My Big Fat Wedding

Dr. Priyamita tells us the story of her wedding, ahead of her anniversary, on Monday (June 21). With wit and humour, she describes her inter-community marriage. An exclusive for Different Truths.  

This is the story of my wedding (which I have written on popular demand… okay, not popular…only a person had asked me to write but I felt that I had to write it!). It was a hotchpotch and topsy-turvy tale which came into being because of my decision to marry a Marwari (Jain) boy! Allow me to start at the beginning, the morning of the wedding. 

The chaos had started much earlier, when I disclosed the idea of getting married to my father, and his first question was “Chhele ta ki? Bangaal na Ghoti?” (Does the groom have a Bangladeshi origin or is he originally from West Bengal? The Bengali readers will understand why the question seemed so obvious while good luck to the others… understanding that). His question hit me like a ton of bricks! It was like preparing for the History exam, but you are slapped with the Physics question paper instead. I had no answer, and I fled the scene. My sister had to break the ghastly news to him the day after. 

There was the usual cacophony and warnings about the inter-cultural clash and the same old drama and coaxing (from my side) about our undying love and what-not. Anyway, both the families were cajoled and after a few meetings, my big fat wedding was chalked out. 

Let us not digress. I will start afresh… 

Now, my mother had passed away and I did not rely too much on any of my female relatives but prepared for the said wedding single-handedly (my father, an extremely busy doctor, seemed only too happy to let me undertake this humongous task). I had asked my husband (boyfriend, then) how many guests would come from his side of the family and had mentally prepared for the answer to be 100 or thereabouts. However, he told me at least 600 guests would come from his side (add to it, 300 guests from my side), the total number stood at a staggering 900! After doing this quick mental Math, my eyebrows were raised so high that they had a risk of permanently disappearing into my hairline! However, I did not let my anxiety show and practiced some deep breathing and yoga techniques to calm myself and told myself, “Yes, you can do it…” 

After doing the preliminary work (i.e., deciding the venue, hiring the caterer, bribing the priest to wrap up the wedding mantras in 15-20 minutes, etc.), we were all set! 

I had arranged for the wedding ‘tattvas’ (gifts) to be gift-wrapped suitably (me and my cousins wrapped several gifts overnight and till date are the fastest gift-wrappers in this side of the country) and the veg and non-veg food to be served on different floors so that the vegetarians would not get a whiff of the non-veg food being served..(the word ‘whiff’ here being used literally as well as figuratively). 

The wedding trousseau was bought, the invitation-cards distributed, the cameraman / videographer hired (thank God, there were no ghastly pre-wedding shoots those days) and I was all set for the D-day! 

It would not be entirely out of order to mention here that I am always following a ‘to-do’ list and like to be well-prepared for everything – I even read a book on divorce on the eve of my wedding, just saying! 

The wedding evening came (slowly and menacingly, like a storm) and the guests had started flooding in, my jaws were already aching by all the artificial smiling at the cameras/guests, but I braved the storm and beamed at all and sundry one beatific smile at a time! 

I was told by my grandmother that touching the feet of the elders would earn me several brownie-points, so I made a dive for anyone near me… there were a few mishaps here and there…me touching the feet of the cameraman’s crew and some second-cousin who was seven years younger to me (not my fault, he looked like a decade older than me) but all in all, everyone was convinced that I was the perfect demure bride! 

Then came the hordes of Marwari ladies, each one wearing a saree/lehenga, which was far more gorgeous than my wedding-trousseau and adorned with more jewelry than my whole family put together. They fussed over me, and one lady literally weighed my gold necklace with her hand (her face uncomfortably… only half-an-inch away from mine) but I braved it all, like the great Bengali Freedom Fighters! 

The groom came on a white horse, resplendent in a typical Rajasthani princely-ensemble with a feather-in-the-turban et al. However, a stampede of my aunts (Bengali) ensued, they jostled him away and he emerged, a few minutes later… unrecognisable in a plain white dhoti and vest (Bengali wedding attire). The Marwari clan looked mortified at the disrobing of their prince but grudgingly accepted it as my aunts told them that it was our custom and after being bribed with hot and savory snacks, they seemed suitably mollified. 

Thereafter, there was the dancing by all the Marwaris – the quintessential ‘sangeet’ had started in full vogue and caught my Bong members completely off-guard. I saw most of my family members looking askance at the dancing folks and a few mumbling (a little too loudly, to be polite) “Jotto shob…” (too much). 

I had foreseen this predicament and at my pre-conceived hand gesture, my sister and cousins quickly came over and ushered me and my hubby (the bride and the groom) to the stage too.

After, around 20 minutes of dancing, I found (to my pleasant surprise) that all the Bengali folks were on stage too (they obviously couldn’t stay away from the ‘hip’ Bollywood song-list that I had selected along with a few ‘hits’ Bangla-band songs of Bhoomi/Chandrabindu etc., which were in vogue those days). 

Before one could say ‘cuckoo’, all my aunts were dancing away and the uncles (they all had a drinking binge earlier in someone’s room and we all pretended that we did not know about it) joined in too and started grooving to the beats (as to why they indulged in the Durga Puja bhaashaan-moves, I do not have the foggiest idea, beats me till date!) 

The auspicious time for the wedding rituals was just minutes away (the ‘shubho mohuraat’) but they all threw caution to the wind and danced like there was no tomorrow, they had to be literally dragged off-stage and it was announced, grimly, that the rituals would start. 

The chanting of the mantras didn’t last too long (according to my pact with the priest) and all the while, people kept on glancing at their watches (waiting to dig in, no doubt, the gluttons!) 

In my haste, I had all but forgotten about the big ‘fish tattva’! For those of you who are unaware, it is a Bengali wedding tradition, that a bride must be gifted with a big fish (raw, obviously) from the groom’s side… the fish symbolises good luck and prosperity and the gesture of the groom’s family gifting the bride is their way of extending their wishes for her happiness as she embarks upon the new journey. 

Now, there was no question about me asking for a raw fish from my husband’s Jain family (they would probably cancel the wedding at my audacity)! However, I had to pacify my folks (Bengali) too because they would feel offended without the fish being offered from the groom’s side! 

Having a scheming intellect since childhood (or maybe my remarkable IQ, thanks to all the fish I consumed), I was well-prepared for this…er… ‘fishy’ turn of events! I quickly gestured to my sister who went to the room where all the gifts were kept and returned with a huge and garishly decorated gift-tray! 

It was a gigantic, gift-wrapped Sandesh (fish-shaped) and everyone gave a collective exclamation as I explained to them that my in-laws have gifted me that, and being vegetarians, they could not possibly gift me real fish. They nodded sympathetically and patted my head (probably trying to console me because I was marrying into a vegetarian family) and I heaved a sigh of relief. Phew! The fish-predicament was over! 

Then, I scurried about a bit, throwing the customary lame questions here and there, “Apni bhalo kore kheyechen toh?” (Did you eat properly?) Obviously, I saw you stuffing your face and it is there in my wedding video too in case you want to watch it. Be my guest, if you have masochistic desires, that is, and answering to equally lame questions … “Oma, tui koto boro hoye gechis!” (You have grown up so much! It is not like I had a choice…Did I?) and… “Accha, Bengali-log ullulululu kyun karte hain?” Why don’t you go away forever to Honolulu instead of asking me these stupid questions? I smiled serenely and nodded along and kept answering these million-dollar questions, one-at-a-time! 

After what seemed like years, the wedding was finally over. I was so relieved! However, my relief was short-lasting as I noticed a few anxious faces amongst the throng and a few of my aunts tut-tutting and craning their necks to look at me disapprovingly! My heart skipped a beat… something was definitely amiss!

I quickly went to the loo and checked my reflection, well, I looked okay… goofy and awkward as any blingy-saree clad bride, that is. For the life of me, I could not fathom the reason behind the not-so-subtle disapproving looks.  

Then, seeing my quizzical look, my maid informed me that it was time for ‘bidaai’ and any self-respecting bride would dissolve in copious amounts of tears now and sob uncontrollably into her father’s arms, while, here I was, dry-eyed and stony-faced! 

Now, I have to say, I did not see this coming. Forever shy of expressing any emotions and never having cried in public, I was at a complete loss as to what to do! I thought of the movie Titanic (the scenes where I had cried) and the tear-jerker novels too but, the tears (like a flighty mistress) just did not come in my time of need! I was running out of time, the anxiety of not being able to cry turned me into a bundle of nerves! Then, an eureka-like idea struck me… I gave a loud gasp and hiding my face with both hands, escaped into the loo. 

I quickly opened my purse and took out my contact-lens solution (never thought I’ll thank God for my myopia, one day) and squeezed the bottle liberally into both my eyes. I emerged, triumphantly, a moment later, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my eyes suitably red and watery… I would have got all the trophies for being the perfect damsel in distress (or bride in unbridled tears) Anyway, I may have overdone it a tad bit (I had dabbled in theatre in my school days, you see) because some of my aunts were concerned at my semi-convulsions and thought a bout of hysteria had come upon me or a panic-attack! Anyway, I dabbed my eyes with a huge handkerchief someone had handed me and sniffed too loudly (for a lady, definitely) and all was well! 

The agony of the wedding was finally over – and the agony of marriage had just begun – but let us call it a ‘happy ending’, for now… 

Today, I chanced upon a young girl complaining on Facebook that she cannot have a big fat Indian wedding due to the pandemic and I shake my head in disbelief, “Lucky girl…if only I could have gotten married with 50 guests only!” Anyway, the grass on the other side always looks greener – just like my diet post-marriage, which looks considerably greener!

Photos by the author