The Great Indian Wedding Tamasha

'Haww! Kitti badi ho gayee hai! Godi mein khilaate the is!', auntyji squealed at my mother. Apparently my grimace wasn't visible enough, as auntyji turned to me next. 'Height achchi pakad li hai na? Aisi chhoti chuhiya si thi-yeh uncle ek haath pe utha lete the!', she punches her husband playfully on the arm. Uncle, who's dressed in his blingiest best, with the golden sherwani accentuating all his unsightly curves. I smile back weakly. You can only hope you'll get used to it some day.

I'm so glad November finally passed. I almost thought the wedding season was going to kill me. Up until two weeks ago, we had more wedding invitations in our post than we could possibly handle. I never even realised we knew so many marriagable people. 23 ko Sharma ki beti ki shaadi, 24 ko Gupta ke bete ki, 25 ko Verma ki apni shaadi, 26 ko Srivastava aur Chawla ke bachon ki. Ab bhaago. Add to that all the rokas, mehendis, shagans, cocktails, sagaais, receptions and a hundred other sundry functions and you know you're in for trouble. And a lot of running. And a serious dearth of clothes.

And so here I stood. At a random so-and-so's wedding. With random aunties smothering me with slurpy kisses (that come with a promise of a pimple bout by the next day), and tight bear hugs. Random uncles asking me, 'Aur beta?' The questions always that. Just that. Nothing more. And the answer, 'Bas uncle..', and a sugary smile, before they move on, only to be replaced by another.

The pandal was beautiful, decorated with flowers and diyas galore. Bling dominated. Bling was everywhere. We Punjus are like that. 'Kings of Bling'. Every shaadi season, we pull out all our dressiest, shiniest, heartiest sarees/sherwaanis and back them off for a trip to the drycleaners. So blingy that they could hold a competition for being the blingiest and reach no conclusive decision. So blingy that if all lights failed at the wedding, it would still never be dark because the chamki-sitaare on everybody's clothes would somehow manage to glitter on. So blingy that-oh well, you get the gist.

Just when I decided I'd had enough and I needed to have dinner quick and leave before I begin to need retinal transplant for excessive exposure to insanely bright light, the DJ stopped playing. All the rishtedaars who'd been maaroing mad bhangra to Justin Beiber's 'Baby' turned to look at the poor soul angrily, only to realise that the Baarat had arrived.

The dulha entered. Did I say there could be no winner to the 'I am blingiest contest'? Well, turns out, there is. The groom entered brandishing a sword in his hands, and a flowery umbrella over his head. As he walked, the DJ (what at intellegent chap) turned on a Dilwali Dulhaniya Le Jayenge song and everyone sprang into action, first dancing around the dulha, and then a little ahead, then more ahead, until they'd finally left him quite behind, alonw with his sequins and sword for company. Thankfully, the realised it soon, and the dulha was duly recovered from his spot and escorted to the safety of the stage.
Before I could truly gulp in what I'd just witnessed, it was time for the bride to arrive.
No, she didn't walk in with a sword. Thats because she didn't walk in at all. The bride was 'carried' into the pandal on a huge throne-like chair, held 5 feet above the ground by her many brothers. As the quintessential 'Din Shagna Da' played in the background, cameras panned onto her face from all angles and the LCD screens set up every 5 metres glowed with her makeup plastered face, the bride reached the stage too, flapping her large (glittery) wings all the time.

It was only then that I realised that the bride and groom were not alone on stage. They were flanked on either side by Shiva-Parvati and Radha-Krishna. Matlab, not the originals of course. But actors, in full costume drama. I could even see some of the men craning their necks in hopes of sighting a couple of Apsaras that might have dropped by too, but oh, hard luck. There were also four pandits in identical yellow costumes, one with an aarti ki thaali, one with a 'ghanti', and the other too carrying garlands that the bride and groom were meant to exchange.

I was shaken out of my daze by the DJ playing the sound of loud clanging bells, and suddenly, the circular stage rose up, higher, and higher still.
Before I could catch hold of what was happenening, it all came out together at once. In a matter of quick minutes, garlands were exchanged, and jets of flowers shot up from the pumps installed below, hitting the newly weds squarely in the face and leading to watery eyes. By now, the stage too had started to rotate. The pandits made jingling, gurgling noises and utaaroed aarti of the bride and groom. The Gods and Goddesses (in dressup) 'blessed' them. Chachiji utaaroed nazar. Mummyji suddenly burst out crying. The bride and groom held and smiled at each other in the world's cheesiest poses as the photographers clicked away. All the while, they kept rotating. Going round and round and round and round. Just like my head. This was pretty much all I could take, as I turned around to leave before the extensive photo session of the guests with the dulha dulhan began. They don't call it a Big Fat Indian Wedding for nothing.