Tag Archives: weddings

All in the Family

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Shaikh and Shamim

The Mukaram family

Rusda, Me, Tayba and Shamim

Yes, do buy a gown for the marriage, it’ll be so much fun! We’ll go shopping together.

Don’t buy a gown, you’ll only want it for one day, yes? I can bring you some to try on and see what you like.

You’ll be needing help with getting ready for the wedding, ma’am?

I can lend you jewelry and shoes if you like, ma’am. No worries.

Since arriving in India we have been “adopted” by numerous people and treated like members of the family. We are often asked, with a look of surprise, why we have not brought our children and their spouses with us. “Next time,” we reply sheepishly. Indians tend to travel in large family groups of eight or more, except when they go on a honeymoon. Grandparents on both sides as well as aunties,cousins and children go on vacation together. Two lone travelers are an unusual sight.

We were thrilled when our friend Shaikh Mukaram invited us to his niece’s marriage and that we would be part of the wedding party. Although we have attended many Hindu weddings, this would be our first Muslim one.

She is very poor, my sister, but there will be over 1500 people at the wedding.

Shaikh’s father has eleven brothers and three sisters and his mother has seven brothers and six sisters. He has one brother and four sisters and his wife has three brothers and three sisters. Ubed, his son, estimated that he has three hundred cousins!

Nilam, one of the teachers at Manav Gulzar Community Center,offered to find a dress for me to borrow.

I have so many sarees but no gowns, I don’t know if you’ll like what I have.

Nilam

After teaching the workshops with the children I am usually exhausted so the thought of going to shop for a dress, no matter how much fun it might be, seemed overwhelming. I said that I was sure anything she had for me would be fine.

You need jewelry too, right?

The next day a big bag with three beautiful gowns and masses of costume jewelry arrived.

How to decide? Ask my friends on Facebook of course and have a vote! With opinions pouring in from India, Cambodia,Italy, France, Germany, England and the USA, the festivities started off with a bang.

The red is more striking

Quello in alto a destra,oro (Italy)

No need to choose,because you always beautiful (Cambodia)

Even pink is gorgeous…but I would suggest U go in Red it has a festive look in my opinion Best for the occasion. (India)

When the tally came in with more than one hundred and fifty votes counted, Red was the surefire winner. I felt like a princess with all the gold and sequins and glitter. Rusda, one of Shaikh’s daughters, agreed to come shopping with me for shoes and go together for the Heena hand painting the day before the wedding.

When Dhairya, one of the front desk managers at my hotel found out that I had no shoes she quickly piped in. “I have some shoes I can lend you. No worries. My Mummy and me have some pairs that we share for weddings. I’ll bring them by and you can see if they fit. “

Things were coming together quickly and it was the Friday before the wedding.

gown-check

earrings and bangles- check

gold sandal heels- check

Now it was time for the Heena.

Name and place where I will meet you tomorrow Rusda?

General hardas ngav nav lakhaa malek shaban ki dargah

Huh? Even with the Google map pinpoint I could tell it was complicated and I’d never find it.

I think maybe I won’t come. I’m afraid of getting lost.

Yaa it’s too far From your hotel.

I had resigned myself to not getting my hands painted and was commiserating with Jagat who runs the Earn and Learn program at Manav Sadhna.

Don’t worry. Nita can do it for you. I just have to send Kasturbhai to the market to get some Heena. Wait here.

I waited for forty five minutes until he returned from the market, as the first market had no more Heena. It is wedding season and there is a big rush for the Heena coloring. It is a tradition for women friends and family members to get their hands painted . Nita is an artist and in twenty minutes she had finished two beautiful traditional designs on both my hands while Jagat sang songs extolling the love between Gerald and I. Don’t ask me why he decided to do this, but he was enjoying himself so much I didn’t ask.

Before

After

Jagat Bhai

Saturday arrived and Dhairya arranged her schedule to free up some time to help me get ready. She insisted on calling me ma’am and although it bothered me at first, like most things in India, I got used to it.

Ma’am you must wear the diamond earrings, more Indian, others too Western. And yes, the diamond jewels draped on your forehead.

I left everything for her to decide and reveled in the pampering-make-up, jewelry, perfumes, the works.Gerald didn’t have anything special to wear, especially on his feet, but he had a Kurta. No chance of borrowing anything his size from anyone here in India.

When I made my grand entrance in the lobby of the hotel, you would think a movie star had arrived. The Indians gave their thumbs up approval and insisted on taking endless selfies with me.

Since we had no idea what a Muslim wedding would be like, but had been told that it was a more restrained affair-without the exuberant music and dancing of the Hindus, we had no expectations.

The evening started off by going to the home of the bride’s mother to watch the last minute make-up preparation. It was in a poor section of town where in 2002 Hindu Nationalist riots were responsible for the burning of many homes in the Muslim quarter. Shaikh’s sister’s home was among those that were destroyed. The Indian government did nothing to quell the riots and did not pay to rebuild. It was the Muslim community that helped her.

A type of canopy had been set up in the small courtyard of the quarter, and many neighbors were milling around as well as young cousins who were already dressed for the wedding. The housing quarters were tiny, barely enough room for three women to dress the bride. We stayed outside near the mosque.

Cousins

We then piled into Shaikhs car, leaving Rusda and her mother to come with the relatives. “It wouldn’t be nice if we didn’t stay with the family and go together with them. We will see you there.”

The earthen courtyard outside the mosque was dimly lit when we arrived, and it certainly did not look like a wedding venue. There was a stage set up with a throne, set against a blue and white striped curtain as back drop. The groom’s family (only about thirty five male members) sat below, looking glum and not talking to one another.We clabbered over the uneven dirt path with me holding my gown by the hem, trying not to trip over my heels while we crossed the courtyard into the bride’s section.

SPLAT! All of a sudden I felt the sole of one shoe detach from the heel. I limped awkwardly while lifting my gown off the ground in the futile hope of keeping it clean.

Shaikh’s brother to the rescue! When hearing of my dilemma he quickly appeared holding a tube of heavy duty glue. It just so happens he owns a clothing and shoe shop and was prepared for such emergencies.

The bride’s section was a dazzling display of kitsch and bling, with women wearing earrings that looked like metal chandeliers , or sculptures that you might see hanging decoratively on a wall.

The bride arrived in a car, veil covering her face,and was immediately escorted by Rusda onto the stage where she remained for the next two hours. We were ushered onstage to sit next to her and have our photos taken, along with other relatives. At one point she started crying and her auntie leaned over and spoke soothing words and gave her a hankie. In India, after marriage the bride goes to live with the husband’s family and does not return to her family. It is a very emotional moment.

The groom arrived and took his place, far away from the bride.

Food was served on large platters to be shared communally- rice, dal and a mutton curry.

There was no Imam (priest). Shaikh’s brother brought the marriage contract onstage first to the bride and then to the groom, still seated in different parts of the courtyard. The “ceremony” was now complete. The couple, officially married,would see each other for the first time only well after midnight at the groom’s house,when a mirror would be placed between them and the veil removed.

The wedding, rather than an elaborate celebration was more a large family reunion. As Westerners it is difficult for us to fully comprehend the complicated role that family plays in Indian society. It encompasses a strong sense of duty, devotion to tradition, and is an enormous source of happiness.

Marriage Goan Style

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” Whose wedding are you going to?”asked the young shop girl with a twinkle in her eye. I had already been asked the same question twice before as I scoured the shops of Agonda for a “wedding envelope”(used to place money as a gift for bride and groom). Agonda is a village in  southern Goa, which has managed to maintain its small town character and warm,family atmosphere, despite the influx of tourists to this wonderfully idyllic seaside. It is predominantly Catholic, which is evidence of the Portuguese occupation from the early 1600’s until as late as 1961. The church and its activities play a central role in the daily life.

At first glance one would think that the women are all pregnant – -a small “bump” protruding from their flowered, waisted house dresses. Upon further inspection it appears to be a body type rather than a condition. Their wavy, black hair is tied back into a bushy ponytail , and their smiles are broad and welcoming. Almost everyone has Fernandes as a surname and is somehow related to one another. The few Hindus that remain wear traditional saris  or salwar kameze(a long tunic top with pants), but for others this has been long ago  been replaced by western wear, due to prolonged contact with missionaries.

“My cousin’s daughter is getting married next week and the brides family is having a luncheon here on Sunday, do you want to come” asked Francis, our chef friend. (I wrote about him last year-The Sailor and the Saint). I’m always up for a wedding, but that also presents the challenge of finding clothes and shoes for the occasion. When you travel with only a carry on bag, there’s not much room for such luxuries. I did bring my “acceptable” wedding outfit, hoping  that I would get the opportunity to wear it, but I forgot my bling flip flops. I figure no one will look at my feet anyway.

Sunday arrives and Gerald asks if he has to wear long pants. It is hot and humid and he’d much rather wear shorts. I say that out of respect he should. I put on some make up, my best Indian costume jewelry, a blue paisley skirt and my clunky black Tevas.

Decorations for the engagement party

Decorations for the engagement party

We arrive early, hoping to get a good seat, Francis says they are expecting almost 200 guests. The night before, the restaurant was a flurry of activity as the “aunties” decorated the courtyard with sparkly,gauzy fabric and greenery and the men started setting up the chairs. Of course we are the first ones to arrive,in time to watch the last minute preparations.

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the “aunties” overseeing the food preparation

As people start to trickle in, Gerald turns to me and says sadly “All the men are wearing shorts!” And yep, it’s true. There is a sprinkling of men in long pants, and women in satin dresses, but for the most part it’s casual. I’m told that the wedding party on Tuesday night will be a formal affair and despite the heat, the men will be wearing suits and ties.

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women and children section

A table has been set up where the westerners congregate, and the rest of the chairs have women and children in one section and men in another. There is a dj playing pop music and drinks are served. I decide to have a Feni, a local brew made from cashews, and quite potent. I meet the bride, who is an atypically thin young woman of thirty. The marrying age here is between twenty five and thirty-much later than the rest of India. Appetizers of marinated beef, roasted pork and chicken are passed around while we wait for the buffet.

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Jama or “Emy” the bride-to-be

At the right moment all the aunties and family members line up around the buffet table and we stand as prayers are recited.  When the time comes to start eating,I am amazed at the restraint and calm that follows.  After eating, people get up and leave immediately, until all that is left are a few western stragglers.

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It’s been quite an un-Indian experience without the wildness and ritual of a Hindu engagement party .  Tomorrow night is the wedding in a village 35km from here and we will see what happens.

 

 

 

A Very Auspicious Day/OY VEY!

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The plaintive sounds of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer at the local mosque drift into our room.  It is 6 am and time to get up.  Indians have dinner at 10pm and don’t go to sleep until after midnight, so the streets don’t come to life until about 11 am, when they start to rouse themselves out of bed.  That’s the  best time to wander, before the choking fumes of traffic and the mass of people make walking unpleasant.

Gerald is looking for great cow pictures and I monitor the changes in my favorite shrines.  Morning time is when incense is lit and flowers are offered to the gods.  It also presents a small window of opportunity to see/photograph the shrines while their little metal gate is open; otherwise it looks like the gods are imprisoned.  This morning I realize that in my haste I forgot my camera.

At the end of the road,after cursing myself numerous times for not having my camera, we hear drums.  Women are  pouring into a courtyard where a drummer is playing and a puja (blessing ceremony) is being done in front of a shrine. It is Sri Mata- a mother goddess, and this is a pre-wedding ritual. Durga, another female goddess is in the same compound  and the women pay homage to each goddess in turn.  The attendant at the shrine is a priestess. This group is from a simple village , but soon afterwards a wealthier group arrives and this time two drummers appear. First it is the bride’s family who take turns pouring offerings of milk and flowers, and there are now two drummers.  The groom’s family appears some minutes later, which presents a problem. They shouldn’t be there at the same time, but with IST (Indian Standard Time), the bride’s family was supposed to have been there much earlier.  Four generations of women dance with abandon to the drums, and I of course am invited to join them, which I willingly do.

“Gerald, I want to go to that wedding tonight, please go talk to the groom”. There will be more than two thousand guests, and it will be a gala affair. Indians are notoriously hospitable.  I am prepared with my best silk outfit and silver sandals for just such an occasion. Unfortunately this time we are not invited..  As we leave, people are arriving in cars, on foot, and rickshaw.  The wedding season has begun!

Dates for marriages are chosen with an astrologer, and this weekend is apparently an auspicious one.  Our friends and our guesthouse owner are all going to weddings with between 2000 and 4000 guests.  When I ask Mr. Singh (owner of our favorite restaurant ) if they are going to a wedding this weekend, he replies “We will be going to a big royal wedding in January.  All the Maharajas of each state will  be present and we have two chartered planes to take our group.” Now that’s a wedding I’d like to be invited to.

As we climb the six flights of stairs to our room the sounds of fire bombs exploding break the quiet. From our panoramic window we see the luxury hotel, on Jag Mandir, a private island,lit up like Las Vegas. Famous Lake Palace Hotel ( from the Bond movie “Octopussy’) is also ablaze with lights.

Our room is a bargain at $17 a night, with a painted stenciled ceiling and views of Lake Pichola on two sides,but the mattress is hard as a rock.  I am hoping for a good night’s sleep because I am pooped.  BOOM.BOOM.BOOM. There seems to be a wedding all over town tonight. Fireworks, drums, loudspeakers with disco music, people talking,laughing until the wee hours of the morning.  And if that isn’t enough, at 3 am the ever-present stray dogs go on a howling binge (maybe frightened by all the fireworks) and don’t let up until dawn.

The daily spectacle of processions, ceremonies, and incredible flashes of colors is what makes India “The Greatest Show on Earth”.