy’s party think of it as shyness. The girl’s party thinks of it as nerves. Only the bhabhi knows the truth as she carefully arranges the pallu of the girl’s sari.

The mother-in-law remarks how lucky her son is to have bagged her, while also reminding her that her son was her best bet and that matches are made in heavens. She then produces a heavily embroided sari she had already bought in her own city but wrapped in a wrapping sheet to hide the fact that they had come prepared. She also presents a gold ring (that she had carried in her purse for three years in the hope of getting her son married) and the said box of sweets. The other women in the boy’s family who had come with the party present cash envelops (or if they were also prepared–silver ornaments).

Each action is followed by the photographer’s blinding flash and clicks of photos on various mobile phones. Someone is live streaming the event on the Whatsapp group.

The girl’s father does similar stuff for the boy, presenting clothes, a ring and sweets. The considerably larger family on the girl’s side ensures that by the time the ceremony is done, the boy is considerably richer than what he came in with. And this is only the beginning of a lifelong supply of goodies, as long as the girl is happy with him.

Note that the girl and boy had no real opportunity to talk yet. They are playing blind. By the time they realise their mistake, it will be too late, and they will live erringly happy ever after!

To be continued if I see people showing interest in the rest of the process. 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, accurate. I have seen it happen to most of my cousins, even played the giggly cousin part quite a few times. I have been the internal messenger, salad arranger, dahi (yogurt) whisker, chutney (sauce) maker and the uninvited cousin in several such events. Not all these events come to an agreeable ending, and sometimes the boy and the girl might have to go through several such experiences before the said roka ceremony, but each one is just as crazy.

Posted in Life and After, Love

Karwachauth

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

She sat waiting for him to return home. It was Karwachauth fast, so she was thirsty, hungry and crabby. She was also annoyed that seven years after their marriage, he would choose to ignore the day. He hadn’t called all day. Neither had he come home a little early like he did in the earlier days of their marriage.

It was almost time for the moon to rise, for her to break the fast, but she couldn’t eat or drink until he fed her with his own hands. She wondered if it was worth staying hungry for the long life of a man who didn’t give a damn anymore.

He was all work now, always at office, only returning to eat and sleep. Sometimes, he would play a little with the children but he didn’t have time for her anymore. Did it have something to do with that new pretty girl in his office, Priya? That day at the office party, she seemed too intent to please. Always hovering around him, “Sir this…”, “Sir that…”.

What would she do if he decided to ditch their marriage for this one? She worried with the lace of her red sari–one she had worn for too many years on too many Karwachauth fasts. It was the only decent red sari she had, the colour she had to wear as per the tradition. She hadn’t asked for another. It seemed weird asking for a red dress at her age. That too for just one occasion an year. Not that he noticed anymore anyway.

The bell rang, she almost ran to the door but collected herself together. She didn’t want to look desperate, so she called one of the kids to open the door.

Her husband walked in with a large package in his hand, which he handed to her with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I’m late. You know how tailors can be. I had to sit there and wait until he finished. I could have called you but I wanted it to be a surprise. You already look lovely, but this shade suits you better.”

She opened the package. It was the perfect red sari ensemble.

Posted in Life and After, Love

The Long Walk

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

It is a long walk down the aisle. My father holds my hand reassuringly while my mom sobs in the pew. He stands with the pastor looking perfect as ever but I can’t bring myself to smile.

Is it too late to cancel?

Is it wrong to wish for something other than perfection?

I pass by her and, for a second, her entire face lightens up but, then, the lights go out again. Her red-rimmed eyes mirror mine.

Is it too late to cancel?

Posted in Love, Nature

Honeymoon

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

fynn-schmidt-IYKL2uhgsnU-unsplash

The long quiet walk through the sea of sand with you by my side…

The sight of warm air blowing through your long eyelashes…

The jingle in each step you take…

The walk to work now makes my heart skip many a beat, as I take each step with you, everyday, forever…

Photo by Fynn schmidt on Unsplash

Posted in Life and After

Bonded Labour

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The wife enters the room at night, bone-tired after the cooking, cleaning, washing and nursing routine.

Husband: Did you iron the shirt I asked you to?

Wife: I did not get time today.

Husband: Really?! You were at home all day while I was slaving away my life at work…