If you ever want to feel like an B-list celeb*, go to Bojubeel, a small village on the outskirts of Varanasi. If, however you are brave enough to want to feel like an A-list celeb then go to a wedding in Bojubeel.
*small assumption that my readership is non-Indian.
The wedding was incredible, the pictures I took nowhere near capture the intensity and energy that ran through everyone from well in advance of the ceremony to late on Monday night when it ended.
My part started when my hand was hennad by Deepak's sister on Sunday as apparently it was 'traditional', (I later found out only traditional for the bride and bridegroom so at least I was being well included). The next afternoon I then had mascara applied, also for traditional purposes, apparently so traditional that Indians have now moved on and I was the only one wearing it. Then I had a quick haircut (the barber could only do mullets and it was a huge effort to get him to partially remove the clump of hair trailing down my neck). Then accepting that I was committed to a completely knob-ish appearance I donned the bright orange satin shirt I was offered and my Himachali Pradesh topi, although left the blue wayfarers behind.
Things were kicking off with the bridegroom's feet being beautifully henna'd by a tiny old lady who looked like she'd been doing that job for almost all of her 80+ years. Then 10 rupee notes were passed around the bridegroom's head and then dropped in a collection bag to bring good luck to the marriage. Then a set of drummers arrived and got a rhythm going, the women hitting the dance floor first, somewhat reluctantly followed by the men.
At this point I was offered a 'real drink' by one of numerous relatives. There's no way I can really describe him apart from supremely chilled. I think this picture shows all.
I was slightly suspicious but jumped on the back of his Royal Enfield Bullet and we sped off to a seedy off-licence filled with all his mates who spoke varying amounts of English. They were all teachers or government officials but were all exceptionally cool and spent their evenings drinking, smoking and riding motorbikes, I was once again the centre of attention and was bombarded with questions about my life, not all fit to be published here. Then realising that I was probably missing out on the ceremony I persuaded them to take me back.
Here's me with my ridiculous look and one of the lads
The venue had been being prepared all day and a previously drab courtyard was now sparkling with white and orange drapings, buffet tables heaving under enormous quantities of food and the ornately flowered platform where the actual marriage was to happen. My entrance was one of those moments you normally only ever see in movies. Think the scene when the bad guy walks into the crowded bar and within a few seconds everyone has nudged their mate, the noise has died and a path opens up in front of you. I was like a rabbit in the headlights. Food hadn't been served yet, the ceremony hadn't started, there was nothing to distract them from the gora. I was then accosted from all sides asking for pictures, handshakes, my name, where I was from, the lot! One guy ran up to me, gave me a massive hug and then told me that I was the first foreigner he'd ever touched. It was fun for about 3 minutes and 23 seconds and then got too much. I escaped up to the balcony and watched the throng from above.
Because of all the attention I missed much of the ceremony but from what I could tell it involved the exchange of garlands of flowers, loads of photos and just general excitement.
Then food was served, it was truly fantastic. There was so much of it, and it was delicious. Unfortunately everyone agreed with me so while there was enough to go around there was a huge crush to get to the buffet and goras got no special treatment this time. So I waited a bit and then sampled everything, especially enjoying the sweetened yoghurt that was liberally applied over everything. There were also mini chappattis, some meat dishes and then the usual rice, dal and beans. It seemed as though the whole town had been invited, even the local madman got an invite and a good meal.
After supper the dancing started and I was pushed into the middle of the circle and forced to dance for a good 5 minutes before deciding that the moves weren't flowing naturally and heading out into the street to drink whiskey with the Royal Enfield man. I chilled there for an hour before calling it a night at about half 12 (poor form I know) and hitting the sack. From what I could tell the dancing carried on until the early hours but was never as hectic as when I was in the middle of it. (You can call me 'life and soul of').
It was a bizarre experience, absolutely amazing but I'm not sure I got to see the traditional Indian wedding. I think my presence changed it too much for that. Despite this I loved it and would jump at the chance to go back to another, the energy, colour and pure excitement just made it all worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment