My Recent Reflections: October 2007

To an outsider (read foreigner), an Indian wedding is an Indian wedding – the same all over the country. To them, states are not entities; a Tamilian, a Bengali, a Gujarati or a Punjabi all are the same to them. However, for an Indian, divided by states and languages and communities, a wedding could belong to several categories: same caste, different caste, same language, different language, correspondingly same region, different region, same religion, different religion, even different nationality.

It’s a big divide, and then again there’s the divide of whether the bond is arranged or one of love (it’s just a term – doesn’t mean that arranged marriages don’t have love in them). When it’s an arranged marriage, well, the selectors of prospective bride/grooms don’t go for marriages with other castes, and NEVER different communities. Obviously, because one expects that two people belonging to similar backgrounds (read caste, religion, language) would get along much better than otherwise.

However, if recent urban trends are to be considered, love marriages and arranged marriages work hand in hand; parents are open enough to allow their progeny to choose their partners in life. And even if they aren’t, their children go for it anyway and then, more times than not, parents have no other choice except to accept the relation. And, a majority of the time, they choose people who are invariably of/from different caste/language/region/religion. Off late, I’ve seen a lot of such couples; in love, striving to make their respective parents accept their decisions. Some accept grudgingly, some don’t, until they realize they’ll lose their children. However, once they accept, they realize that its not that bad - the chosen person is actually good. After all, how much would it matter that s/he’s Punjabi and not Telegu, or Assamese and not Bengali?
And they get along just fine, if not better.

Inter-caste is not such an important factor nowadays amongst the urban, (I repeat urban, because in rural areas, even today couples are not allowed to get married, and are even murdered, if they are of different castes, leave alone religion). Several of my friends are part of/are couples who transcend states, from North India to South, from East to West, and all with relative ease.

Some years ago, in my family, we had a Punjabi bride married to my very Bengali uncle, and surprises of surprises - it was an arranged marriage, arranged by mutual friends of both the parties involved. The couple just knew each other, and that’s that. The marriage was special; although it was between a Bengali and a Punjabi, it was conducted in Guwahati (a place whose majority population is Assamese). Anyway, it was a concoction of Bengali as well as Punjabi customs, with the former dominating, maybe because it was the groom’s side (as always, the Indian psyche gives more importance to the groom’s side). However, there were customs of the Punjabi way of marriage too. The one I remember were the knots tied in a string, which had to be untied by the bride or groom… I’m not too sure…

That had been a relatively low key affair, even though cross cultural, I’d not felt the cultural differences in both parties. And since the bride’s party had come all the way from Delhi, very few people had come, and so I’d not really experienced the Punjabi flavour of the marriage.

That loss of mine was compensated very recently, when I was privileged to attend the marriage of a very dear friend in Hyderabad. Punjabi by birth, Gujarati by place of stay, he was getting married to an Andhra girl (another sweet person I got to know through him). Yes of course it was a love marriage, but luckily, both the sides (parents’) had come to a mutual agreement. And so there it was - a marriage of different India-s, languages, customs, and possibly castes (though that would hardly matter after the previous different-s).

For me, it was a trip to look forward to, going to Hyderabad, meeting the friend after four years, that too for his marriage, that too to a person of entirely different region.
I don’t know why I chose to write this post…I’m not going to describe the entire marriage am I? Well maybe I am. Only because I was so amazed by the way people came across cultures and merged into a single multi faceted ceremony; add to that a touch of foreign spice - you have your very own version of unity in diversity as well as nationality.

Hmm… to explain all that I’ve rambled about above, let me elaborate a little (a lot actually).
Well, to begin with, I had never had an idea about a north Indian wedding, let alone a Punjabi one. All I’d heard was that Punjabi ceremonies are usually rather ostentatious, with a lot of pomp and show, somewhat spectacular and flashy, involving a lot of cash flow (this I assumed after watching a lot of Hindi movies which although I knew exaggerate could be partially true). As for Andhra weddings, I had an even lesser idea about that, never having attended any south Indian weddings or watching any movie depicting atleast some part of it, unless one counts the two minute wedding part of he movie ‘Hyderabad Blues’ (which is a very nice movie by the way).

Lets begin with the pre-marriage ceremony…the Engagement also called the ‘Sagai’. No wait... I’d missed one ceremony - the Sangeet, that’s again a North Indian function, a day or two (I’m not so sure) before the marriage, where there’s a dance function, and all the ladies (again I’m not sure) dance, and sometimes even the bride, if she wants. In this case, I heard that the bride had danced with aplomb, while the groom was trying to signal her to be a little demure (or atleast act as if she was). She was not at all perturbed and supposedly danced with no shyness, and so did her father.

Anyway back to the engagement…
According to the merged set of customs, the groom’s side arranged the engagement. It was all set at a hotel far away from where we were put up to stay - a cantonment area ahead of Begumpet (where the airport is). When we (for all subsequent reading, all ‘we’s indicate people from the groom’s side) reached the place, after a long and rather picturesque ride (with the sunset glistening the waters of the Hussain Sagar lake), the place was almost empty; besides the people who had arrived in earlier cars (from the groom’s side) and others (again from the groom’s side) who had come there directly. Not a soul from the bride’s side was to be seen.

On enquiry, it was found that she was caught up in the beauty parlour and it would take some time before she could manage to reach the place. Now that in itself was something different; traditionally, brides are the ones meant to be ready before time, nervous, awaiting her knight in shining armour (of course not literally) to arrive. In this case, it was a rather uptight groom, who was waiting, at the same time, socializing with the guests; most of the time standing with a few friends of his own batch from college.

As I looked around, the decoration was really pretty; it was a simple affair of flowers, but not the conventional set of marigold. From afar, the flowers looked artificial, they were so perfect. But later, after the ceremony, we found that they were real fresh flowers. They were very tastefully decorated with medium lighting, nothing to make the people present blink while looking at the elevated dias. Initially, two throne-like bronze chairs were kept at the centre which was where the engaged couple would be sitting for quite some time, like the king and queen of the subjects sitting below. Some music was going on that was all Telegu; not a hint of Hindi. Later, at the behest of us, a few songs of Hindi and English were played.

After some time, some of the bride’s sides’ relatives came in. It was then that one realized that this was indeed a confluence of cultures, not in a bad way, but as outside appearances and manner went. Unlike the groom’s side which was comparatively livelier, maybe a little too impatient, the bride’s side entered rather tranquilly, so much so that their arrival was just a little short of inconspicuous. They came in mildly, talking softly among themselves (or so it seemed). Even the way the ladies of both the sides were dressed for the occasion was very different, even the colours. Though all the ladies from the bride’s side wore sarees and mostly all from our side too (not me), but the sarees were radically different. While their side wore heavier sarees, probably silk, Kanjeevaram etc., in our side, it was mostly chiffon and georgette, and even the colours were different; while ours were in bright shades, theirs were a little less bright, bordering on dark. Maybe those textiles come in such colours. The jewelry was visibly more of gold; our side, the jewellery was less noticeable, rather light. As for the men, there was hardly any noticeable difference. Atleast some things are universally same.

One could make out a perceptible wariness running through the air - both sides were anxious to please, and yet unfamiliar to the other side. As we looked on, the groom’s mother welcomed the bride’s and they started talking; the groom’s mom gave some sort of jewellery to the bride’s mother. They were chatting like old friends. Everyone settled down and mingled, well, not so much as mingled, maybe talked among themselves; both the sides separated. But then again that had nothing to do with culture clash; that happens at all weddings (at least Indian) - the groups hardly ever mingle initially.

Note-In-between: For all the customs and traditions that I’m describing, some might be incorrect and misleading as I never observed that closely - whatever appeared to me as a custom, I’m putting it down here. I could be wrong.

About half an hour later or so, the bride entered, all decked up in her finery looking beautiful in a completely sequined orange-yellow saree, her face glittering, more so with her constant smile. She wasn’t the conventional bride – she was (is) the modern Indian bride; not at all self conscious or shy. Charmingly, she came forward and smiled to someone, a nod here, a wave there - she was meeting almost everyone at once. As everyone looked in her direction, she was not at all put into confusion, neither was she nervous. A friend’s wife offered to walk her to the dias, she cheerfully refused, ‘that’s all right I’ll go...’ and so she went forward, meeting people on the way, a word or two here and there. In retrospect, as she sat down at the dias where the groom was already sitting, maybe the groom looked more nervous compared to her.

Then started the Punjabi ceremonies (so it seemed)… there was this tradition called Aashirwaad, where the elders blessed the couple. Several other customs would have been there, but as I was seated at the back somewhere, I really didn’t know what exactly was going on.

All I remember is photographs - a lot of them. As the bride and groom made a cultivated effort to talk to everyone present, they also had to photograph with almost all the guests. It was like they had a smile permanently on their faces; friends, relatives, cousins, kids, colleagues all wanted snaps with the couple. And even if they didn’t, courtesy indicted that the couple force them to take a shot with them; the photographer hired was busy all the time, along with the video camera guy, who was also recording off and on.

So there it was - the engagement was done, and all they had left to do was sit at the dias on their royal seat, welcoming invitees as they came to congratulate them , and then clicking a photo with them. By the end of it, they were incapable of genuine smiles; too tired to smile genuinely but yet trying their best, a tiny upward lurk of the lips, that was the thin line on their faces by the end of the evening. And then in the midst of the guests, there entered a very special couple - an Australian couple (since I don’t know their names, let’s call them Mr. and Mrs. A), who were special because of the way they became a part of the whole marriage ceremony….

Mr. A is a very famous eye surgeon who had come to Hyderabad for some seminar or something and Mrs. A had accompanied him. As they were staying for quite some time, Mrs. A decided to join some Indian cooking classes. So she asked here and there and finally stumbled upon the cooking classes that the groom’s mother taught. When she saw that the classes were temporarily suspended, she enquired why and found out the reason, i.e. her (the teacher) son’s marriage. And so she and her husband talked to the mom/groom (I’m not sure who) and requested them to invite them to the wedding. Of course they agreed, but yet they were persistent, as if disbelieving, ‘no… invite us… my wife is even ready to wash the dishes if required but we want to be in all the festivities’. (Since I heard this after several versions, I’m not sure whether these were the exact words). And of course that was not required. Anyway, that was how they became involved in the whole celebration.

And so they arrived, both looking so happy and comfortable; as they went to congratulate the couple, one elderly uncle of the groom smiled and motioned to the photographer, ‘take their photo with the family’, who happily complied. There they were – the affianced couple along with groom’s mother, and the blissfully bemused Australian couple. Displayed here was a classic example of Indian hospitality; all the members of both the sides, especially the groom and bride, made sure that Mr. and Mrs. A did not feel odd or lost at any point of time. They made sure that someone was there with them, to talk to them, explaining the various customs so as to make them comfortable. Indeed so, they looked at ease while a young cousin (probably) of the bride stood/sat conversing with them, explaining the highlights of the ongoing ceremonies.
That’s when I realized. To them, it was an Indian wedding, not Punjabi, not Andhra; they wouldn’t have even realized the cocktail of cultures they had landed themselves into. Strange how an outside perspective makes you realize how petty some of our inter divisions are.

During the ceremony, we heard some bad news. There had been some bomb-blasts in the city; one in a park by the Hussain Sagar lake and another in some other place (the name I forget). Everyone was a little worried, but no one wanted to mar the evening with sadness. Many got calls from worried friends/relatives to know if they were all right. That tragedy made the atmosphere somewhat sombre.

While we were having a late dinner, we were witness to a special dance show by the bride’s cousin. A teenager of about 13-15 years age, when the chairs had been removed and the couple had come descended from their throne, he got onto the dias, and danced away to glory - one song after other. The people sitting below also cheered him on, buoyed by the enthusiasm on his face. As he danced on and on, another girl (also from the bride’s side) also danced. But the boy was exceptional; he danced as if he didn’t care whether anyone was watching, he seemed to love it. After a lot of dancing and intermittent applause, the bride’s dad (his uncle maybe), in a gesture of appreciation, got onto the dias, sportingly danced along with him for a few seconds and then at the same time, gifted him with some cash as a blessing. The boy pocketed the money, smiled and continued dancing.

After the last guests had left, the families dispersed to their respective places. As we left, we crossed a flyover from where the area of blast was partially visible. I felt somewhat helpless, a tinge of sadness hinting to shade over the festive mood. There hovered in my mind a pinch of guilt; we were laughing and enjoying while people were coping with the tragedy of losing their near and dear ones. While a bond of love was being sealed, some bonds had been forever torn apart by the cruel act of some heartless people. It is a testament to the different ways of life that are common to Indians - Babies are born, people get killed, marriages get sanctified, riots get started, and yet, life goes on… life has to go on. Tears flow, heart-rending images prick and yet somehow memory and time gives each a respite… to forget and to heal.

That’s how we also somehow put the thoughts at the back of our consciousness, to ignore, to forget.
Let me get past the guilt and continue with the wedding saga…I know it might sound callous, but then, as I said, life does go on.

After reaching the temporary residence at the cantonment, after a while of chitchat, discussing this and that, that saree and that lady, that food and this dessert etc., as is common after every major event, people retired to their respective rooms. Atleast I did.
It was already pretty late and the next day i.e. the marriage day was going to be a rather early, long and eventful day…

It had been decided that the marriage ceremony in itself would be conducted in the Andhra way – i.e. their customs, but of course the classic north Indian baraat (groom’s bridal party) would be a forerunner to the wedding..

The next morning started early for the main people involved, and consequently for all the people present in the residence, including me. After a sumptuous family breakfast (just so because we had become somewhat like a family, as all were present there for a common cause). I, along with another friend, headed out to meet a college friend. We left with some other members who had to go to the bride’s place for some ‘Shagun’ I guess, where they would be giving (or getting?) some ritualistic articles to (or from?) the bride’s side.

When we came back, I was a little disappointed to know that I’d missed the Haldi ceremony. Atleast that was a ceremony I was familiar with, i.e. the same happened in Bengali marriages too. At both the sides, the prospective groom and bride were made to sit docilely, while they were smeared all over with turmeric (haldi) paste… and they could not object. Sometimes, while this happened, others smeared others and it would eventually turn out to be a small Holi.

So anyway when we returned, we were greeted with a yellow groom, all the haldi dried up on him, except his face, which he had washed. He looked busy; on the phone, doing this, doing that. Supposedly, there was some custom, where the water to wash off the haldi should come from the bride’s place (obviously just a nominal amount), but that had not arrived, and so the groom was all covered in yellow paste, waiting for the water.

The baraat was to leave the place at about five thirty or so, after some ceremony, but till four, the groom was roaming around, not even close to ready. Luckily, then the water finally arrived, and whatever ritual was to be performed, was performed. I have no clue, because I was busy freshening up. Amazingly, the groom took about ten-fifteen minutes to get ready for the most important day in his adult life; handsome and charming in his brownish golden sherwani, complete with a stoll. As soon as he was done with his toilette, he hurried up the rest of the people to get dressed, helping out with the kids, and smiling all the time.

Finally, we were all ready almost in time (yes I did take time seeing that I had chosen to wear a saree). Mr. and Mrs. A had also arrived in an auto, after frantic searching of the area for the place. Mrs. A, resplendent in a magenta salwar kameez, greeted the groom and his mom; while Mr. A was all dapper in his complete suit. As they talked to the people around, she glanced at myself and another girl (who was newly married), both trying hard to handle the sarees, and came forward, asking if we could help her wear her saree. She had actually bought a saree, but since she didn’t know how to wear it, she’d brought it along with her, hoping that someone would help her into it. We said, we’d try but maybe someone else would be better, because we were also novices in the art. As she stood with us, her husband, her husband called out to pose, his camera in hand; they were both so enthusiastic, ready to capture every moment.

After some customs (again, I have no clue what exactly), where a pandit chanted some mantras, and also some story from ancient Hindu mythology, I’m unable to recall which exactly, and blessing from all the elders present, we all left for the marriage hall. The baraat left in six-seven cars; I was privileged to be in the car along with the nervous (somewhat) groom, his mom and some friends. I’d never been part of a north Indian baraat before, and so I was rather curious as to how things were going to follow.

What happens in a baraat in our (Bengali) weddings is: After some blessing etc. at the groom’s place, everyone sits in the respective cars, reach the bride’s place/marriage hall, where they get welcomed and then starts the fun. There’s a custom of blocking the gate (usually done by the brides’ sisters, cousins and smaller kids etc. during the welcome), called. ‘Gate Dhora’; either the groom’s cronies have to force a way in through the barricade of people, so that the groom can follow respectably (of course he can’t be involved in the forcing) or he has to pay the blockers money to get in. Usually, the groom pays (after all he gets married that day - he can’t be cheap and not pay). Then, the groom, along with the other baratis is seated at a stage/hall/rooms/ which is all decorated and comfortably arranged. Last time I attended a wedding (a long time ago) from the groom’s side, the arrangement was done in the traditional Bengali way, with cushions and mattresses placed in a semicircle, with sufficient space for all the people. With the groom sitting in the centre, aromatic incense burning next to him, flowers set in front him, now, when I look back, it appears to border on the funnier side. But that time, I believe it was the norm. Generally, refreshments would then be served, or the people would be escorted to the pandal (temporary constructed eating place) where they could partake refreshments. Then, if I recall correctly, the groom would be re-dressed in the clothes given by the bride’s side, and then the wait would begin until the auspicious moment of marriage. Either I had attended mellow weddings, or all Bengali weddings are mostly mellow in comparison to the north (atleast in terms of baraat). True, there are a lot of light moments, games, and it’s a week long festival, but there’s not much of song and dance except the traditional shehnai, which has of late been converted to live bands (the uniformed kind who play loud popular songs) or Hindi film songs, but it’s not even in the vicinity of being as lively or loud as a North Indian wedding (that’s what I realized after being part of this wedding).

As I was to find out, in true Punjabi style, the baraat halted at a place about a kilometre away from the marriage hall, and got out of the cars. I realized that the groom would be reaching his wedding astride a horse that was standing there, all decorated, along with its caretaker (that’s not the exact word, but that’s the nearest I could get). A uniformed band was also present, with some bright lights on top of some kind of vehicle, which was to travel along with the baraat. After all the cars had arrived, the groom finally got onto the horse’s back, wearing the sehra (a headdress with strings of flowers hung on the top, so as to cover the whole face). The band started, the lights shone… and then there was dance. And boy! What a dance! The groom’s brother, cousins, and his friends started dancing, madly, no method, no steps, mindlessly moving their limbs, with some rhythm along with the band, which was playing some popular Hindi movie marriage songs. After a few minutes of frenzied dance with indescribable steps; random and wild movements, the baraat started moving, but not for too long. Within five minutes, again the entire party of dancers, i.e. the brother/friends/cousins started dancing yet again, this time pulling others (yes… me too) into the dance. Even the ladies danced for a while. The groom’s brother and a cousin sister even managed to teach Mr. and Mrs. A, who were initially hesitant, to dance. Then, they too, realizing that nobody really cared about the steps, danced with gusto.

The baraat was moving at a snail’s pace (obviously), with dancing going on every five minutes. We were moving on the main road, but initially there were no people or shops etc. on the sides, but as the buses and cars went by, people inside, turned and stared. After all, such a loud and colourful baraat wasn’t that common in these parts. A person in the baraat had to keep the dancers and others from going onto the middle of the road, because they (the dancers), as such were not really in their senses; once they were dancing, that’s all they seemed to be doing. All of them were drenched in sweat; such was the intensity and movement of their dance.
All the while, the groom stayed put on his horse. Frequently, he looked through the sehra, momentarily moving the strand of flowers, to look around as to what was happening; he looked so helpless, sitting on the horse, no control over anything going on around him, just waiting for it all to get over. That expression was to remain on his face for the remainder of the evening, temporarily camouflaged by smiles.

And all the while, the madness of the music and dance continued. As we neared the place (half an hour to forty-five minutes and barely a km later, that too), the frequency of stops became more, the progress diminished to miniscule steps. I was reminded strongly of the celebration of Dashami (10th day) of Durga Puja - when the idols are taken for immersion, a similar song-dance scene reigns. (I’ll not delve into that now – maybe that’s another whole new post). Here there were more people along the road, and as we progressed, they looked on, wonderment in their expressions, smiling, and if I’m not mistaken, some guys joined in, danced and then left again. We’d created such a commotion in the usually peaceful place, that everyone around was looking at us.

Finally, we reached the marriage hall. Surprisingly, there were three marriages in the same marriage hall (it was more than a hall - a four-storied building of halls, including a garden and parking space). Our marriage (sounds funny but this was the easiest way to phrase it) was on the third floor. There were separate entrances for the three marriages but the baraat was visible from all the floors. So, as we entered, with pomp and show, a lot of people looked down from the other marriages, staring; all the shine from their wedding faded into the glitz of ours. Yet more people stood in the area outside the building, just outside the entrance; probably they were all from our bride’s side - I was in no position to distinguish. Again, the penultimate round of dancing, this time some youngsters from the bride’s side also joined in and were totally encouraged by the groom’s side. Some crackers… and then the baraat had finally arrived.

As the groom waited to be brought down from his mount, his friends & cousins insisted that the groom go until the very end astride on his horse (if it was upto them, he would have entered the building on his horse). And then it was all a haze - crowds totally swaying with the band while the dancers went on and on and on. Someone (probably from the bride’s side) told the band to stop playing but somehow they also didn’t stop, caught in the madness of the dancers. After a LOT of dancing, and lot of music, when we had all mingled along with the bride’s side, the band finally stopped. The horse had reached the entrance to the building. As some young kids went to help their future relative dismount from his horse, he said something to them which was not audible to us. Then we realized that the groom had his demands; he wouldn’t dismount until the bride’s parents danced (I guess there lies the advantages of a love marriage; you are already on familiar terms with your in-laws). Everyone started clapping, the band started playing (again), and a shy mother and totally zestful father danced perfunctorily. Satisfied, the groom dismounted and the herd (better known as the baratis) entered.

Our bride’s function was arranged on the 3rd floor, just below the top floor where the food arrangement had been done. As we reached there, we were greeted with people serving some kind of liquid refreshment (water/ juice/ something else). Inside the hall, the arrangement was simplistic; chairs were arranged throughout the length of the hall while at the front there was a decorated raised dias, again with flowers. This time it was the traditional marigold flowers - all shades of orange and yellow livening up the white painted walls.

Now, I’m not sure how much later the next event happened, probably some fifteen to twenty minutes after the baraat arrived at the marriage hall. This was a north Indian custom – Jaymala – the first exchange of garlands between the groom and bride. Here also there was a lot of fun involved; what happens is that neither the groom nor the bride wants to bow down when the other is garlanding him/her. So usually they are lifted by their friends/brothers/cousins etc. so that the other had to reach higher up to garland him/her. In this case, our groom’s friends lifted him high up, nearly touching the roof of the flowered enclosure; the bride’s brothers then lifted her too, but somehow, as soon as she reached his level, they pulled him higher. The scene was hilarious; two dressed up people lifted up high, holding garlands in their hands. The resource pool on the groom’s side was more than the bride’s side and they were showing no signs of bringing him down. When both were on the verge of crossing even the roof (in terms of height), the bride’s brothers resorted to tickling the people who were holding up the groom, so as to get them to bring him down. With that, the garland exchange was finally complete, fortunately, without the couple toppling down.

After that, there wasn’t any ceremony or ritual before three (yes in the morning) when the auspicious moment (Shubh Muhurat) was. It was about nine when the Jaymala was completed. Post that, while the couple were in for another round of photo sessions, this time for a larger audience, we all went to the food area on the top floor. Here there was an assorted cuisine of both North Indian as well as South Indian ; so while there was panipuri (also known as golgappa), and chaat, there was also sambhar rice.
After some tasting here and there, we went back; the couple was still at it, greeting guests and the inevitable photos - both were looking tired.

At about eleven thirty or so, when the invited guests had eaten, and nobody was expected to come, the couple finally went to have some food, so they sat at the centre of an elongated table (arranged by joining several tables) while their friends (us included) and sisters/cousins sat with them, also having their dinner, i.e. if one could call it that at that time. Since the actual yagna (Don’t ask me the meaning of the word…I too am clueless)/rites were times at about three in the morning (night rather), we all went to the rooms allotted on the same floor, and rested there; I dozed off.

2:30AM: Knock knock knock… and we were back at the hall, where the marriage was now officially on, the Andhra way…

As the we reached there, slightly sleepy, coffees in hand; we looked to the dias to find a curtain hung there in the middle, such that no one sitting in the hall could see beyond it. And who was that sitting this side of the curtain, with his back towards us? That was the groom, facing the opaque curtain, doing what no one knew. Presumably, he would be following instructions given by the people on the other side of the curtain. Since we were all too lazy to find out, we never did know what did go on all the while. Supposedly, the curtain would lift little by little, to disclose the bride sitting on the other side. So we sat, awaiting that, chatting amongst ourselves. Someone said, ’poor guy - we all friends or someone should atleast sit there with him… he’ll be so bored, sitting facing nothing’ and then someone else commented gleefully (something to the effect that) ‘let him, after all he chose his Andhra bride - he has to follow their customs’. Nevertheless, someone must have heard the groom’s unspoken prayers (or someone must have heard the first guy) because in a few moments, some of his relatives did join him there at the dias, half of them looking at the curtain, as if in his support, while the other half looking back at the hall.

I don’t remember if the curtain went up gradually or in a single stroke, but it eventually did go up, and the cutest sight awaited us at the other side. There she was, the bride, wearing a different saree, (silk I think) in South Indian style, sitting inside a wicker basket (yes a wicker basket) facing the groom, who was still in the same position as before, just that the curtain had been raised. The bride’s mother and some other female relatives of the bride, sat beside her, while the pandit recited some mantras and performed some rituals. All the while, she sat in the basket; at the end, the pandit pasted some gur (jaggery) on the heads of both, along with some rice grains.

Then there was again a change of saree for the bride; when she came back this time, dressed in a white saree with red border, of cotton I think, she sat on the floor and not in the basket, still facing the groom. Then, their were an assorted number of games, which had some significance with marriage, things do with togetherness, caring for each other, etc. etc. As they were told to do this and that, the pundit explained the significance and analogy of the games with marriage. One such game/custom/ritual was the pouring of rice grains on each other from the same plate; whoever spilled more before the plate emptied, was supposedly the winner (of what, I have no idea). The first time the couple did it, they just did it because they were instructed to; the second time, they actually seemed to be competing with each other, picking up as much rice grain as possible in their two hands and pouring it all on the other. At the same time, a huge grin was pasted on the bride’s face (I couldn’t see the groom’s face as) – they seemed to be enjoying themselves…

One or two more similar kind of games were also conducted. Now my memory doesn’t allow me to decide whether there had been any ‘phere’ or the circling around a fire, of the couple, joined together by a cloth tying her saree’s end (pallu) to the groom’s dhoti-end/kurta. I have no clue – as far as I remember I don’t think so, but then again, I was sleepy so I could’ve missed it. Anyway by four thirty – five in the morning, the wedding was officially over. As we all returned to the rooms where we’d previously rested, we were joined by the groom in some time. We all sat chatting till dawn, somewhat sleepy, yet knowing there wasn’t much point in sleeping now; some of us were leaving by morning flights. After some time, the bride too came in; all marriage ceremonies over, both were finally free. She came in, and after sometime, promptly lied down and fell fast asleep, all the sleepless nights finally taking their toll. She was so sound asleep that all of us talking, people coming into the room, her spouse throwing a pillow at her - nothing disturbed her.

And thus they were married.

That morning, we had planned to see Hyderabad - places like the Charminar, Golkonda Fort, some movie studio, and the Hussain Sagar Lake which spread across a large part of the city, the park near it etc. were among the placed we were told were famous in Hyderabad. However, due to the blast two days earlier, there was a bandh (kind of an involuntary strike, where a small number of people declare that the whole city will remain closed in protest, whereas actually, they are the only people who want the city to remain closed) in the city, we were advised not to venture to any of these places. To kill time, (our bus back to Bangalore was in the evening), a few of us cooped up at a mall, Hyderabad Central and watched a movie ‘Hey Baby’ (don’t ever watch it - the movie begins well but then loses track as to whether its a comedy or a drama). The mall is like any other mall in Bangalore; a branch of the same mall was there in Bangalore too (Central). The only difference was maybe the food court, and the architecture of the place. Then we went to the Eat Street – it’s along one of the sides of the afore mentioned lake. It’s a beautifully arranged place; several self serving food stalls, and tables and chairs arranged along a stretch of the banks, where people could enjoy the food as well as the view of parts of the lake and city. One could see the roads at the other bank of the lake, with the cars running on them looking miniscule, so much so that they didn’t even pass for toy cars. It is a nice place; however, surprisingly, inspite of the lake there was no breeze. It was absolutely still and if one didn’t stay in the shade one came to experience the heat of Hyderabad.

After some time, we left the eating place and walked around for sometime around the lake. Whether it was because of the bandh or the time of day (afternoon bordering on evening), there were almost no people around; it was peaceful but hot. I missed Bangalore somewhat. After walking around and thoroughly tiring ourselves especially after the sleepless night, we went back to the groom’s place, where the bride had been already received. People (relatives) who had come from out of station to attend the marriage were preparing to return to their respective destinations.

When we reached, the new bride was sleeping; it seems she had fallen asleep while an elderly relative had been narrating some random history of the family (maybe). When we left, about a couple of hours later, she was still sleeping - so comfortable, very at home in the new place (after all it was a love marriage and there wasn’t the normal shyness associated with the arranged marriage bride). We didn’t have the heart to wake her.

So as we left the newly married couple, the Andhra bride, and Punjabi daughter-in-law was sleeping after a tiring and exhaustive two days, while the Punjabi groom and Andhra son-in-law was still in the midst of post-marriage duties; dropping off people leaving after the marriage.

Nothing seemed different or weird. You see, when two people decide to live the rest of their lives together, minute details like language/region move out f the way, creating a beautiful amalgamated union - the best of both worlds, and obviously the worst too. 
Though one could work at slowly phasing out those not-so-good elements of both worlds in all the subsequent happy years of togetherness…

Note: Mrs. A did wear the saree, and she looked wonderful.

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