Part I - Let's just get there first !
It’s a great time to be a newlywed, and an excellent time to be indoors together cosying-up, what with the cold wave sweeping the northern plains and all.
As you celebrity buffs may recall Abhishek and Aishwarya were married in April and it was so hot the ceremony lasted three weeks, that’s how long it took the groom to work up the nerve to leave his air-conditioned limo and sprint into the air-conditioned wedding hall.
Nandini however opted for the romantic version; the coldest part of winter in January.
So with a lot of trepidation and enough woolens to make a polar bear sweat, I board the flight to Delhi and the 2 degree cold. I listen to the safety demo given by the flight attendants (we called them “air-hostesses” before some of them became males.)
One safety feature that never ceases to amuse me is the one where those plastic cups drop from the roof when the plane is crashing, you put a cup over your nose and get enough oxygen so that when the plane hits the ground at 32 feet per second, you will still be breathing; another of course is that the seats float so in case you hit water instead of land, the airline can collect and recycle all those seats.
After takeoff I settle down to read my dirty book (ideal for a plane journey because the scenario is the same no matter which page you open the book to, the only question being the number of times.)
Unlike the Ambanis and Vijay Mallya who fly their corporate jets and drink Long Island Iced Tea at 30,000 feet, we lesser mortals are destined to fly commercial airlines where it is a rule to allow boarding of kids who are trained to start screaming above 500 feet. It’s absolutely amazing how a kid can keep squalling for as long as 45 minutes without breathing. This keeps the passengers from realising that they’re locked in a metal tube probably designed, built and operated by unknown refugees from Bangla Desh; instead they’re preoccupied with thinking, “Why doesn’t someone shut the brat up!”
Eventually I land in Delhi and see Lutyens’ buildings. They are large and pink just like I was told. (Lutyens is the Brit who designed and built New Delhi, and then poured red wine all over them to give them that distinctive colour. Sometimes you will find villagers from outlying districts licking the walls and looking very happy.)
Delhi is beautiful and its people are very disciplined thanks to terrorism. They have now been trained to stand in long queues and to submit their personage to being groped by strange men in uniform. All entry points to the Republic Day Parade had groping men and women, and by the time the last of the visitors had entered, the parade was over. Even at the mall (and this is true) there was a line of people a kilometer long, waiting to be groped to get in!
Nandini however opted for the romantic version; the coldest part of winter in January.
So with a lot of trepidation and enough woolens to make a polar bear sweat, I board the flight to Delhi and the 2 degree cold. I listen to the safety demo given by the flight attendants (we called them “air-hostesses” before some of them became males.)
One safety feature that never ceases to amuse me is the one where those plastic cups drop from the roof when the plane is crashing, you put a cup over your nose and get enough oxygen so that when the plane hits the ground at 32 feet per second, you will still be breathing; another of course is that the seats float so in case you hit water instead of land, the airline can collect and recycle all those seats.
After takeoff I settle down to read my dirty book (ideal for a plane journey because the scenario is the same no matter which page you open the book to, the only question being the number of times.)
Unlike the Ambanis and Vijay Mallya who fly their corporate jets and drink Long Island Iced Tea at 30,000 feet, we lesser mortals are destined to fly commercial airlines where it is a rule to allow boarding of kids who are trained to start screaming above 500 feet. It’s absolutely amazing how a kid can keep squalling for as long as 45 minutes without breathing. This keeps the passengers from realising that they’re locked in a metal tube probably designed, built and operated by unknown refugees from Bangla Desh; instead they’re preoccupied with thinking, “Why doesn’t someone shut the brat up!”
Eventually I land in Delhi and see Lutyens’ buildings. They are large and pink just like I was told. (Lutyens is the Brit who designed and built New Delhi, and then poured red wine all over them to give them that distinctive colour. Sometimes you will find villagers from outlying districts licking the walls and looking very happy.)
Delhi is beautiful and its people are very disciplined thanks to terrorism. They have now been trained to stand in long queues and to submit their personage to being groped by strange men in uniform. All entry points to the Republic Day Parade had groping men and women, and by the time the last of the visitors had entered, the parade was over. Even at the mall (and this is true) there was a line of people a kilometer long, waiting to be groped to get in!
Part II - Unions & Re-Unions
So there we were Ronni, Rahul, Shweta, Amit and yours truly, wondering what madness prompted us to brave the cold and the groping of our fair capital city. And the answer was quite simply, “We’re suckers for punishment!”
So what goes into a wedding you may ask? Well if you plan to have a real nice wedding this is what you do:
First off you need to find someone reliable to get married to – meaning the person has to be an adult and should actually show up. It is preferable if one of you has a job, but if either one is independently wealthy a job is not necessary.
Announcing the wedding is easy if your name is Bachchan or Gandhi; the newspapers will carry the story as headlines, and you can send in a picture of Katrina Kaif. But with a common name like Kusum Kumar or Sunita Singh you will have to settle for a flyer on the local grocery store bulletin board.
The wedding invitation should consist of a box of mitthai, along with a large envelope, into which you place a smaller envelope with a foldable card with tissue paper in between and a gold tassel. There should also be a small visiting card which invites only the close and the very rich for a private pre-nuptial dinner. Remember NOT to clip this card with the general one, and send a larger mitthai box. Then there’s the map giving directions to the venue (predictably those you did not want to attend in the first place but had to invite anyway, will not show if you do not include the directions, and you can then blame the delivery packers) Remember to RSVP the card, not that anyone “s’il vous plaits” anyway.
Wedding costumes take on various hues and shapes. In South India the women wear varicolored 9- yard silk saris, all the gold with which they can weigh themselves down without tipping over, and rubber flip flops, while in North India they wear expensive ghagras and dresses so hideous that they can never be used again except for escaping from burning buildings.
The groom should wear a sherwani or a three piece pastel suit rented from the local theatre troupe. Grooms have it easy in South India, they go to the ceremony bare-chested, with just an extended loin cloth or dhoti to cover their peripherals.
For the arts remember to hire a group of hijras to dance at the mehndi ceremony, so that all the men folk can acknowlegde their gay instincts without feeling guilty.
For the wedding ritual it is preferable to install a few shrieking shenaiis and out of sync dholaks. And have plenty of rice and flower petals on hand to douse the couple with. (if the bride is pregnant used puffed rice.)
For the reception hire a live band with audio equipment loud enough to be heard in outer space. The band must repeatedly launch into the popular number “Om Shanti Om” so that aliens sitting in their continent-sized flying saucers armed with magma weapons and death rays and listening to this simple ditty of love, universal peace and brotherhood, over, and over, and over, and over again, will then send us a message saying, “LISTEN UP EARTH PEOPLE, WE WERE ENJOYING A PEACEFUL DAY SO FAR AND UNLESS YOU START PLAYING SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING WE WILL REDUCE YOUR PLANET TO THE SIZE OF A CRICKET BALL AND VAPORISE SHAH RUKH KHAN.”
Choosing a venue depends on the distance from your place of residence. The further away the better, snob value dictates a vast windswept football field (in case the aliens decide to join the party)with a zillion candlepower of lighting, a marching band to accompany the baraat, and a narrow approach lane to deter all but the most foolhardy.
Of course the momentous occasion has to be recorded for posterity so there has to be at least two video cameras, one VHS and one BETA, on hand, as well as Blue Ray and HDTV formats and assorted digital cameras to capture those poignant moments of the groom picking his nose.
So there we were Ronni, Rahul, Shweta, Amit and yours truly, wondering what madness prompted us to brave the cold and the groping of our fair capital city. And the answer was quite simply, “We’re suckers for punishment!”
So what goes into a wedding you may ask? Well if you plan to have a real nice wedding this is what you do:
First off you need to find someone reliable to get married to – meaning the person has to be an adult and should actually show up. It is preferable if one of you has a job, but if either one is independently wealthy a job is not necessary.
Announcing the wedding is easy if your name is Bachchan or Gandhi; the newspapers will carry the story as headlines, and you can send in a picture of Katrina Kaif. But with a common name like Kusum Kumar or Sunita Singh you will have to settle for a flyer on the local grocery store bulletin board.
The wedding invitation should consist of a box of mitthai, along with a large envelope, into which you place a smaller envelope with a foldable card with tissue paper in between and a gold tassel. There should also be a small visiting card which invites only the close and the very rich for a private pre-nuptial dinner. Remember NOT to clip this card with the general one, and send a larger mitthai box. Then there’s the map giving directions to the venue (predictably those you did not want to attend in the first place but had to invite anyway, will not show if you do not include the directions, and you can then blame the delivery packers) Remember to RSVP the card, not that anyone “s’il vous plaits” anyway.
Wedding costumes take on various hues and shapes. In South India the women wear varicolored 9- yard silk saris, all the gold with which they can weigh themselves down without tipping over, and rubber flip flops, while in North India they wear expensive ghagras and dresses so hideous that they can never be used again except for escaping from burning buildings.
The groom should wear a sherwani or a three piece pastel suit rented from the local theatre troupe. Grooms have it easy in South India, they go to the ceremony bare-chested, with just an extended loin cloth or dhoti to cover their peripherals.
For the arts remember to hire a group of hijras to dance at the mehndi ceremony, so that all the men folk can acknowlegde their gay instincts without feeling guilty.
For the wedding ritual it is preferable to install a few shrieking shenaiis and out of sync dholaks. And have plenty of rice and flower petals on hand to douse the couple with. (if the bride is pregnant used puffed rice.)
For the reception hire a live band with audio equipment loud enough to be heard in outer space. The band must repeatedly launch into the popular number “Om Shanti Om” so that aliens sitting in their continent-sized flying saucers armed with magma weapons and death rays and listening to this simple ditty of love, universal peace and brotherhood, over, and over, and over, and over again, will then send us a message saying, “LISTEN UP EARTH PEOPLE, WE WERE ENJOYING A PEACEFUL DAY SO FAR AND UNLESS YOU START PLAYING SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING WE WILL REDUCE YOUR PLANET TO THE SIZE OF A CRICKET BALL AND VAPORISE SHAH RUKH KHAN.”
Choosing a venue depends on the distance from your place of residence. The further away the better, snob value dictates a vast windswept football field (in case the aliens decide to join the party)with a zillion candlepower of lighting, a marching band to accompany the baraat, and a narrow approach lane to deter all but the most foolhardy.
Of course the momentous occasion has to be recorded for posterity so there has to be at least two video cameras, one VHS and one BETA, on hand, as well as Blue Ray and HDTV formats and assorted digital cameras to capture those poignant moments of the groom picking his nose.
Seated next to the groom in all the pictures should be the adorable little daughter of the brides’ sister. If her sister does not have an adorable daughter then she should rent one.
In the family photograph the sister of the bride stands next to the brides’ closest friends’ fiancé, followed by the oldest brother of the grooms’ father with her mothers’ sister. Then the brides’ oldest unmarried female friend stands with the most eligible male member of the grooms family, provided he can speak English.
Seated with the bride are of course her parents, grandparents and any great-grandparents (unless they are deceased, in which case they may be replaced by the grooms’ grandparents.)
Other photographic evidence can be recorded with anyone else present who is not stiff from the freezing cold and can be dragged from the warmth of the bonfires.
Payment for the wedding is as follows:
*The father of the bride pays for the invitations, the long distance calls, the mehndi, the pre-nuptial party, the hijras, the food, the liquor, the band, the hotels, the transportation, the dinner, the cake, the costumes, the wedding trousseau, and the honeymoon.
*The grooms’ family eats a lot of food and gets plastered.
After the honeymoon the bride switches from rolling chapattis with her mother, to rolling chapattis with her mother-in-law, and providing the entertainment for her husband.
She dreams of having her own house. All she needs is a large sum of money. And the best source of money is her parents in the form of savings, investments, pensions and insurance. She can get anything from her parents because she is not afraid to whine and pull her fathers sleeve, “I want a house, I want a house….” ad nauseum! So to preserve their own sanity her parents will get her one.
Part III - And the credit goes to.....
Although you will read nothing about this in the tabloids, who are only concerned with the birth of the Farah Khan triplets; it was a wonderful, unforgettable weekend spent in the company of some very gracious, warm and loving people, and of course i will not forget the gorgeous doe-eyed Shivani, nor the beautiful and limber Urvashi.
Ho hum, it's back to balmy Goa and getting psyched for next week's Carnival with UB40, the Queen Experience and those Brazilian dancers from Rio. Wish all you guys were here too.
