‘What’s after dinner?’ Rajji mama said.
‘The muhurtam is six-thirty. Let’s sleep early.’
‘See Kavita, how your son has become a Madrasi,’ Kamla aunty said and everyone laughed like she had cracked the best joke in the world.
I made a face.
‘How can we sleep early? It is your wedding,’ Kamla aunty pulled my cheeks.
‘So, what do you want to do?’ I said.
‘We’ll organise a party. Minti’s daddy, come let’s go,’ Kamla aunty said and they went out.
‘And you go to the beauty parlour to get a facial,’ my mother said.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, but be careful. The beauty parlours can make you black,’ Shipra masi said and my clan found another reason to guffaw like only Punjabis can.
I can’t really call the party Rajji mama organised for me as a bachelor’s party, especially since all my aunts were present. However, the makeshift arrangements gave it a single-guy-bash feel. Rajji mama had come back with two bottles of whisky, one bottle of vodka and a crate of beer. Kamla aunty also brought chips and juice for the ladies.
‘Let the ladies also have a drink tonight,’ Rajji mama proclaimed as many aunties feigned horror. My cousins had already booked the vodka bottle.
‘Ice,’ Rajji mama told a waiter at the hotel and gave him hundred bucks. He returned with a bucketful.
‘You have a music system?’ Rajji mama asked the waiter. The waiter agreed to borrow one from his friend for another hundred bucks. The choice of music was a challenge though, and we had to limit ourselves to the soundtracks of the movies Roja and Gentleman. The lyrics were Tamil but at least the tunes were familiar.
‘After two drinks, you will be able to understand the Tamil words also,’ Raji mama said.
The men took Room 301, my room. The women went to 302, while the teenage and young cousins were in 303. The under-thirteens stayed in 304, watching cartoon channels on cable TV. The under-fives and over-seventy-fives were cooped up in 305, the latter babysitting the former.
Rajji mama kept shuttling from 301 to 302, to gossip with the ladies and discuss stocks and real estate with the men in 301.
‘It’s eleven,’ I reminded my relatives, ‘we should sleep,’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Rajji mama said and hugged me happily. ‘If we sleep now, we won’t wake up at all. Let’s keep going until morning.’
The party continued and rooms 301, 302 and 303 turned into discos. The Indian soundtrack was played five times. I realised if my relatives didn’t sleep, we may never make it to the wedding. I went down to the lobby at half past midnight.
‘Call the cops,’ I told the front desk.
‘What?’ the manager said, ‘You are the groom.’
‘Yes, and I have a six-thirty muhurtam. I need to be there at five with all of them. They are in no mood to rest.’
The manager laughed. Rajji mama had bribed him well. ‘Don’t worry, sir, I will stop them in half an hour.’
A car stopped outside the hotel just then and a person stepped out. Even in the darkness I could tell who it was. I immediately sprinted up the stairs, my heart beating fast. Rajji mama was close-dancing with Kamla aunty in 302 to a sad song from Roja.
‘My dad’s here,’ I announced.
In two minutes flat, our nightclubs shut down as if there was a police raid. Everyone went into their rooms to sleep. The corridor was stark silent as my dad climbed up to the third floor.
‘Dad,’ I said.
We looked at each other for a few seconds. He had decided to come, after all. I couldn’t think beyond that fact. I didn’t push him for a reason either. He was like me; we Indian men don’t do emotions too well.
‘You haven’t slept? Aren’t you getting married in a few hours?’ he asked mildly.
I didn’t respond. He walked towards 301. I stopped him. The last thing I wanted him to see was the debauchery of my maternal uncles.
‘There are more rooms upstairs. This one needs repairs,’ I said and took him to the next floor. I left him there to change. My mother was in 301, trying to clean it as fast as possible.
‘It’s fine, he is upstairs,’ I said.
‘What’s he doing here?’ my mother said, ‘He’s come to create trouble?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘He’s fine. He came to attend my wedding.’
‘Now? He has come now?’
‘It’s OK, mom, you go to bed. I’ll tell him you are asleep,’ I said. I kissed my mother on the cheek and went up.
My father had changed into a white kurta pajama.
‘Thank you, dad,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘Where’s your mother?’
‘Everyone slept early. We have to wake up at four,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m keeping you up. Are you sleeping here?’
I nodded and switched off the lights. I lay down next to only him, probably for the first time in twenty years.
‘I love you, son,’ he said, his eyes closed.
I choked up. The words meant as much to me as when Ananya had said them the first time.
‘I love you too,’ I said, and wondered which love story I was really chasing anyway.
62
I had to pour mugfuls of water over their faces to wake up my relatives. Rajji mama had a severe hangover. I had slept only three hours and had a splitting headache. We asked room service for triple strength coffee.
‘This is inhuman, how can they get married at this time?’ my mother said. She opened her suitcase to take out her new sari for the occasion.
Ananya’s father had sent a bus to our hotel for the two-hundred-metre journey. I waited outside while every female in my clan blow-dried hair and applied lipstick. Panic calls started at five-fifteen.
‘The priests have lit the fire. Chants have begun,’ Ananya’s father said.
‘Two more old ladies, coming real soon,’ I said and hung up the phone.
We reached the mandapam at five-thirty. Ananya’s relatives had already taken the best seats. I waded through them to sit in front of the priests.
‘The mother sits here,’ the priest said, ‘and if the father is not there then a senior male relative. . . .’
‘My father is here,’ I said.
Ananya’s parents sprang up from their seats. ‘Welcome,’ Ananya’s father said, ‘How is your fever?’
‘What fever?’ my father said as he took his place.
The priests continued their fervent chants. Rajji mama passed on Saridon strips as everyone with a hangover took a pill. Ananya’s uncles passed copies of The Hindu to each other as they continued to gather knowledge through the wedding.
‘Come, Krish,’ Ananya’s father said after five minutes of prayers.
‘What?’
‘You have to change. I am supposed to help you,’ he said matter-of-factly.
I had worn a new rust-coloured silk kurta pajama my mother had bought for me. ‘This doesn’t work?’ I said.
Ananya giggled. Ananya’s father shook his head and stood up. I followed him to the room next to the main hall. He ominously bolted the door. ‘Take off your clothes,’ he said.
‘What?’ I said as he fingered my kurta’s hem to help me take it off.
‘I will do it myself,’ I said hastily. I removed my kurta.
‘Pajama also,’ he said, reminding me of my college ragging days.
‘Is this necessary?’ I snapped, wondering if my strip-tease would make the mantras more effective.
He didn’t respond. His hands were about to reach my pajama cord when I decided to get rid of my modesty myself. I had worn a white underwear with Mickey Mouses prancing all over it.
‘Why are you wearing . . . this?’’
I had brought a pack of six Disney-themed underwear. Considering I was going to get married and Ananya liked cartoon characters, I had thought she’d find it cute. Of course, I couldn’t give this reason to my future father-in-law.
‘How was I to
know it will be on display?’ I said.
Ananya’s dad had a worried expression.
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ I said.
‘You have to wear this veshti,’ Ananya’s dad said and gave me a translucent cream-coloured lungi. It resembled the bathing dress worn by Mandakini in Ram Teri Ganga Maili.
‘I have to wear this? How?’ I held it up. The early morning rays came right through it.
‘Come, I’ll show you,’ Ananya’s dad said, and horror of horrors, tucked half his hand into my underwear. I wondered if a groom can sue his father-in-law for molestation.
‘Please, let me try first,’ I said. Of course, out of nervousness I couldn’t focus. The veshti kept slipping and I stood there in my Mickey Mouse underwear, almost in tears.
‘Allow me, it will take only a minute,’ Ananya’s father said gently, like a doctor convincing a kid for an injection.
I closed my eyes. This is the absolute last, last humiliation I will go through to get the love of my life, I thought. A few hours more and this will be over. Uncle’s hand came too close for comfort as he tried to ensure a snug fit. Some say this ceremony is designed to ensure that the groom has his equipment in place. Well, he surely did a good job finding out.
‘Are we done?’ I said as uncle adjusted the final pleats.
I saw myself in the mirror. My first topless meeting with the world was about to take place. Little Mickey Mouses were grinning through my translucent veshti. OK, it is only for a little while more, I told myself.
‘See, now all your wedding pictures will have Mickey Mouse,’ uncle said, confirming that my humiliation would continue for the rest of my life.
‘Do you want to change your underwear? You can wear mine. Should we exchange?’ he asked.
I looked at him, wondering if he actually said what he just said. ‘Let’s go. I have to get married.’
We came outside and my cousins burst into laughter when they saw me.
‘Mickey Mouse,’ my five-year-old cousin screamed, ensuring that all guests would now freely spot it.
Ananya sat in a gorgeous nine-yard dark red silk sari. She wore diamond and gold necklaces. She looked like an accessible goddess.
‘What’s with the underwear?’ she whispered to me.
‘I bought it for you . . . I mean us,’ I said.
‘Excuse me?’ she said as the priest scolded us for talking and asked us to focus on the prayers. Someone tied a scarf over my eyes so I couldn’t see anything for ten minutes as prayers continued. It could be the punishment for talking to the bride during the wedding, but no one explained why. Prayers continued even after the scarf was removed.
‘OK, now you go for Kashi Yatra,’ the priest said after an hour. He gave me an umbrella and a copy of the Gita.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
Ananya’s father gave me the details. I had to stand up and announce I wasn’t interested in the wedding and was going to Kashi, or Varanasi, to become a sadhu. I didn’t know why they gave me an umbrella, but I had to open it and place it over my head as I walked out. Ananya’s father would come after me and convince me that I should marry his daughter instead.
I decided to do an extra good job with this ceremony, especially as I had messed up with the veshti. I stood up, gave Ananya’s parents a disgusted look and sprinted out of the hall. Ananya’s father followed me but I walked way faster than him. I came to the main road outside the hall. I walked on to the street. An auto saw me and came near me.
‘Where, where?’ he said, his engine still sputtering in first gear.
‘Kashi,’ I said.
‘Kashi where?’ he said.
‘Varanasi, in U.P.,’ I said.
‘Central Station? Seventy rupees, sir,’ he said.
I turned over and saw Ananya’s dad twenty metres behind me. Well, you only get married once, so I decided to do the best Kasi Yatra ceremony ever.
I sat inside the auto. The auto sped off.
‘Hey,’ Ananya’s dad screamed at full volume.
‘Who’s that?’ the auto driver said.
‘Nothing,’ I said, ‘stop.’
I came out of the auto. Ananya’s father came running to me.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, panting after the jog.
‘Going to Kashi,’ I said and smiled, ‘you didn’t tell me when to stop.’
He grabbed my arm tight. ‘Come inside,’ he said, dragging me towards the mandapam.
‘Hey, aren’t you supposed to convince me?’ I said.
We had some more Tamil ceremonies. We had Maalai Maatral, which involved an exchange of garlands like the Punjabi jaimala. However, Ananya’s relatives lifted her high, making it difficult for me to reach her head. My own relatives took it as a personal challenge and lifted me even higher. Rajji mama took a while to realise that it was only a game and almost got into a fight with one of Ananya’s uncles. After that, we had Oonjal where Ananya and I sat on a swing as her relatives fed us small pieces of banana soaked in milk. Finally, we came back to sit around the fire. Ananya sat on her father’s lap for the final kanyadaan.
‘Yes,’ I whispered to myself, ‘it’s almost over.’
Ananya and I held a coconut dipped in turmeric. Ananya’s mother poured water over it. Ananya couldn’t hold back her tears, sitting in her father’s lap. I tied a gold necklace with a flat rectangular pendant around her neck, called the taali, in the Mangalyadharanam.
The priests told us to stand up for the Saptapathi, or the seven sacred steps. Ananya’s sari and my veshti were connected in a knot and held hands. I had felt her touch after months.
‘Are you OK?’ I said as she sniffed.
‘You are not a girl, you won’t understand,’ Ananya said, and thus began a lifetime of ‘you won’t understand’ statements married men have to endure everyday.
I placed my feet under Ananya’s feet and helped her take seven steps around the fire. I slipped silver rings onto her toes.
Everyone clapped as I came back up.
‘What?’ I said.
‘It’s over, now go around the room and take blessings from everyone,’ the head priest said.
I looked at Mr Swami and his wife. They were no longer Ananya’s parents. They were my in-laws. I had done it. The two states had become one.
‘Do namaskaram,’ the priest instructed us. Ananya and I lay fully flat on the ground in front of every elder relative to bless us. It is the only wedding ritual in the world that involves a workout.
‘My blessings are always with you,’ my father said as he stopped us from lying down fully in front of him.
‘God bless you,’ Shipra masi said as I lay down in front of her, ‘But I’m sleepy. Let’s go back to the hotel.’
63
‘He has a speech?’ I said. Ananya and I sat on regal chairs at the venue of our reception. At least this function felt familiar to my relatives as they saw food stalls in the open garden. We were at the Madras Boat Club. Coloured lights twined around the trees; the lakeside venue was a welcome change from the unpronounceable smoke-filled mandapam.
‘Yeah, he wanted to do a powerpoint, but I stopped him. He even came to the hotel to show the speech to you.’
‘When?’ I said, ‘I was there only.’
‘Sleeping all day,’ Ananya said. ‘He only heard snores.’
‘You didn’t sleep?’ I said.
‘No way, we have so many out of town guests. I haven’t slept for the last two days.’
‘So, how do you manage to look so beautiful?’ I said.
She blushed. It matched her clothes. She wore a pink lehnga with heavy gold and silver embroidery for the evening, a surprise for my relatives and a bit of a shock for her own aunts. However, it was too late and Ananya was already married – to me. Screw you, Pure Harish, I thought, though I cursed myself for thinking of him at all.
‘Congratulations,’ some random person came to the stage to meet us and we smiled for pictures for the hundredth time.
; Dinner did have North Indian choices, but the flavours were a bit off.
‘They’ve made gobi aaloo with coconut oil,’ Minti complained.
‘We are all going back tomorrow,’ I said. ‘You’ll have your paranthas soon. Now don’t make a face and eat ice-cream.’
‘When are we cutting the cake?’ one of my younger cousins said, pointing to the eggless cake kept in the middle of the garden. Next to the cake, there was a dais with chairs around it.
A waiter rang a hand-bell, announcing the speech and cake-cutting ceremony. Relatives came around and sat on the chairs. The Tamilians and Punjabis looked at each other. People had not come to attend my wedding, they had come to a live human museum of the other community.
‘But when will the DJ start?’ my cousin said.
‘Patience,’ I said.
Ananya and I stood next to the cake. Ananya took the mike to speak first. ‘Thank you everyone for coming here. I am so grateful to all of you that you decided to share our happiness. Yes, ours is quite a different wedding, and it has taken us a while to get here, making it all the more special. I’d like my amazing father to share a few words with you.’
Ananya clapped and the rest of the crowd applauded as well.
My father and mother sat together with a smile on their face. At least for tonight, they’d decided to get along.
‘Hello, everyone,’ Ananya’s dad said. ‘I’d like someone from the boy’s side later to say a few words as well.’
He looked at my father. My father folded his hands to say no.
‘I’ll talk,’ Rajji mama said and raised his hand. He had obviously found the Boat Club bar.
‘Welcome everyone,’ Ananya’s father started, ‘I never liked giving speeches. However, in the last year, helped by my son-in-law, I’ve gained the confidence to talk in public.’
Everyone turned to look at me. OK, making office presentations is one thing, confessionals in front of your community quite another. I hoped he knew what he was doing.
‘I know the number one topic all of you have discussed in this party—why is Swami marrying his daughter to a North Indian fellow? I know it, as we would have done the same.’
2 States: The Story of My Marriage Page 27