If it were not for the presents, an elopement is preferable, said the wag. I’m glad that my cousin, who got married last week, didn’t agree. Because few things can match, leave alone top, a fun Indian wedding. Of course designer events with a hip-hop concert by Akon are fun (especially at someone else’s expense), but nothing can match the charm quotient of a wedding that’s planned by the family personally, where the elders are consulted on vital matters like which fish to serve at what event, and where the bride’s face is recognisable even in the wedding pictures (having been ‘touched up’ by a cousin who prefers a light touch of Lakme over a double coat of Dulux).
At my cousin’s wedding, the saat pheras commenced (as they do among Bengalis) amid loud ululations by the aunts, with the bride being carried around the groom by her brothers. I stood there, giggling as the brothers struggled under the load (the custom began when the brides were more waif-like schoolgirls and less strapping working women) and wondered what was for dinner. As I waited, I made a quick list of the things I love about Bong weddings. It appears to be the season for seven.
Reunion with the relatives. Given the rise of nuclear families, it’s rare for scattered relatives to meet and validate shared kinship and common origins. It’s particularly fabulous to catch up with cousins who were part of our growing up years and to see old aunts and uncles prettied up and powdered, exclaiming at how well we youngsters (!) have turned out. My most favourite encounter at this wedding was with a 90-year-old aunt who didn’t look a day over 60 and wore a magenta saree and enough gold jewellery to give Rekha a complex.
Being Bengali (who, as the cliché and truth goes, live to eat instead of eating to live), I’ve had to struggle to keep the food at Number 2. But items like kosha mangsho, koraishtir kochuri and chholar dal, ilish paturi, golda chingri, potoler dorma, and baked gurer rosogolla refuse to be pushed farther down the line. Almost as enchanting as the food is the delight that everyone takes in talking about it.
I love the fact that the #100sareepact is done and dusted every day, as the ladies air their exquisite Balucharis, Benarasis and Dhakais. The men are no less resplendent in their crisp kurtas and kochano (pleated) dhutis. The best part?
Everyone dresses their age and there is not even one ugly salwar-kurta in sight.
Rituals, like the preparation of the trousseau, which includes a giant (what else?) fish bedecked in jewels, the Gaye Holud and Bou Boron, are sweet while the games between the bride and groom, and the teasing of the groom by his in-laws are plain fun.
The trousseau, or tokto, as it’s called in Bengali, goes out from both sides to the other and contains gifts for the family members. Since both sides send out goodies, the gifting, as well as the packaging, can get competitive, but you forget all that once you get your present.
I adore the fact that people break into impromptu singing and dancing every now and then. What’s a Bong gathering without Rabindra Sangeeet? My cousin, who is a mean dancer and the chief organizer of the family Durga Puja, got a Tasha band party to accompany his baraat. He jumped out of the car and jigged energetically to the dhak before brushing back his hair and entering the wedding venue quite the sedate bhadrolok.
Finally, what’s a wedding without some flirting on the side? I didn’t hear much goss this time, but let the wedding pictures come in.
shampa@newindianexpress.com