27.08.2014 – 31.08.2014 – The Wedding.

Thursday 27th – Sunday 31st August, 2014

The Wedding.

The day I have been jointly planning with my cousin (sister) for a year has finally arrived.

I don’t quite know how to sum up the wedding, so I’m just going to keep writing for a bit.

I last blogged on Wednesday. I think you could probably tell that at that point I was overwhelmed by the influx of the real (noisy) world, let alone the Indian Aunties!

As I’m writing this the wedding is over and I have fully assimilated into Indian mode. For the last few days my name has been ‘Where’s Lauren’ (courtesy of an older cousin (sister) – we shall call her 5ive cousin) and I’ve spent much of my time partaking in very traditional stuff. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

On Thursday morning, we arrived at the house of the Ahluwalia ataxia. I burrowed myself away and spent the first hour or two learning how to make loom bands with the younger members of the family.

Thursday was the day we took part in some old traditions. We did one which involves holding a scarf over the bride-to-be whilst reciting old Indian songs, feeding her sweet rice and rubbing turmeric on her skin to make her glow and then the inevitable music started (though it was mostly me and 5ive cousin who danced). I had mendhi and talked to people I haven’t seen for too long.

My mother had to go out to collect the wedding dress. Typical of Indian seamstresses, the dress wasn’t ready. As she had to wait for it to be sewn in all the right places, she missed the girls who had come to do the mendhi. I had been studying the way they did it, and it’s very much the same as icing a cupcake (as strange as it sounds). As I’ve done my fair share ofthat, I offered to do it for her. This created some kind of cascade; before long I’d done six people’s hands, back and front (including a great Aunt I hadn’t met until that day and the mother of the bride). The next day, at the pre-wedding party, word had spread and I ended up doing last-minute mendhi for another two people.

It was just mendhi; at these kind of events, most of the young girls end up doing it for the wedding party. This was special to me though. Although I’ve always felt welcomed by my cousins, I’ve always felt extremely English (now Welsh), and therefore like I stick out like a sore thumb. As I was doing the mendhi, I felt like I was truly a part of the party; that I was truly accepted – one of the family.

The pre wedding party.

As with all pre-wedding parties, it was great. The dance floor was full for most of the night and they had a dhol player which instantly makes a party fantastic. We did the red spinny head things from Bend it Like Beckham again (somebody tell me what those are called?!) and ate good, home-cooked curry. I lamented when the part finished, as I usually do, but as I had to be up 6 hours after the party ended, I didn’t mind too much.

The wedding day.

The day started early. Too early. As usual, despite getting up last, I was ready before everyone (I faffed the night before; they faffed in the morning). I was blinged up and eating crumpets, and even catching up on Sherlock, although I had to leave it at a very tense part when Moriarty, Sherlock and Watson are at the swimming baths.

I would say that I genuinely cried (as in I couldn’t hold it in) at least seven times. There was at the temple before the civil ceremony, after the civil ceremony, in the prayer hall twice, when we left the temple, when the groom’s family came to take the bride and when we had to leave her at his house. I wasn’t just a blubbering mess though. Well, I was, but so was everyone else. It generally went that one person would start crying, and then it would act as a kind of Mexican wave of SADNESS AND TEARS. I think the traditions made it harder; my cousin (sister) was literally going to move out of her house that day and move in with the groom.

The party was just as fun as I thought it would be. There was the dhol drums.

Everybody was on the dance floor. The family that I’ve been fearing has been drifting away were tightly packed on the light up floor, banging elbows and swishing dresses and generally getting in each other’s way. Even the cousin who had got married a couple of weeks ago was there, dancing with her new husband (who seems ace, by the way! At the risk of sounding like an old aunty, we need some more young men in our family!).

After that we headed to yet another shindig back at the bride’s house. We charged entry to the groom’s family and ate some more (there is a constant flow of food at Indian weddings). By this time I was pooped; one of my cousins (I think…?) said it looked like I was on a come down, wrapped up in a blanket with days of sleeplessness weighing heavy on my eyelids.

Then, like a ray of light, I saw a smiling face. The Beloved had returned from France and came to join the party! I had the motivation right then to party on.

There was a lot of tradition, including some kind of rice throwing, and a tradition I like very much in which the groom (my new brother!) gave me a gold ring (although he tried to give me coconuts).

Then it was time for another bout of weeping. Up to this point, I had declared that I was emotionally drained and could not cry another tear. Then the bride started crying as she left the house. And her sister. And her mother. And my mother. And the Aunties. I didn’t stand a chance.

I was told to accompany her in the car. The car was a Bentley. Remember that; a Bentley. We sniffled together in the back of the car – the Bentley – as it left the driveway. We left the mournful Ahluwalia faces behind…and then what sounded like a tree full of acorns caused a crescendo around the car as yet another tradition reared its head. Someone had literally thrown a bag full of copper coins at the car for good luck. AT THE BENTLEY.

After some understandable anger from the driver, we were on our way. When we arrived at the Bhachu house, I realised just how daunting marriage must be. We had left a house full of the faces we had grown up with and arrived at a house of people I didn’t know. They were waiting to welcome the new bride.

The groom carried her over the threshold (which was a lovely, sweet touch) to the cheers of the whole family, and then another party commenced. Take into account that I had been sat watching Sherlock and eating crumpets at least 14 hours beforehand. That was a lot of partying. Luckily I was quickly joined by 5ive cousin and the bride’s best friend, and then my Uncle and The Beloved who were acting as brothers. The shared tiredness helped us to carry on. We couldn’t last, though; we left them to party until 2am and I wept again as we left her behind at her new house.