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22 February 2006
A Bay Area wedding
This last Sunday, Abhishek, Tejaswi, Sowmya, Vijay and I were in the Bay Area to attend Harish's and Lee-May's wedding. We had decided to set out for the north at about 1pm on Saturday afternoon, giving us about 6 hours to get there with the inclement weather forecast for that weekend and the long weekend traffic on the freeways. Quite surprisingly, the weather was picture-perfect Californian and the traffic its pleasing opposite -- we made the trip in just over five hours for the duration of which, a long sandwich from Quizno's at Pasadena was the ideal meal. One of the reasons for our departure in the afternoon was so that we could get to the Bay Area in time for dinner at one of the Saravana Bhavans in Livermore. Luckily for me, and doubly so -- since we were later informed that on a Saturday, the waiting time for a table at the restaurant took more than an hour -- Harish waylaid us and called us over to his place for a dinner with his family.And so we got to Torrey Pine Lane in Union City, a full two hours after the dinner party had started. It turned out though that we were still in time to catch a pre-wedding ceremony that had been delayed because the priest got lost on what would normally have been a thirty-minute drive. I could see why Harish would have wanted us there, seeing as we were the only five with the exception of his brother, Vinay who were within ten years of his age. Our arrival was auspicious, since minutes later the priest appeared too, flustered and slightly apologetic at his faux pas. He set about in right earnest, while a gentle hush settled down on a bored company of middle-aged men augustly dressed -- mostly in whites by way of either kurtas or full shirts. The women, with the exception of a few odd ones, continued to chatter about and flutter the pallus of their resplendent silk sarees around in whose wakes a small sacrificial fire that had been started, nearly threatened to put itself out. The chanting of the mantras befit the solemnity that began with it -- the women had straight backs; their woollen socks were nearly well-concealed beneath the accordion zaris of their sarees; the men at a distance sat plushly in couches with their necks craned and stooping down on the boy and his family; and the five of us were partitioned away from the kitchen counter near-wheres the action was all to be had at, foregoing thoughts of immediate dinner and praying for any religious compensation for Harish and his kin to brush past us too.
It hardly required any prescience to guess how long it was before entropy -- that great adversary of order to set in. The women were now slouching, some had excused themselves on account of their sore, bulbous bodies to reseat themselves amidst the men in the couches and thereafter promptly were lulled to sleep by the priest's metronome. Amongst the five of us, two had already seated themselves by the dining table and one was helping himself to the savouries and drinks that were to appetise for dinner. The groom and his parents though, bore on with the priest leading them by his staccato Sanskrit diction. There were periodic pauses during which the priest wanted us to believe that he was collecting his thoughts, composing himself before repairing away to more enunciations from the Vedas. Late he may have come, but the priest was in no mood to relent from fulfilling his compact in entirety and so the ritual lasted every minute it should have which was all of nearly ninety minutes. Following a sumptuous dinner that also included some delectable home-made holige -- the Kannada equivalent of polis -- and conversation with some of Harish's quixotic uncles, we headed back to our original point of the journey's termination -- the Courtyard of Marriott in Livermore. Without the aid of a laptop charger to accompany Vijay's laptop, we were consigned to an early retirement rather than a through-the-night cricket reverie.
The following morning started out late for us, seeing as we only had to report at the Shrine Event Center at the roundabouts of 1pm. We first embarked to Pleasanton for a brunch setting at a bakery that had mirror-strips lining its walls making for a voyeur's delight of a meal. We got to the Event Center at 1.30pm to find Harish and his family, and Lee-May and her family handling the pre-wedding jitters with great, unhurried poise. The hall was well-partitioned into a dining room adjoining a theatre of empty seats that looked to a stage and a pandal on the stage. Abhishek and I were two of the four designated ushers, the other two being very close friends of Lee-May's. Suiting the occasion just perfectly was Abhishek's magnificent kurta that stopped a foot short of being a ghost's blanket, pyjamas to match it and a generally pleasing demeanour. In stark contrast, I had on a khadi kurta that exaggerated to just about below the pocket-line of the jeans I wore with it. I was certain I felt icy stares from all concerned, and came very close to losing my job but with time bearing down on all of us my sartorial gaffe was quickly condoned in return for the pledge of an evening's worth of fealty to the Bhat family. Soon after all the 270 chairs were neatly arrayed -- the ones with the moth-eaten seats being winnowed out -- we placed a program description of the yet-to-unfold wedding ceremony thoughtfully on each chair. Abhishek and I were pinned with two handsome red roses on our breasts to signify our special rank -- what a proud and well-savoured moment it was! Our directions were simple -- to direct all incoming traffic through delineated routes onto the central aisle of the wedding arena upon reaching which, depending on one's inclinations towards the bride or the groom, each was to be seated in the most optimal manner possible and keeping in mind tardy invitees in the proper half of the floor. This was only moderately complicated by one of Lee-May's aunts deciding to tie up ribbons over chairs and connecting one row with its anterior and posterior on either side of the central aisle -- perhaps in conformity with traditional Christian wedding arrangements. No matter, we were to use our heads and that we did for it was nearing on three, and our guests had begun to arrive. To make up for my skimpy attire -- and mind you, I had excuses from Golmaal in hand in case anyone were to demand an explanation for a short kurta -- I wore an extra pleasing smile (while also trying not to overdo it and expose the yellows of my teeth) to each and every guest that walked in.
Some had it writ large on their faces, but I nonetheless laboured to ask displaying no prejudice or pre-determination whether they represented the bride or the bride-groom (I later found out quite to my embarrassment that the bride-groom is simply... the groom) as they entered the hall. They were most courteous, all of them. They bowed, curtsied, thanked me profoundly, blushed profusely, tiptoed hush-hush when going the other direction past me to use the restrooms, made small-talk confirming in half-questions that I was Harish's younger brother and subsequently being flummoxed to hear I was not, asked polite questions about how late into the ceremony they had gotten into, made way straight to the dinner tables before being informed that a sacred ritual was on. The other two ushers, Jeannie and Jennifer were stationed at the reception desk outside the hall to inform each party of its respective table and to receive their material compliments. In the meantime, the priest to make amends arrived at the strike of three and waited for no critical mass or consensus, boarded onto the stage and started his prayers. Harish and Lee-May, who was dressed now in a divine sari, Harish's parents and Lee-May's parents bore witness on stage to the priest's eagerness to rush Harish and Lee-May into holy matrimony. Most of the shlokas he uttered himself -- some in fact were repeats and carry-overs from the previous evening's rituals for the benefit of those that had not the fortune of attending and for those that had not the fortune of listening -- some were repeated by Harish's father, some by Harish and one particular set was even recited by Lee-May's father with caution and amusing charm. All this while, Abhishek and I soldiered on with our duties to the State of Bhats. The bride's side had been filled up dutifully starting from innermost, but unsurprisingly we were having the toughest time with the groom's side seeing as most were chuffed even to be suggested a particular seating order -- this was after all an Indian wedding and they had been to these dozens of times in the past; they needed no heed and gave none.
Soon after, seeing as the different stages of the wedding took longer than the usual wedding ceremony the novelty of the Kasi Yatra, the Ganapathi Homam and the Kanya Daanam wore off and the hitherto quiet crowd started to splinter about with perambulators being taken for strolls in the hall weaving in and out of already laid-out tables, heels coming unstuck off shoes causing some to limp about awkwardly in their stockings, restroom breaks increasing in frequency and clusters of men beginning to form on the sidelines on either side of the hall. Finally, almost unannounced the rites concluded with the traditional saptha-padi, a few mumbled utterances and blessings showered with grains of rice from assembled family members on stage. Dinner was only minutes away now, but was first preceded by the equivalent of the evening reception in Indian weddings whence everybody lined up, this time along the central aisle, to walk up to the bride and groom, wish them well, pose for photographs that will never be seen or cherished in family albums given the Digital Age and head back to their designed tables. Following a round of samosas and pakoras for appetisers, champagne was served around to toast the couple as toasts were delivered in order first from Lee-May's father, then Harish's father, then Lee-May's best friends and Harish's friend. Emotion teemed, while glasses clanked for kisses after every toast was ended. A slideshow later and after most of the tables received their victuals, table #27 comprising Chaitanya, Tejaswi, Abhishek, three other single girls and myself announced our candidature for next-to-be-served.
Following a hearty supper, the star of which was undoubtedly the jackfruit payasam which was nearly matched by the aviyal and the more kozhambu, we hit the dance floor shaking a leg to the most exotic compilation of tunes ever. This was perhaps the most spectacular part of the evening, particularly the sight of forty-year old Kannadiga women tucking their sari centre-folds onto their waists and wildly gyrating, swinging their hips and breaking into uncontrollable frenzy when a Kannada song followed. They danced relentlessly, putting their pot-bellied husbands and coy American-born daughters to shame, scoffed at all the traditional swing and ballroom dancers some of whom had come well-dressed in low-cut cocktail gowns, body-hugging halter bodices and sun-tanned skin for the occasion, unmindful of the sheer outlandishness of it all. Heck, they even danced -- nearly in-step -- to a Chinese tune. Once those crazy ladies wheezed out their last dance, the younger 'uns came out slightly less intimidated and less overwhelmed. For all that elaborate procession of rites, and promise of late-night fun-frolic most were perhaps tired of having been at a wedding for six hours straight -- clearly, this was their first taste of an Indian wedding -- and retired early. We of course had to get back to Pasadena, and we started at 10pm taking our leave of the newly-weds, Vinay and Mr and Mrs Bhat. Tejaswi drove for a little more than four hours without so much as a pause and yawned only once through the start at Livermore to my doorstep in Pasadena. A long day it had been, but a memorable one.
