An Auspicious Date - March 1 2024
It was warm under the kurta, waiting by the road under a tree for the groom to arrive at the temple. Many people - most looking similarly unaccustomed to their colourful Indian dress - lingered with me.
Then, with a percussive racket and a beautiful voice the dholi began drumming and the throb of the MG roadster's 1960s engine joined the air. Alex, saddled with his nephew beside him, rolled into the temple carpark accompanied by dancing and cheering.
After disembarking, more dancing, cheering and clapping continued in spurts as the westerners struggled to identify the natural stopping point for this ritual known as a baraat. The dholi, his round face dripping with sweat behind his tinted shades, offered little guidance for us. Every time things felt like they were wrapping up, another blast echoed from the double-sided drum and his lilting voice spurred another round of leaping and clapping.
I wore the right shoes this time, and proceeded to immediately remove them so I could enter the temple.
The Pink Canopy
There is no altar in the temple for the couple to stand at. Unlike a western wedding, the ceremony takes place on a small stage featuring two seats as well as the other items required to form the union.
Where western and Indian weddings deviate, based on my one experience, is that a lot more of the ceremony is obscured by a pink curtain. Whether this is because western weddings are more showy, or Hindu ceremonies are intended to be more intimate for the bride and groom, I don't know.
Fortunately, as a scarf-adorned member of the groom's family, I had a prime seat in the front row. So I could see most of it.
An auspicious everything
The celebrant spoke us through some of the stages of the ceremony, between words and chants in Hindi.
The word "auspicious" was used a lot, and I liked the way he said it.
Hands were placed into hands symbolically. Water was used to bless various parties. Oh yes, and early during all of this the bride came in through the front doors.
I knew that red is the traditional bridal colour in a Hindu ceremony, so it was not unexpected to see the bride arrive in red, but it was certainly a visually jarring sight and the dress and red, silk canopy held above her head.
Seven Rings Around The Fire Spirit
As the ceremony progressed, there came a point where they needed to walk around the fire pit seven times, in the ritual of Saptapadi. This was not a symbolic fire, but an actual fire burning in something I would describe somewhere between a "brazier" and an aluminium foil tray.
There were a few glances at the ceiling to check for smoke alarms, which around the seventh circuit of the flame, began to beep with perfect, comedic timing.
The smoke alarm apparently means the fire spirit is happy. They opened a door to let the smoke out and the ceremony continued.
Vanessa gets involved
As the brother of the groom, I did not get to be involved in the ceremony beyond waving a hand and clapping enthusiastically during the baraat. Vanessa, however, as the closest thing Alex has to a sister got to be involved several times, including tying the scarves together to help seal the bond.
More Food
With the formalities complete, the most important part of the weekend was technically complete. And it was now time for more food. There were samosas, onion bhaji, green chili cornbread (it probably has a Hindi name and might have been made with chickpea flour) and several delicious sweets. I didn't take photos because I didn't want to look like I was gawping at a long and historied culture, but they looked like yellow, plastic hot dogs like Nash squeaks around, except with a little bit of heavy, sweet fluid inside them and obviously not made of plastic. I had a few of those.
40 Minute Nap
Due to Alex's good planning, the ceremony and reception were perfectly positioned on either side of my house. Based on my calculations this meant I could have a forty minute nap in bed before re-donning the Kurta and joining in the evening festivities.
It was a good nap.
Arriving at the venue
Okay, so maybe my calculations were a bit generous towards napping as when we arrived at the reception I found most people already arrived, a long line for the bar and a long line for the food. Fortunately, the Bride and Groom and the Dholi hadn't arrived yet. So I was able to load up my plate with chicken and pastries, find my table, and then witness the newlyweds entrance to more drumming.
The arrival of the newly weds was lively, as they walked down the centre of two long rows of tables packed with well wishers. The Dholi commanded various groups of family members onto the dance floor to keep the arrival going. I was up there for a minute, stomach full of chicken and yellow hot dog things rumbling under the kurta.
Eventually things settled down and there were some speeches, including a PowerPoint.
It was during this part of the evening that I learned what I'd just eaten wasn't dinner, but just the entrée.
The Bollywood dance
There was a secret dance planned for the wedding that I was going to be a part of. It was a medley of six or seven pieces mainly performed by the bride and bridesmaids, with a little number done by the Mother and Father of the Bride, before a final group dance featuring many close friends and family. I was up the back, left corner and made it there just in time to start my moves.
We'd had two formal practice sessions plus some living room dancing to get ready for this, and - until video disproves it - I believe I hit all the steps. This was particularly impressive due to my lack of coordination and the tight embrace of my kurta. (The Indian tailors did not believe the measurements they were given, and I couldn't lift my arms above my head).
Dinner
I was relieved to nail my part in the dance and escape from the pyrotechnics that were positioned behind me without catching fire and dying an ironic death from fireworks, tonight.
From this point the DJs took over and the dance floor really revved up. The beats were pounding and the dance floor filled quickly. I used this time to sit and talk to friends and family, try to help with the bar staff, and generally soak it all in.
Dinner was then served, and I realised I probably could fit in a bunch of butter chicken, lentils, naan and a couple more sweet pastry balls for the road.
Surprisingly, after dinner the dancing and music did not continue late into the night. It seemed everyone was feeling that tonight was part three of a much longer weekend. With dinner done, and a few rounds of farewells and photos, it was back home and to bed for a very pleasant sleep.
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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.