Village Wedding Day

We left the Hotel Resort Deluxe in our hired car at 7:10 am, Sunday, January 6. In addition to Ross and I, there was Kalendar, in charge of room service and housekeeping at the hotel, Manoj, the driver and Manu, a friend of Kalendar’s. We left Mirzapur for a village near a small town called Manda. We had been invited as Kalendar’s guests to the wedding of his wife’s brother, Kasim. Incidently, Kalendar means calendar in Hindi and is as unusual a name here in India as it would be in Canada.

After driving for an hour and a half through some rolling countryside, open fields and villages and perhaps two or three small towns we arrived at the end of a brick road with a few cottage compounds spread about at some distance from each other.

“We are sitting in a compound made of piled-up stones. There are two very small mud huts connected together and all around us are many women and children from babies to teenagers to old ladies and just a few men. We are the center of attention. A young girl sits behind me on a platform and in her limited English and my limited Hindi, I learn that she is in class 8 and she tells me the relationship of some of the people around me—her father, sisters, brother.”

Kasim, the groom, (looks to be about 20 but I later learn that he is 27), is brought out and stands before me looking completely unprepared for marriage—bewildered and a little in shock. This is a Muslim family so the wedding season seems not to apply as in Hindu weddings. Kasim is wrapped in a purple shawl. I see a sparkly bell tied to his wrist but so far he doesn’t look adorned for a wedding. I’ve been told the wedding is at 12:00 so there is plenty of time to prepare as it’s only 9:40.

“Small girls holding babies stand around me staring. There is a large stack of firewood over against the stone wall and a woman (Kalendar’s sister) has just picked up three pieces and taken them to a corner where there is a small cooking fire over which are a few bricks on which a pot is cooking. She adds the wood to the fire. Over the cooking fire is a roof made of straw and a bundle of animal fodder is stored up on this roof. We are brought chai, some small fried dough balls that are traditional wedding food, biscuits and fruit.”

Ross goes off with Kalendar who has left to bathe at the village well. During his bath Ross takes a long hike with another fellow all around the countryside consisting of jungle, fields, rocky outcroppings and cactus. Amrit. the owner of the car calls the driver from Mirzapur and everyone is worried. “Where is Ross? Where is Ross?”

I remain in the women’s area. A goat walks through the compound and a woman gives it a kick and chases it off. “Hut! Hut!” It scampers off. An old woman sits on the charpoy in front of me—Kalendar’s wife’s grandmother. She wears a turquoise cotton sari over her black cardigan. Beside her sit three children—one about 5, one perhaps 7 and the baby, Kalendar’s niece, 8 months old. I am now surrounded by chattering children. Three new women arrive to take part in the celebration and stand staring. Often women gesture to my legs and I say polio and they all nod. “Acha, acha.”

The girls take me out of the compound for a walk down the brick road past our car and the four waiting jeeps that have been hired for the wedding. We meet up with Ross who has returned from his hike. I have to say to the girls, “Diree, diree, jaldi nahine!” Slowly, slowly, not fast, as they attempt to race with me along the path. Then they all tell each other, “Diree, diree, diree!”

We assemble back at the compound where Kasim is washing himself all over with soap and double shampoo and everyone is sitting and standing around watching him, friends, family and neighbours. As Kasim washes, Kalendar stands up on a raised area changing discreetly into new underwear (called innerwear) all behind a new lungi, and then a pressed white shirt and pressed trousers. Now Kasim is doing the same, new underwear under a new lungi, new shirt and socks. He drops his lungi and puts on new trousers and suit jacket. All watch intently as he dresses. He sits on the charpoy and his uncle wraps his head in a turban made of starched white cotton. It takes two tries and a lot of fiddling to get it perfect. Uncle puts two garlands of roses and white flowers around Kasim’s neck.. The groom then leaves in the car with Kalendar, Ross, another friend and the driver to go to the mosque for prayers.

The uncle unpacks many floral decorations, lays them out onto the charpoy and sprinkles them with drops of water. Again I am crowded around with many women and children, having shown my photos once more.

The groom returns from his prayers and the charpoy is now placed near the entrance to the compound. He sits and over his back is placed a cape made entirely of roses. He is then covered with a headdress made of roses, white flowers and a tinsel crown. This has covered him completely, face and all and I think he must be suffocating under it. All the women family members group around him and one by one they come up to him with their hands gesturing from the top of head down several times in blessing. Kalendar now picks him up and carries him to the waiting car. Actually the car we hired to come to the village. Luckily he is a small man. Kalendar isn’t tall but he is more beefy.

After some time we are told to go to the car in which was sitting the groom covered in his rose cape and tinsel rose headdress. We sit in the back with Kalendar’s wife and two small daughters, 2 and 5, groom and driver in front. Behind us were the 4 jeeps with all the family members. We set off beyond the end of the brick road across the open land where there was no road and barely a path. We didn’t have a jeep so it was quite a procedure to make our way through the rocks but we finally came to a paved single lane road, the jeeps having passed us well before and were waiting.

For 15 kilometres we drove on that road through a very dry area, almost desert like. We shared oranges and cashews with all in the car. When we came to the bride’s village we came to a vehicle that had stacks of speakers and a generator. On the side was a sexy dancing couple—INDIA DJ—written in large colourful lettering. There seemed to be some confusion as to where we were to go. We turned around as did the DJ truck, but I think it was so we could make a grand entrance into the village. Ross and I got out, the DJ truck turned on its blasting speakers with distorted Indian disco dance music and the groom car followed.

Ross and I dropped down into a field for a pee, unseen, and then we caught up with the parade—the DJ truck, behind which was a huge crowd of wildly dancing young men and boys, the groom’s car and then the 4 jeeps. When Ross joined in with the dancing they all roared with approval. After dancing along the paved road awhile we turned off onto a path which the DJ truck could just barely fit onto. The boys were dancing all the way and my ears and body were throbbing to the booming bass.

Ahead through the fields we could see a yellow marriage tent set up with sunflower designs painted on the fabric walls. The car with the groom, the jeeps and the DJ truck pulled up to the tent. We were escorted into the tent where there were men sitting and children playing. Ross was asked to sit on the one table until the groom arrived. Then a chair was brought for him and the groom was again carried to the place of honour on the cloth-covered table. Some wedding appetizers were served to all consisting of a fried pastry, a ghulab jamen and two other sweets, one pink and one white. I ate the pastry and half the ghulam jhamen and gave the rest to Kalendar’s friend, Manu.

After sweets we were told it was time to eat and we were taken to another table. A chair was brought for Ross but Manu and Manoj, the driver sat cross-legged on the table opposite us. There was lovely puffy and chewy thick naan bread baked in a tandoori oven, mutton curry, (probably goat), rice pilou, what they call green salad which is sliced carrots, tomatoes, onions, white radish, cilantro or some sort of parsley and lemon and a sweet rice dessert. There was also fried fish and chicken.

All the time we were eating Kasim just sat there under the weight of his floral decoration. Friends came and chatted with him and then came the Imam to do the ceremony. This all took place without the bride! After we finished eating we visited the women’s area hoping to see the bride. There were many women eating but no bride. I believe she was hidden away in the house—perhaps under her own decorations. (Kalendar told us she came out at 6:00 but we had left by that time, much to his disappointment.) We didn’t see the bride but we did see the marriage certificate and were told they were now married. Kasim now had his flowers removed.

We were expected to eat again about half an hour after the first meal but we couldn’t eat more than a few carrots. The food was prepared in numerous enormous cooking pots on fires outside under some trees by specially hired wedding cooks.

It was now about 4:00 and the owner of the car was continually calling saying we should be on our way back to Mirzapur. As much as we were sorry to leave, it had been a long day and so very full. I was ready to return.