Wedding Knells-2-Ramblings of an idle mind

Weddings, being the flavour of the month, this blog has been inspired by Sam's wedding blues. I've attended only 6 weddings in my lifetime (family or otherwise), so weddings remain a novelty to me. And because, all the weddings that I've attended have been in my native villlages, their memories are vivid, embossed into my childhood consciousness. The hustle-bustle of activity, people strolling freely through the compound and the courtyard of the ancestral house, the rickety shamianas, eating out of plates made of dried leaves, the laughter and the gaiety.

I remember the sight of aunts and grand-aunts all huddled in the huge kitchen, busy frying namkeens in huge black kadhis, the shimmer of oil, the furious chopping of mounds of vegetables, the swish-swish, the khat-khat all seamlessly merging with the babel of voices rising to a crescendo, falling to a hush and then being punctuated by a multitude of giggling. They would then spot me, a solitary skinny figure ( You see, I was the only grandchild for a long time on my Dad's side) standing at the door, dressed in a summer frock replete with flowers, with grimy knees, flywaway curls and forlorn eyes scanning for my Maa and their voices would burst with warmth and welcome. I remember going to my Mum, hiding in her saree and lisping, "Maa, i'm so bored'' and my Daadi would snatch me away, hug me to her bossom, all the time ccoing, "Arre, my Chunnu, my dhanna, u r getting bored! Look at all this, dekho hamaare yahaan shaadi kaise hoti hai. When u'll go YOUR Bombay, u can tell ur friends how we celebrate our weddings, kitna kuch hota hai yahaan". Then I would nod, silently wide-eyed, munching on a hot namkeen while others would coo, "Look how sweet she is!"

I remember the cycle rides with my grandfather, me perched precariosly on the edge of the bar, to distribute cards to nearby places and my grandfather would show-off me, "Arre, this is my eldest son Munna's daughter, Lipi. Bombay se aayi hai" and people would stare at me curiously and whisper among themselves.

Those were the halcyon days of my childhood, the days of innocence, the days when Bombay was a big myth, an impossible dream for these simple-minded, big-hearted villagers. Obviously things are a lot lot different now! But my grandparents' love for me, their eldest son's child, their only granddaughter, still remains as eternal and unquenchable and heart-warming.

The first wedding I actually remember attending was as a 3-yr old, when I had tagged along with my Bua for her friend's wedding. And after coming home I remember complaining to an highly-amused audience,
"Maa, shaadi mein kuaan ka paani (well-water/brackish water) diya tha ,aur aapko pata hai, Dulhaan ne toh make-up bhi nahin kiya tha!"...
...But that was then. Fast forward to the summer of 1994 when both my Kakas were getting married...the first one in my beloved Odisha and the second one later in the month in Mumbai, a week before my 7th birthday. That was my most glorious summer....2 weddings, a birthday and being the centre of attention surrounded by scores of loving relatives(some of them who haven't seen me after that... so the only picture that comes to their minds when my grandmom speaks about me is of a bright-eyed, gay little girl...little knowing what a bespectcled boring behenji I've turned into!)

I remember sitting on a stool in the courtyard, when my Dad's younger brother, a self-professed barber, proceeded to style my hair for the wedding. I was seated apprehensively, akin to a sacrificial lamb, staring at my smiling mother, my baleful eyes dark with hurt and her so-called betrayal for abandoning me to my uncle's scissors. Snip, snip, went the scissors and my uncle kept up a steady cheerful chatter as to how the results would be better than any 'Bombay ka saloon'. In the meantime I saw my curls float down and my body heaved with silent sobs. But the haircut came out beautifully...it was a mushroom cut and honestly no haircut to-date has made me look so good.

I remember dancing with the Baraati dresssed in a peach and pink frilly frock...I danced all the way, for hours altogether, cheered on by people, feet tapping and hips swaying with abandon and finally when I reached the wedding venue, I was so sick and tired that I threw up the entire food and then slept throughout the actual wedding! The Bombay wedding in comparision was more sedate, more formal and probably more 'citified'. But it was fun nevertheless for a 7-yr old kid in an another a new frock.

Those were the last proper weddings I attended. After that the 2 family weddings I've attended have been a blur, a 3-day rush, a quick dash in and out ...plans made in a hurry, calenders checked if the trips could be combined with any weekend/public holidays, Mom taking leave from college, me missing school/college for not more than 2 days, Dad unable to get leave from work...train tickets booked in a hurry, me studying all along the long train journeys, the brief Hellos and namastes to cousins and relatives, the curious stares from my chintu-mintu cousins at this 'brainy' didi from Mumbai, the cursory conversations, the customary murmuring, "Look how big u've become...wish u could've come for a longer time... how much will u study...we are all very proud of u..." These encounters have been like accidentally touching a hot iron, too short, too searing and not without pain.

2001 was the last wedding I've attended. My youngest Mama finally decided to get married and my Mom being the eldest, she was duty-bound to go and see to everything. I went too and it was very enjoyable because there are lots of girl cousins on my Mom's side and only 2 or 3 boys. So the getting together, the gossiping and the dressing up was good fun and timepass.

Ironically, I haven't yet been able to attend any of my cousins' wedding yet. I have missed all the 'next generation'; 'my generation' weddings...6 to be exact! Demands of distance and time, studies and exams have taken the toll...Now I've to keep telling my cousin bro who's next in line to select an oppurtune time, to wait till my studies and exams get over, to which I'm met by an incredulous stare which plainly translates into, " But that would be never!"

Never mind, there are always the behenji weddings to look forward to, which I'm determined to gate-crash...and if a pyscho in a fit of delusion ever agrees to marry me, then I shall solemnly try my best to attend that too. :-)

Wedding Knells

It usually starts like this.

First, there is an invitation by phone. Pleasantaries are exchanged. The good news is passed on from network to network; landline to mobile to internet. Then comes the invitation by post. It is usually glittery with gold and silver paint on it and the usual images of auspicious Hindu Gods and Goddesses. Then comes the constant commentary from my parents about the details of...... The next wedding in the family.

I have always paused to question why I have such an aversion to attend weddings. Usually my family has to plead, convince, threaten, demand and finally resort to emotional blackmail to make me attend one. That happens only after I have exhausted ALL the options of excusing myself from the event. I don't have a big range of excuses. Since I am blessed with one exam every month, I can manipulate and juggle details, so that the wedding day becomes the most crucial arc of my educational curve. My folks eventually saw through it.

Since I am a born miser, and always seem to be down in finances, the amount of money spent on an average wedding unnerves me. Even my bai spent a fortune on her daughter's wedding. The other fact, of course, is that all the money is usually sourced by the bride's family. Which I know is not going to change for a long long time. And another point to be noted is the ease with which most brides assume that the wedding will be financed by their hardworking parents.

Usually just before any wedding, my social conscience awakens and sudden feelings of social injustice to women(read:arranged marriages) and hypocrisy of the society, surface in my soul. This has begun to happen due to two incidents. In the first one, a very educated relative of mine started bantering about my wedding. It was nauseating. He said that it would become very difficult to find a educated groom if I reached late-twenties. And if I didn't marry soon, I would be lonely for the rest of my life. All this, when I was 18. Basically it was bullshit. At another wedding, an uncle of mine presided over the wedding. He has the distinction of having already married off his two daughters as child-brides.

This is not all. If you are still reading this and know me well..... I hate to dress up!!! I hate wearing salwar kameez, plaiting my hair, bangles, earrings and all that comes with it. The most shudder-ful chapter of this is sticking flowers into my hair. I have failed to understand why women find pleasure in poking reproductive organs of plants into their hair.

The climax of my aversion to weddings comes from the endless repetitiveness of it. Each wedding may be special for the families involved. But for seasoned audience like me, it is mind-boggling repetition of the same rituals, same reception, same comments, same jokes.

The only solace for me is the good food. I can't wait to start eating the minute I reach the venue. Especially the desserts. Sometimes, I don't mind sticking a hundred pins into my head just to eat 5 plates of butterscotch icecream without anyone suspecting.

Now, you would wonder why I bothered to write this piece.
Please DON'T invite me to your wedding. I would prefer an icecream at good old Aditi's.

Tomorrow is another day

It has been a black day today. As visuals and news about the siege at Mumbai’s hotels permeates through my living room, I am filled with despair and sadness. Sadness; for all the mindless tragedy that is unfolding, for all the innocent people held hostage, for the families of our police officers, the celebrated faces as well as the unknown men who have been matyred.

Terrorism is hateful and terrorists are the scum of the earth. I find it hard to conceive what drives these men, what ideologies they believe and live by. To see young men so blinded by religious hate and bigotry , stooping to such cold-blooded, planned, mass murder is scary as well as shocking. Honestly, I am myself surprised by my irrational sadness and fear. It isn’t as if Mumbai is new to terrorist attacks-we have had enough of them in the past too…I think the answer lies in the “we have had enough” phrase, in the sense of déjà vu’, the sense of hopelessness. Truly, in this case, familiarity doesn’t breed contempt: familiarity breeds fear.

News channels have said it’s the worse attack in India till date. Though they were speaking in terms of numbers, I somehow feel that the psychology of it hurts even more. It was an attack which began at night and then it raged on throughout the night when people were unaware and blissfully asleep. I feel guilty about dismissing the initial reports as hyperbole, for believing that things would settle down in an hour or two with some expendable collateral damage. I feel guilty that while such happenings were unfolding outside, I was cooped up all-night within the closed air-conditioned confines of my room, more bothered with trying to tick off ‘Topics to be read” on my list for my exam. It was only when my Mom woke up at 3.30 a.m to see the TV and as news of deaths of the ATS chief himself along with other key aides filtered through; I realized the enormity and the scale of the attacks. While I swotted, Mumbai burnt.

I feel bad for the families of the police officers. Nobody could have ever imagined that a response to a late-night distress call could have such horrific circumstances. It was only yesterday morning that I had seen Hemant Karkare speaking to the media and then to know 24 hours later of his death was disturbing, to say the least. Same holds true for the deaths of the other top-brass. These were men, highly trained and highly reputed and if they could be shot down like that, then it underlines how even more vulnerable we all are.

The hotel Taj has always been a landmark of Mumbai. Many people, including my relatives from Orissa on coming down here, in the early Nineties, would go to see the Gateway and then marvel at the hotel Taj. People have been known to sit in the till-now free-for-all lobby of the Taj, gape, gawk and then go back home with stars in their eyes. The Taj has always been synonymous with the glamour and allure of Mumbai. But as the dome of the Taj burnt, as smoke and dust swirled around, it metaphorically seemed as if even my hopes and dreams were being reduced to ashes.

Yes, Mumbai has always been the city of dreams. 22 years ago when my Mom came to the city as a new bride from a small town in Orissa, she was considered lucky by most friends and well-wishers. But now, most parents have become wary of sending kids here, partly due to the attacks and partly due to MNS propanganda ( But let me not digress into that story). People have always emigrated with high hopes to this city, believing nothing is impossible but this has virtually been a death-knell for us. As Sonia Gandhi has put it rightly, ‘It’s not only about security, it’s also about prestige”. I think the usual noises will be made about “the spirit of Mumbai” and all that but I think it is all pure bullshit now. I think, this time, average Mumbaikars like me have been tested beyond the limits of endurance.

Politicians have started descending like vultures, making the right noises at the wrong time as usual. But frankly the security lapses are deplorable. This isn’t the first time nor will it be the last time. These terrorists crossed the international borders at the sea unintercepted and they sailed right below the noses of the Coast Guards and the Navy undetected to arrive at the Gateway. This only highlights the loopholes and the deficiencies that exist in our border patrolling and the entry-exit checkpoints into the country. If exclusive places like the Taj and the Trident with their well-oiled security mechanisms could have been rendered so vulnerable to infiltration and internal attacks, then spare a thought for the other rowdy, crowded public places in Mumbai. And to add salt to our wounds, we have e-mails from these terror outfits mocking our inefficiency and the bitter reality that “the Army and ATS do not have the weaponry to deal with ours sophisticated weapons”.

Now I am not an analyst. I don’t know and neither want to know the hows and whys of these attacks, the funding, the finances, the brains and the technicalities. All I care for as an ordinary self-respectable citizen, is an assurance of safety, the right to live without fear and the right to plan for innocuous things like an exam-ending celebration, a lunch date, a movie outing with friends and other such simple pleasures.

But is wishful thinking right? Because it is a war brewing out there right now. No easy solutions and no easy answers. In the last hour or so that I’ve spent typing this out, the situation outside still remains unchanged like over the past 24 hours…everything is in a limbo while we wait for a reasonable resolution with bated breaths and anxious eyes. In the meantime, there’s nothing much we can do except hope and pray, wait and watch…

All of you, reading this keep your fingers crossed and be safe…Take care and God bless.

P.S. Please think b4 u comment