Another weekend another wedding

Well folks, here we go again.
It was the wedding of my cousin in my village of Bodi Wala Kharak Singh, which is about 260km from my home town of Chandigarh. But the drive there took more that 7 grueling hours, the reason being my great adventures on the highways of Jaipur (see last blog entry) had not convinced my dad of my driving skills. So strict instructions were given by the military man that his cars will not be driven over the speed limit of 60km/h. So me being me and with a wounded ego, gave myself a buffer of 5km/h, so 55km/h it was the whole way. Tough, I must say it was.

My village is in an area of Punjab where it seems like time is standing still, like everything takes its own time. If I am correct Einstein would have had a big problem explaining this phenomenon. Everything happens in slow motion. I am not blaming the people for it because they have become so used to it that I think they might be living in different dimensions. They have taken a chill pill for life. They seem to be happy in freeze mode and I am happy for them.

To give you a good example about the time consideration, on the wedding day that groom and all his family were about 3 hours late. So to reciprocate their great gesture we, the brides family were 3 and half hours late for the party the next day. If you are the type of person who lives by their watch I guess you should go live in the Swiss mountains where time is taken very seriously. The vast fields and pastures of the interior Punjab are for those who like to see Einstein's theories turned on their heads. This is the place for you. You don't need to be high on anything to see the world go by in slow motion.

Well as you all can see I'm not that interested in telling you about the wedding. I think you have had your fill of weddings from our previous posts. This wedding was a great opportunity to meet my cousins, who I have not met in years. To be honest I could not even remember their names, IT WAS THAT LONG. Apart from a few odd, embarrassing moments where I didn't have a clue whether it was my cousin or my uncle and where I was addressing people by wrong names, I had a great time.

One thing I noticed was that all of us (my cousins and I) had nicknames which did not remotely match our real names or our personality. As all of you know my name is Tejinder, and nickname is Toni. I don't know how my family came to that name, but now I know I am not the only case of this nickname syndrome. Apparently the whole family suffers from it (not just my dad's side but my mum's side too). So their real names might be Gurmeen, Amrinder, Brigashwar which are put into a name-converting-machine, after which, weighing all the facts and figures, takes out names which have the furthest correlation imaginable to their real names. Oh! So the answers would be Sonia, Jolly, Bunny. After being 3 nights away from my computer I had to come back home. As you all know the net has become the lifeline between Amrit and I. The last three days have been tough not seeing her online, talking our days through and seeing each other smile. So a very early morning bus back home and here I am online with my wife.

Gurmeen kaur Brar or Sonia or both

Honeymoon

After all the guests had gone home, Amrit and I planned our honeymoon. The destination chosen was the beautiful desert kingdom of Rajasthan, with its beautiful cities Jaipur the pink city, Ajmer the holy city, Udaipur the city of lakes (made famous by James Bond's Octopussy).

So with my honey in the passenger seat of the car we went looking for the MOON. It was to be a road trip. If one is a positive thinker then the hail storm, thunder and lightning at the start of the trip would be taken as blessing, God is blessing the car with holy water for a safe trip for the newly weds. Half way to Delhi we started to look for hotels to stay in Delhi. We decided to take a chance by just driving into Delhi and find a hotel since the gods were already on our side. We did find the hotel in the end and went out to dinner in a Japanese restaurant recommended by the traveller's holy bible, the Lonely Planet . The restaurant was called Zen in Connaught Place, New Delhi. The thing we will remember about this restaurant is not its good food but its staff holding us hostage until we gave them a suitable tip; a great recommendation, Lonely Planet. Anyway on the way back to the hotel, the gods decided to cleanse our car with holy water once more, it was like an express wash, not lasting very long.
Next day our drive to Jaipur was not that eventful. My honey was sleeping and I, driving and navigating through the maze of killer highways, which will make the makers of the game "need for speed" think about changing the name of their game. But we reached the pink city safely and rested a bit before the shopping craze came over Amrit. Advice to men is never take women shopping on empty stomach. Fill their tummies and half the shopping crave is gone. So a lunch in a revolving restaurant overlooking the city of Jaipur did the trick for me: not much shopping after that.

By this time my love had started to feel little sick, guess it was all the different food stuff we had been eating which had caused the problem. So we called in an early night.
Next on the road trip was Udaipur but on the way to the Udaipur we had a short stop at the holy city of Ajmer. Its famous for the tomb of a Muslim saint.

In my opinion it should also be put on the map for its beggars. There beggars are not your usual ones. They have done their homework and, have plans and strategies. We realised they had areas divided amongst themselves so no one could beg in another's area. The beggars patiently waited for the target to wonder into their area before starting their begging. Amrit and I had encountered some of the most talented ones, but once you show weakness to one of them you are marked, tagged, labelled, flagged (what other word can I use) for slaughter.

We did our bit at the tomb and were back on the road to Udaipur, where our hotel room awaited us. By the time we were at the hotel Amrit's condition had worsened and she was in real pain. I wont go into the detail of it but she was in a bad way and needed a doctor. She was in bed for the next three days.

Over the three days we stayed at the hotel the staff of the Hilton-Trident were just great. From the managers to the head chef to the waiters to the door men - they were just great.

We managed to cut our little cake which our hotel had presented to us with a bottle of wine (just for me).

So after three days in the hotel room and my wife feeling better, we were on our way back to Jaipur. With sunny weather and cool winds we were cruising our way to Jaipur, when BANG! We were hit by a truck head - on the national highway. Shocked, we just sat in the car for sometime not knowing what to do, glass all over me holding the wheel, not knowing what to do, till my Amrit asked me if I was ok and I said "I am, are you ?" She was ok too. With a crowd gathering around the car we got out from Amrit 's side since mine was totally jammed by the truck impact. Lucky we didn't have a scratch on us: the car took it all.

Then started the police investigation. We were helped to the police station which was just 500 metres from the site and the report was written. If you really want to know they were all hand written and if they wanted to make a copy you had to wait for them to hand write that too. So you see everything had to be in triplicate, hand written in triplicate. But still I would say our case was dealt with the utmost urgency. It was high on the priority list, second to a group of people who had stolen 5 goats in an SUV, for which the police had set up a check point on the national highway causing a traffic jam. If you ask for service from the police they provide you with just that, even if it means causing a taffice jam and a queue of trucks for a mile on both sides of the road. Just for some kidnapped goats which might well be kebabs by then. Well anyway I thanked them for the help the gave us. The even called us a taxi, which is unheard of.

By this time we had decided that the honeymoon was over and we just wanted to go home. So another taxi was arranged for us by my friend Sumit and his wife from Jaipur to Chandigarh.

I would say the honeymoon was a memorable one, we certainly would never forget it.

Wedding day

Wedding day

I had an early rise (5am to be precise) so that I could rush over to the beauticians for my appointment at 6am. Taxi arrived on queue, and with my sister Aman helping all the way, we drove onto Sector 35-C before sunrise. Little did I know that as a foreigner who is also Indian by background, I was expected to arrive an hour late for any appointment I made. Sitting in the cab outside the CLOSED L'Oreal studio at 0550 we waited for someone to open up. Finally (approximately 0605), some lights came on, and so we grabbed everything (dress, shoes, jewellery) and rushed over. Eager to start the treatments, we waited another 45 minutes for the artist to arrive. In the meanwhile Aman and I explored world politics and Indian beuracracy with the receptionist, a retired gentleman who was working in the Studio to keep himself busy. Topics which were far too serious for this time of the morning did a good job of passing time. Chiku, the beautician rolled up huffing and puffing, exclaiming that she had had a nightmare journey into work and we go started straight away. I was fairly relaxed during the makeover, with Aman reassuring me that the makeup was looking grand. It was only when I realised the time had reached 0935 (we were due at the gurdwara (Sikh temple) at 0900) that I started panicing, which then led to an automatic burst of waterworks and nearly ruining the makeup. I told Aman to run ahead and ask the driver to start the cab. I, fully dressed in all my clobber, had to take it slow in case I had a tumble down the steps. Having shouted at Chiku, and a colleague of hers for making me late, I left the Studio and was on my way to the gurdwara.

Arriving at the gurdwara, I was still in a panic. The barat (Toni and his family) had not arrived but all I could think of was "what if they arrived right this moment?" and so, out of the cab, I legged it into the building, and about five minutes later, Toni arrived. Phew, I had made it, and was feeling better once my masi's bombarded the waiting room I was sitting in. They brought with them food and advice. I was given a quick lesson on the ceremony, and rules on how to behave. It was brief but would prove to be extremely useful.

For me it started a little later than Amrit´s but with a similar panic because till now I had not tried to tie my wedding turban and with nerves on the edge it did not tie well. With a little help from my cousin it was finally tied. Then started the "dress-up ceremony" for the day with help from my sister and sister-in-law who fixed the "kalgi" onto my turban, and placed "surma" on my eyes, and after alot of confusion, I was ready.

Speaking of dresses my fantastic five: Eva, Stian, Anna, May and Kamal were all dressed in Indian fasion. Stian even wore a turban and was turned into a Sikh for the day.

But as Indian weddings go nothing was on time. We were already getting late to the gurdwara. As you know I am one who likes to be on time, and you might see the stress on my face in the photos and the way I was holding my ceremonial sword, ready to use it on someone or something and really make MY DAY.

Just as my mind was preoccupied with plotting and scheming, the car which was to take me to the gurdwara arrived, driven by none other than my brother Sammy (chauffeur for the day), the car was then flowered-up with technical assistance from Norway (Tina and May).

With everything checked on the check list I was ready to go to the temple:
1 Toni fully dressed – check
2 The sword still not used on anyone – check
3 My driver not drunk – check
4 Anna been stuffed with drugs – check (she had food poisoning, but still wanted to see the wedding hence the drugs)

GO GO GO

After 15 minutes of safe driving by Sammy we were at the temple and the usual ciaos of the Indian weddings took over. No one new what to do. Both the families stood facing each other. All I could think of was "my shoes are killing me, could you all move on please"! Because I was so close to God (in the temple), my wish was granted rather quickly.
Breakfast was being served and everyone jumped into have bite. I was just too nervous to eat and wanted to get married quickly. I was edging towards to hall where Amrit and I were to be married and I reached there first, even before the priest. One by one people started to enter but there was still no sign of the priest. In the end a massive priest hunt was started by my FIL (father in-law). After what felt like an eternity he was found and things finally began. To this day I don't know where the priest had gone and why, I guess he is only answerable to God. Anyway as long as he did his bit and I got married to my Amrit I was not complaining.

There are so many ceremonies in a Sikh wedding it's really had to keep track of what's happening and what one should do. The first ceremony is done by the bride's family. They come bearing gifts by way of a ton of fruit and sweets, (I think in the back of every groom's mind he is thinking "do I have to eat it all") and a gold "kara" (bangle). I think one just has to sit tight and take it as it comes. Then there is a long wait for the bride and, oh my god she looked so beautiful in her dress, but I dare not look up directly at her face but you know, guys have their ways hehe.

I didn't have to wait long before I was called in to the hall for the wedding ceremony. With all my masi's and Indian relatives in tow, my brothers took me to the hall and I made the grand entrance (which, this time I was hoping for). Whilst I sat at the front of the hall, I analysed what, if anything, I should be feeling and came to the conclusion that I should be nervous, perhaps a little frightened and anxious about this being the biggest and most important day of my life, a pivotal point where I was choosing to make a decision which would change my life forever. Instead, all I could think of was how nice it was to sit next to Toni and ways in which I could catch his eye! In the end, we ended up knee-fighting each other! This was during a speech from a priest at the temple in lessons of married life. According to him, I am to rise before and go to sleep after my husband has. I am to attend to all his needs. I think the priest got it the wrong way!

So we started the four rounds around the holy book which will change my life forever (I have to specify now: "change my life for the BETTER"). You see a man gets specific just after four "pheras". Now that's what I call marriage. You can't leave things to be interpreted the wrong way, I have to go home to a wife now, that too without a crash helmet. I am learning fast.

Yes we did our pheras. It actually felt quite spiritual for me - I embraced every moment - from my dad handing me Toni's "palah" to the final "ardas". I did feel like something almost magical happened during the ceremony. Afterwards, I was in constant smile-mode. It was the best feeling of my life!

Then off to lunch. Sammy our special driver, managed to get us to Chimney Heights, the lunch venue, well before most other guests arrived. We were walked into the grounds by a band which included a bagpipe player. I felt so special. Toni, on the other hand was very embarassed. I think it got worse for him when the band gathered around us and fresh petal confetti was thrown. That was the pinnacle for me. We sat on our "thrones" for the "shagan" ceremony whereby family and friends gave us a gift and had photos with us. Then there were more photos in a makeshift studio set up by the photographers. All in all, 1500 photos were taken!

We did find time to eat towards the end of the afternoon and were served personally by the Manager of the catering. He brought countless plates, each holding different dishes so that we had a chance to taste each and every dish on the menu. I was particularly impressed by the variety and quality of the food. Everything tasted delicious.

Toni, constantly checking his watch, was eager to leave on time and so next came the "doli" ceremony where I said good bye to my family. It was an emotional farewell, that is until the band started playing to lead us out - that made me chuckle.

With the ceremony done and the MAN becoming the mouse, the only thing to top the hurt, male ego was the lecture given by the head priest, whose long talk was putting not only the newly wed couple to sleep but most of the people who were present there. The only thing which kept me awake was the naughty knee-knocking by my wife: a bold move.

After the wedding it was a rush to move to the lunch venue, the reason being that the next lamb (groom) had arrived to be slaughtered at the temple, I mean for his marriage vows (becoming another mouse). The second reason for the rush was that I needed food. With Sammy at the wheel we reached the venue in rally style and to welcome us was a band and family members.
Next was the photo session with the whole of the family with our photographer forcing us to smile. Still no food for me just more photos, it was late in the afternoon when the people who really loved us thought we might be hungry and we were served food.

Then came the time for Amrit to say good bye to her family. I think it was harder then she had thought, with tears in her eyes we drove back to our new home. There we were met with the custom of crossing 3 barriers to enter the home: my brothers, my mum and my sisters.

With me just on the edge of blowing my top (we can say because of the stress) the resistance was minimal. I needed rest but there was the evening party to go to and get ready for. For me it was a big challenge since I had promised myself that I would get rid of my much loved beard (that's what I like to think). So while Amrit got ready I went for a beauty make over, coming back just in time to pick up Amrit for the evening party .

We were the last ones to reach the venue, but we were the chief guests and as the rule in India states, the more important one is the more delayed is his arrival. With the law on our side we walked in with our heads held high.

With all the stress of the past few day I decided to chill out with drinks of clear water from vast expanses of the Russian prairie mixed with the lemon water from the foot hills at the Himalayas. With my friend JD serving me the water, I had no chance of surviving the Russian revolution in the foot hills. So I will let Amrit tell you what happened in the next few hours of the party. I don't seem to remember too much, I trust my wife to write an honest account of the evening.

The Russians had quite an effect on my husband, what with his memory loss and I might have sipped on a few of his lemon waters but obviously did not feel effects of such intensity. Our entrance was grand, having let my hair down and changed into lighter-weighing clothes and jewellery. Toni was also feeling lighter without his weghty beard.

Another stage was erected just for us and we followed, what had become, usual practice for us in the day, namely photographs galore with more relatives, but less of the formal stances. We were then taken to the dance floor and had our first dance off-queue before the cake in true non-tradition. That got everyone dancing and then I suddenly I remembered that we had to cut the cake.

The cake has its own story with it. It caused stress, arguments and stroppy encounters from the rani. But it all worked out in the end, even if the three-tier cake weighed 20 kilos and could not hold itself up. In the end, we had a two-tier cake with the middle tier placed next to it. The bakers obviously didn't envisage the problem. We gathered the family and cut the cake together (almost causing it to collapse with the sheer force of our slicing action). Our parents and siblings fed us and then we fed each other.

THEN came our OFFICIAL first dance. Another last-minute planned operation, Toni's friend Kami had been asking me throughout the evening which song to play for our first dance. I could not think of the song that Toni and I had discussed months ago. By sheer fluke, or psychic powers, or telepathic magic, the DJ played Fanaa, which was the song I couldn't think of.

It was perfect. We were dancing. By this time Toni could not focus. He kept warning me that he would step on my foot and that he could not dance. He asked me to lead. I wouldn't have it any other way. So we danced, until Toni realised he was dancing, and then he called for his family and friends to join in. It was great. I danced loads with our family and all our friends.

By the end of the night, we had danced, we had mingled and we had finally got around to eating. Toni's extended family were fascinated with the news that I could speak a little Punjabi and gathered round me to hear an excerpt. After the nerves had passed and the brain had started to function, I said something, which proved to be the key to success, and gained recognition for being a sweet girl who speaks sweet Punjabi.

The day was the best of my life, a perfect day filled with true happiness and twists of magic. We began married life as we mean to go on: life is never boring for us and is not likely to be.

First up, our fairy tale wedding...

Mehndi (Henna), Friday 23 February 2007

Most Indian brides in England shun the idea of having mehndi beyond the palms of their hands. I decided to be different and opt to be henna'd up to my elbows and up to my knees. It took around two hours to complete the work of art on all limbs by two very skilled mehndi-walas. Not only did they fill the work surfaces with intricate patterns, but managed to tell a story with their designs. I had a dhol player and flute player adorned on each arm, and other characters of the wedding, including a rani on an elephant and a raja on a horse, on each of my legs. I had never seen mehndi art like this in all the weddings I had attended - all of which had taken place in England. And as any other Indian, I have attended hundreds of weddings.

My sister Aman and Toni's dear friends, Anna, Eva and May all had their hands patterned with delicate designs and then my mum and masis (mum's sisters) and chachis (dad's brothers' wives) joined in too.

Tradition has it that the mehndi-wala is to include in his designs all the letters of the bride's and groom's first name. It is for the groom to find all the letters or else hand his wife a penalty of 5,100 rupees. Aman, and my brothers Kamal, Gurpreet and Manu sat attentively analysing the designs but even they could not complete the puzzle.

Toni tried to bribe my masi with 2,000 rupees if she told him where the letters were. Of course, my masi stood her ground and was appalled at the attempt of bribery. She would have given in if the sum was 1,000 rupees higher! Toni, of course was oblivious to that.

Waking up the following morning, the bed was full of what looked like mouse-droppings (only it was definitely mehndi) - I attempted to clear it off my hands, arms, legs and feet, and it had left an orange pattern on my hands. Over the next 24 hours, the mehndi gradually turned extremely dark brown and was almost black by the wedding day. I was told (by lots of people) that the darker the mehndi, the more you are loved by your mother-in-law! I don’t think my mehndi could have been any darker!

Sangeet and Dinner, Saturday 24 February 2007

With all the confusion and the stress of the days leading upto the wedding, all of us needed to chill out for an evening and just have fun. So Tina, Daisy, Gagan, Puneet and Rukhsana - my sisters, invited everybody to the occasion. Who in their right mind dare miss it?!

The evening for Amrit started with every girl's dream: pampering at the beauticians. As if the day before was not enough (almost 6 hours of re-inventing herself), before the sangeet, she was there again. It was lush!

For me, the family had planned the "home spa treatment" (which was nothing but embarrassment therapy). They all wanted me to glow on my wedding day so out came the ancient Indian skin-glow treatment: a mixture of gram flour (or besan), turmeric powder and milk.

Sitting in the centre of the room on a stool with ladies all around me trying to rub and massage this mixture into my skin was not as pleasant an experience as one would think. The lucky thing was that I could go into the bathroom alone and have a good scrub (and of course, glow for the evening). My embarrassment was not kept contained in the room where the ceremony was taking place. Oh no, the men folk were busy enjoying there drinks and watching it all happen LIVE on a big screen outside and thinking "another lamb to the slaughter, CHEERS!". For me, if I had to go through this to get my Amrit, I would be willing to do this everyday of my life.

So came bath-time and with not much hot water, I stood there wondering if I would get all the stuff off me. But I did and I don't know if I was glowing yet but had to get out of the bathroom fast because the family wanted me to show my face (my glowing face). My Sunny Mamaji (mum’s brother) was there to do his bit of the ceremony, and there was a little singing and dancing in the room by mum's sister-in-laws and this (ordeal of a) ceremony was over.

By this time my dear Amrit had arrived at the venue, looking beautiful and her face glowing (not because she had been through the same ordeal). It was thanks to modern European treatments known as "make up" and not pre-historic methods (and these few lines were sponsored by L'Oreal).

Back to the ceremony and now came the time to show who was the best on the dance floor: my dad’s side of the family or my mum’s side. The whole thing is started by my mum’s side with her eldest bother and his wife bringing in the lights (jago) onto the dance floor. Then the battle commences, both sides trying their best to sing and dance the other off the floor. I won’t go into who won and who lost. Mum's the word.

While all this was happening Amrit and I were trying to mingle with the guests and introduce each other to each other's relatives. This was a fruitless exercise, and after about five minutes we both gave up trying to remember who anyone was and just said hello to all.

By this time everyone was high on adrenalin or on alcohol (the latter seems to be the more likely explanation) and nudging Amrit and I onto the dance floor. Those of you who know me well know that dancing for me happens only once in a blue moon. On this occasion it could have been the blue moon or my glowing face. Whichever, I did dance although it only lasted as long as a solar eclipse. But it did happen so you all can make a note of it. Soon the whole family joined us on the dance floor so that my meager dancing techniques could easily be covered up and Amrit did not start have second thoughts about marrying me.

But all in all the evening was great. It was made great by the great people who were there to celebrate with us...I thank them all for a great evening. Toni

Toni and I have looked back over the wedding and realized one of the main reasons why Indian tradition does not allow the bride and groom to meet the week preceding the wedding is STRESS. When I arrived at the Sangeet, I was nervous about meeting Toni's extended family and all his friends. This was my first encounter. And, as Indian timing would have it, us foreigners turned up late. On this occasion I was hoping not to make a grand entrance. Nevertheless, we did and so all eyes (once everyone realized who I was) were on me. There were plenty of teeth-gritting smiles.

Our attempts at mingling did little but add confusion into the mix of things - with best intentions, we could not remember any names or faces! Dance is a great heeler (for some I say) and it certainly produced therapeutic magic for me. Especially when my beloved joined me (with great shoving and other "encouragement") onto the dance floor. He tells me he doesn't dance but he certainly busted some moves for the moments he was there! I loved it.

It was a great party with the right ingredients to get us in the mood for the big day. Amrit