A Marriage in the Family

So. When sonny boy came and said he wants to marry this girl he rather likes (and miracle of miracles - she likes him back!), I told him to run away to a faraway hillock with a temple on it. He should find the temple priest, do his pheras there, tip the guy handsomely (we can discuss the amount later), and his mum and I would pay for a month-long honeymoon wherever he wanted in the world. The amount we would save in doing a proper wedding could be his early-retirement  fund, or if he was being charitable, could be sent to any nonprofits he loved.

Sadly, the idea did not gain too much traction, which brought us to his mother’s idea. Do a court marriage, throw a city reception and spend a month visiting friends and close relatives for them to know the girl - the couple - intimately. This garnered some discussion at least before it hit massive roadblocks from relatives far-&-wide and so-called loved ones who were waiting with bated breath for a wedding to happen in our wing of the family (particularly after playing host to us for multiple weddings along the years!). There was virtual gadar!

We were now willy-nilly looking into the barrel of a traditional wedding. Mehndi, haldi, sangeet, ring ceremony, pheras. Travel, hotel, venues, decorations, hazaar menus, singers, DJs, et al. My wifey felt faint and reached for her salts and I went into a coma.

Tentatively I pulled out my bank and investment statements and did some back-of-the-envelope calculations, and saw my retirement getting postponed for an indefinite period. I sighed - there I could see my book deal vaporising, there I could see my new podcasts going into the realm of mere possibilities again, and the only charity I would be giving to for many years would be the Foundation To Save-Sunil-From-Going-Bust. Wifey darling fainted again.

And then the khela began. I had to tell the event man  - who was a friend because he’d done multiple weddings in my boss’s family -  that I was not my boss, and the budget had to be a single fraction of the weddings he usually did. He laughed and suggested a luxury yacht for the sangeet. Wifey requested to be revived after the wedding was over.

Dreams now had wedding bands playing morbid songs in jaunty tunes. Dinner discussions now had only one topic. References of previous weddings kept popping up in conversations. Flower decorations loved, mandap designs to die for, singers who were the rage. There was excitement (in everybody else’s part) and tension (on my part).

In desperation, I got onto a call with my wise and beautiful sister-in-law in Jaipur, who many a time had saved my sanity with her no-nonsense advice. She simply told me to shape up, and gave one simple piece of advice -

“Do what you want to do. Nothing less, nothing more.”

Basically - don’t let expectations burden you, don’t let comparisons eat into you. Do what you need to do for the sheer pleasure of it and because you want to.

I felt renewed, wifey dared to open an eye, and my dreams of sonorous landscapes returned. Do what you want to do, indeed.

Well now joy seems to be tripping in, though holae holae. The focus is not to make it a series of events, but an experience. And that interestingly is making all the difference. We are getting together to pool in all the things we love - art, words, music, photography, food - and weaving it in the plans such that we ourselves are excited about what will emerge.

And that to me is the only way to approach a celebration. Or possibly even life itself.

Here’s a photo. (You can’t see the sulking mom-dad hiding behind) We sent this out to tell the world about the adorable couple….

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And to celebrate this happiness, some love poems for your delectation!

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