Wedding tales

I am a Malayali christian, married to a Telugu Brahmin. A marriage of culture, language and religion. When we suggested marriage to Neel’s folks, there was a slight uproar. But not all that much. They accepted rather quickly. My dad (based out of the country then) knew. But he took time (like way after the wedding) to inform my mom.

Though I was mentally prepared and shopped as carefully as I could for the ceremony, nothing prepared me for the actual thing. For one, my husband was totally clueless about the ceremony. Whilst shopping, I kept having conversations with my MIL-to-be about the things I need to buy, How many sarees to pick up, what kind etc. She was very helpful. Based in Bangalore at the time, before leaving for Hyderabad, I asked my MIL one last time if there were any last minute inclusions. None.

Being extremely style conscious, I had picked up some tastefully gorgeous and expensive sarees. After all, you get married once. I wanted the video and photos to be as memorable as my special day. Can you imagine my shock, when my MIL turns up about two hours before the ceremony with a white cotton saree with a red border and asked me if I had a blouse and skirt to match. Dammit! I thought Hindus did not wear white for auspicious ceremonies and steered clear of that colour. Did she assume that I was somehow carrying all colours of blouses and skirts for sarees??? I had to exercise tremendous willpower and patience. And to top it all, she also pulls out a XXL size, pathetic blouse and asked me if it would fit. “NO IT WOULDN’T” I wanted to scream. At that point, to me, she was the typical MIL. All set out to ruin it for me.

My friends, seeing that I was about to explode, offered their shoulders. Where in heaven’s name was this going to work? I still had to find a white skirt and reduce the blouse to four sizes less to fit me. (MIL offered white thread too!!) The temple was situated atop a hill and my friends had no clue where to begin. They ventured out and turned up an hour later with a horrendous stiff white skirt. Wear it with that cotton saree and I could imagine how it would turn out. More anger. I was busy plotting as to how I would let my MIL have it. Why did the woman not ask me to get those things?

Fortunately for me, I am very photogenic. That trait stood by me and the photos were good. I looked as good as anybody could with some gooey brown stuff stuck on top of my head, showered with yellow-coloured rice and vermillion. They seem to take a lot of trouble to make the bride and groom look as ugly as they possibly could. We had to hold the gooey brown stuff in our bare hands for almost thirty minutes. I thought at some point, the pujari would ask us to eat it. You cannot imagine the incredulous look I had when he asked to splatter it on top our heads. My washed, conditioned and set hair, all in ruins. Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggg!! It did not end there, I had to sleep with it!! And wash my head at 3 am with cold water. Believe me it was an experience. I told myself, no wonder in India we get married only once. You will not have the guts to go through something like this all over again. The ceremony seemed to last for ever. I stopped feeling that I had legs after all the cross-legged sitting.

Now I really understood all those wedding pictures of other people I saw. Now I truly understood why they had that painful look in their eyes like they were having a nervous break-down or that they were dragged and forced to marry. The torture was showing through.
Christian rituals are normally very simple and easily understood as they are performed. What was I getting myself into?? I had to plan carefully, once my husband and I get back to Bangalore, I was not going let them have this kind of pleasure to torture me again.

Now let me in on your wedding experience. Did you have a bad hair day or forgot to carry some essential things… I am sure we would all have something to share.

For what happened later and how things are now, I will keep you posted in my later blogs….