The Eccentric Bride
Mum doesn’t think the ‘coy Indian bride has been done to death’. Each time we discuss how my wedding shenanigans will unfurl, it ends with an exasperated mother and a very confused daughter. For starters, why does the buffet need to be orchestrated by textbook chefs in luxury hotels? I say ditch the usual venues, so truly passionate chefs can create ingenious dishes that are quintessential to the bride and groom. It’s a celebration to remember, so may as well make it memorable all the way.
Forget about the henna high tea as well. There is no way I’m putting that on my palms and arms and feet. And then what – look like a shedding snake on my honeymoon? No chance. The sangeet can be done away with as well; especially when Bollywood twaddle today compares love to hookahs, and the length of your sari measures emotions. What would make a real party is a brunch at my parents’ holiday home with a live band dolling out a mix of Billy Joel, Spin Doctors, Ed Sheeran et al.
There is one thing I wouldn’t compromise on though – the pheras. Let all four hours of the mantras be read out. An express wedding leads to an express divorce too. Better play it safe! But while we’re at it, his parents and siblings and my parents and siblings are the only people who should be allowed at such a private affair. Let’s spare the guests invited out of compulsion. They may kick up a fuss on the outside, but will heave a sigh of relief on the inside.
It is at the reception where the world can fake an I-care-about-this-wedding smile in an effort to keep up with social obligations. But not for a minute will I stand like a festooned puppet on stage while people make merry at my expense. While I’m busy breaking a leg on the dance floor, I will happily accept quick backslaps for finally taking the plunge, for nobody really wants to keep newly-weds away from waltzing their love.
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