Tale of Two Weddings (part 3) India Wedding

Hubby and I were legally married, but we wanted and needed to be married in front of his family.  Personally for me being married was never about the piece of paper, it was standing in front of our loved ones and saying this is it, we are in it for the long haul.  In the US it is more about two people coming together.  In India it is two families joining, which made it imperative that my parents-in-law give us a traditional Jain wedding. 

I had only flown once before and that was in the US, this time I needed a passport and was flying halfway across the world.  Life was funny because it was during this trip that I realized the perks of having a US passport.  Hubby was with a well-known consulting company.  I worked as a temp. Before we could go to India I needed to get an Indian visa. Luckily that was fairly straight forward and done by mail.  In addition, we were flying Air France and they were offering a deal where you could break your journey in Paris for three days, so we both neede French visas. So off to Chicago we went to do the needful.  Problem was, when Hubby called the French Consulate to see what was needed, he forgot to tell them he was an Indian passport holder.  So we arrive with only one day to get our French visas.  We enter, there are three windows, I go to the US window show them my passport and within five minutes I have my visa and am ready to leave.  Hubby wasn’t as lucky.  Seems he needs a bit more documentation. I will say the consulate man was very very helpful. 

First, he needed a copy of his ticket, which we didn’t have.  This was in the days before e-tickets, the actual ticket was a small book with a different page for each leg of the trip.  By chance the Air France ticketing office was on the next block, so we ran and they gave us a paper print out of our trip itinerary. 

Second, he needed proof of employment, they actually wanted a letter from his employer, but that wasn’t possible at such short notice.  Luckily Hubby’s company is famous in Chicago and he always carried his work ID with him, so we gave them a photo copy of that.  This is where the gentleman was kind because Hubby’s name on his ID was spelled wrong, but the photo was accurate, so he accepted it.

Third, and this is the one that got me.  He needed a financial assurity, a letter from someone promising to pay all of his debts in France.  Who could we get at such short notice?  Me.  Yes Me.  Reminder Hubby worked for a very large consulting organization making an excellent salary.  I worked as a temp.  Yet I had to write and they accepted a letter from me stating that I guaranteed payment for any and all debts that Hubby incurred in France.  I was dumbfounded, I can only imagine how Hubby felt. 

But after all of that we finally got a visa stamped in his passport.  Thank you Mr. Consulate Man, for helping us that day.

My brain has not retained all of the preparations for that trip.  I do know that I knew his mausi’s daughter was expecting so I bought a stuffed bear and made a little red jacket for it.  This became awkward when we I found out that Hubby’s chacha’s daughter was also expecting and I didn’t have a special bear for her.  We took gifts for the rest of the close family as well.  I’m not sure what, but it was especially important in those days to take gifts.  It was very difficult to purchase foreign items in India at those times.  So I think we took some perfume and some shirts and maybe even picked up some saris from Devon Street near Chicago.  For myself, I had purchased a couple of salwar kameez’s (loose pants and long shirt) as well as a couple of saris. 

Hubby had an Indian friend married to an American who were also going to India at the same time, so we all went around Paris together.  Then Hubby and his friend screwed it up, by not taking each other’s local phone numbers.  So once we landed in Delhi they couldn’t contact each other.

After three lovely days in Paris taking in all of the traditional tourist attractions we finally arrive in New Delhi.  As soon as the plane doors opened, I knew it was different.  The air had a scent all of its own.  For years after it was that scent that greeted me as I returned to Delhi.  We arrived around 3-4 a.m. going through immigration and customs.  Mummy and Papa had hired an Ambassador Cab to pick us up in.  Barely 10 minutes later, stopped at a red light I see a man, his wife and their baby going by on a scooter, he hit a bump and the wife and baby flew off onto the road.  As we travelled to my in-laws’ house we crossed a bridge that was lined with plastic tarp tents filled with families, because the monsoon had just ended and the water had flooded the juggi (slum) below the bridge.  The water was just a few feet from the base of the bridge.  That was my welcome to Delhi.

Since we were already married we were allowed to share the guest room in his parents’ house.  He had never lived in this house that had been built while he was studying abroad. Soon family members began to arrive.  Only one of Hubby’s and my college friends attended the ceremony, when she arrived she got to sleep on a charpai at the end of our bed.  When Hubby’s pregnant cousin sister arrived, Hubby got kicked out of the room to sleep elsewhere and I shared with his cousin sister. 

Many Indians believe in auspicious and inauspicious days.  When Hubby and I arrived it was during the inauspicious time, so the days were spent in getting things ready.  We went to a huge home exhibition at the Ashoka Hotel, where I proceeded to embarrass myself when the pleats of my sari fell to the floor.  Essentially, I was showing my undergarments. I picked them up and headed to the bathroom to redo the pleats and hang my head in shame.

Mummy had purchased my wedding sari and had the gold border enhancement attached, I had wanted to where a lengha, but we didn’t have time to get one stitched.  However, I did get to shop for the reception sari which was a combination of turquoise and purple I loved it.  We had a huge family lunch at Alka, which is famous for its pure vegetarian thalis, no onion, no garlic, but enough chili to set my mouth on fire.  It was so much fun. 

Close family members hosted various dinners to introduce me to the extended family, often there would be singing and dancing, but always there was endless food.   A couple of days before the wedding one of my in-law’s friends gave me my first facial.  It was her business.  It was wonderful.  I don’t know what it did for my skin, but it removed all of the leftover jet lag and reenergized me.  Hubby and I took a day tour around Delhi to see the Qutab Minar, Connaught Place, various churches, mandirs, mosques, and gurdwaras. It was a lovely time.  Mummy and Papa took us shopping for a jewelry set, I chose a sapphire set.  I learned years later that Mummy didn’t want to get that set as many Indians believe sapphires to bring bad luck, but that set has always been one of my favorites. Finally the auspicious days arrived and our wedding events could begin properly. 

Traditionally, my family would have hosted several of the events, but just as his family was unable to come to the US, mine was unable to come to India, so all of the functions were hosted by my in-laws. Since this was our second wedding we were able to do things a bit differently.

My mehindi was held in my in-laws house.  Several women came to apply henna to my hands and feet.  The women in the family joined around sang songs and had henna applied to their hands.  The men sat in the living room, drinking beer and talking.  Hubby had a small amount of henna applied to the palm of his hand.  As my mehindi dried Hubby had to feed me.  Once it dried, we began singing and dancing in the livingroom.  It was small, intimate and only close family and friends.  It was a joy. By the next day my mehindi was a dark brown, which was a good sign as traditionally the darker the bride’s mehindi the more her mother-in-law will love her.

The next day was the wedding and reception.  Normally, the bride’s family hosts the wedding and the groom’s family hosts the reception and they would be on different days.  However, since Mummy Papa were hosting both, they arranged that the wedding would be around 5:30 p.m. and the reception at 7:30 p.m..   A Jain wedding can often last several hours, but Papa spoke with the pandit and arranged that it would only be 45 minutes. 

Getting ready for the ceremony was strange for me. First I went to the beauty parlor to get my hair done, it reminded me of something from the early 60s big beehive type of thing, lots of back combing.  Because of my skin color I needed to do my own make-up, but it was enhanced by one of the ladies as she applied small red and white bindis. I put on my petticoat and blouse as the other women draped and pinned the sari not only to my body, but pinned it to my hair so that my head would be covered throughout the ceremony.  Then Mummy began layering me with jewelry, a choker and a long necklace, bangles and earrings.  I had never seen such pieces in my life.  She wanted to add more, but I finally begged her no more. 

As the women walked me out to the mandap (place where the ceremony would be held) I was being given instructions, keep your head down modestly, don’t look up with your eyes or all of your photographs will look weird, don’t smile at Hubby.  I tried to do all that they asked of me, but got caught chatting and smiling with Hubby… a couple of times.

There are several things during the ceremony that the bride’s family must do.  As none of my family had come, Mummy and Papa arranged for their oldest and dearest friends to act as my parents, until this day my children still call them nani and nana (mother’s mother and father).  So while I was getting ready, Hubby arrived, but without the band, baja, baraat.  He refused to come on the traditional white horse or wear a sherwani or turban.  I was always a bit peeved that I didn’t get to see him in a sherwani.  My Indian Parent’s new daughter-in-law welcomed Hubby and performed tika on him.

As Hubby and I stood before each other we were handed large garlands which we then placed on the other.  Then we were taken to sit on the floor of the mandap.  At first I was bewildered as I looked around, beyond the mandap people were laughing and talking, eating and drinking tea.  I thought it was rude.  Now, I know that this is part of the fun of the wedding, catching up with family and old friends, but coming from the US where you have to be quiet during the ceremony, I was shocked.  Then my attention was drawn back to the pandit sitting in front of us, feeding a fire.  No one had prepared me for this, but luckily as I have learned no one knows what to do at this time. 

The pandit would put stuff in our hands or wrap a red string around our wrists.  He would tell us to put stuff in the fire. Our pandit was nice and translated the important parts from Sanskrit to Hindi to English.  Unfortunately the only two vows I remember are 1.  Hubby promised not to gamble and 2. I promised not to go out after dark without Hubby.  Neither of those vows were kept.    Eventually, we were told to stand and we had to walk around the fire, first me leading and then Hubby leading. Finally the guests began raining us with flower petals and we were married by Jain rites.

As per tradition, once we are married Hubby and I were required to touch the feet of the elders.  Even though we were literally tied together by a pink dupatta, Hubby did not help me at this time.  Eventually, I just began diving for the feet of anyone who looked five or more years older than me.  On one of the dives, I pulled a muscle in my thigh.  That was not fun. 

At some point someone untied the dupatta and my lady entourage then took me back upstairs where I was given a cup of tea, a samosa (pastry stuffed with a spicy potato mixture), and some barfi (Indian fudge).  I removed my sari and make-up.  I then reapplied my make-up.  One of the ladies tried to tell me not to put on any blush, she called it orange stuff, but she didn’t realize that without make-up my skin looks absolutely dead.  Then I put on the new petticoat and blouse and they wrapped me in my reception sari.  Luckily this time my head didn’t have to be covered so there wasn’t anything pulling my hair out of my head. 

As we came down to the reception hall there were several foreign hotel guests peaking in to see an Indian wedding.  They got the shock of their life to see that the bride was foreign as well.  The atmosphere was filled with joy, with people meeting and greeting, kids running around trying to get into trouble.  Initially, I was told Hubby and I would stand on a stage where there would be two oversized chairs.  Somewhere along the way that was changed to us greeting the reception guests at the door.  There was just one problem, I had pulled a muscle earlier and standing for a couple of hours at the door didn’t help, but I made it through happy and with a smile.

The biggest issue was that no one told me that the bride and groom don’t eat until after the guests leave.  All I had eaten most of the day was that tea and small samosa, I was HUNGRY, but I survived. 

Hubby and I stood at the door, being introduced to the 350 guests consisting of family, in-laws friends, in-laws in-laws, Hubby’s school friends, Papa’s work colleagues.  We stood with folded hands saying Namaste, thank you and accepting bouquets of flowers and envelopes, lots and lots of envelopes.  I had never seen so many envelopes before.  This is when I learned about shagun, the tradition of giving a newly married couple money. In my family, you always gave a gift, usually from a registry list and normally some item that the couple could use in their newly set up house.  That concept didn’t exist in India as if you were close enough to give a gift it was usually jewelry or something made of silver. Most newly married couples would live in the husband’s home and therefore as they were moving into an established house they didn’t need any household items.  So money was the traditional gift.  I watched as Chachi’s (father’s younger brother’s wife) purse began to bulge and overflow, as she was designated keeper of the envelopes.

Eventually, all the guests were greeted, fed and wished a fond farewell and only the close relatives were left.  Nani (mother’s mother), Chacha (father’s younger brother) and his family, Mausis (mother’s sisters) and their families, Uncle and Aunty who acted as my parents sat and waited as Hubby and I finally got to join the buffet line and have dinner.  It was the typical vegetarian menu of its time black dal, paneer, gobhi, rice, naan, raita, etc.  Oh the joy of finally being allowed to sit down, rest, and fill my stomach.  We have a lovely photo of all of sitting at the end of the evening.  Then everyone went home. 

That night the only people who came back to the house were Hubby’s Mausi’s daughter, Papa’s bua (father’s sister), and her son and daughter-in-law.  All of us were tired , but sat around talking and laughing for a while.  Then as a special nod to our wedding night Hubby and I got the guest room to ourselves that night. 

We stayed a couple more days, but soon had to return to the US and our jobs.  My family was excited to hear about the celebrations.  Everyone was impressed with my hennaed hands.  I became less enthralled with it as the dark brown slowly turned into a splotchy orange until a month later it finally disappeared. 

By having the Indian wedding and meeting the extended family and friends of my in-laws allowed my in-laws and I to become closer and gave me comfort when Hubby and I decided to move to India a couple of years later.  I knew where I was going, I knew where I was going to live and since I had been taught family is family, I knew I was going to a new home.