If you want to read the story from the beginning, click here. (https://wp.me/p2b25R-fw)

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The Big day is approaching. It is going to be a three-day extravaganza. I have attended Indian weddings in Fairfax. This is special. My own sister is starting a new life. I am excited to participate in all the festivities.

The first day is for ladies, although men are allowed to participate. This is the day when the bride is pampered with the application of mehndi (henna) to make her look pretty and attractive. Ruchira, the henna artist, sits in a corner on a wooden platform. Mr. Joshi has rented a large hall for the occasion. Young girls sit surrounding Ruchira, who has a catalog of various intricate designs to cover hands, palms, face, etc. Adult men and young boys are feasting on the buffet laid out along a corner wall. They are busy talking, laughing, and drinking. Mom and Dad are going around, introducing themselves to the Joshis’ extended family. I have a plateful of snacks and am looking for a place to sit or find someone to talk with.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see Varun, Akaash’s brother.

“Hey, Arjun,” he addresses me. “Do you want Mehendi on your hand?”

I am hesitant. Would I look girlish? Is it appropriate?

“No way. I think it’s mainly for girls.” I say

“Says, who? Look. I have a small sun on my right arm.”

He extends his arm to show the artwork. It’s a medium-sized sun, green in color. I later learn that when the green paste washes off, the sun will turn red.

“Come on, man. Go with the flow,” Varun is insistent.

“Okay,” I say.

I place the plate I had in my hands on the tray carried by one of the attendants going around and follow Varun.

I want to know what Krishna has decided. I don’t see him anywhere. We wade through the girls sitting on the floor, many with their hands held high, avoiding any contact with their clothes so as not to mess up the still-wet mehndi. Some have their palms wrapped in plastic bags. When my turn comes, Ruchira looks at me and starts to open her catalog, expecting me to select a design.

“Wow. Wait a minute,” I say. “I just want something small.”

“No problem.”

Ruchira is so accommodating. She wants to keep the customer happy. I think for a while and come up with an idea of an Om (ॐ). I am aware that it is a religious symbol for good luck, and I think it will make a statement. Varun waits until I have the symbol on the back of my right palm, and we both start walking over to the other men, loudly laughing, drinking, and eating on small plates full of food from the buffet. On my way, I accidentally bump into a young lady approaching Ruchira for her turn. She loses her balance, but recovers.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to help her get up.

“That’s okay,” she says.

“Are you sure? I didn’t see you coming.”

“I’m fine.”

I didn’t realize Varun was standing behind me.

“Hi, Charu,” Varun says, addressing the girl. “Meet Arjun. He’s Lakshmi’s brother.”

Charu’s eyes lit up.

“Oh. Hi Arjun. You are American.” She says, smiling. She looks cute when she does that.

Charu is wearing a yellow and white salwar kameez with a matching dupatta. Her hair is cut shoulder-length. She appears taller than the other Indian girls gathered there and has a pleasant demeanor.

“You might say I’m American of Indian origin.”

“Well. That’s true. I’d like to go to America. I don’t know if I would get a chance.” Charu says.

“There’s always a chance. What are you? A senior in college?”

“Oh no. Do I look that old?”

I realize I didn’t say the correct thing.

“No. Oh no. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I am a freshman in college. And you?”

“I just graduated from High School. Looking forward to joining college.”

Varun taps me on the shoulder.

“Come on. I’d like you to meet some of my friends,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Charu. Hope you can make it to America,” I say. I would have liked to continue talking with Charu if Varun hadn’t interrupted. I liked her.

“Thanks. See you around,” Charu says and starts walking towards Ruchira.

I take a few steps with Varun and then turn around to see what Charu is doing. She is waiting in line. She, too is looking at me. We wave at each other. Varun tells me that Charu is his first cousin from his father’s side.

Varun introduces me to his friends Harsh and Jeet, his buddies from college.

“Hey, guys. Meet Arjun. My soon-to-be brother-in-law from the U.S.A.,” He says, elongating the USA for emphasis. He’s apparently proud that he will be related to someone from America.

I shake hands with Harsh and Jeet.

“Hey Arjun,” they say, and shake hands with me. They are dressed in dark trousers and long-sleeved shirts with patterns.

“Where exactly are you from in America?” Harsh asks.

“He is from Northern Virginia, close to Washington D.C.,” Varun interjects before I can say anything.

“Wow. Close to the nation’s capital, huh? How does it feel to be close to the world’s power hub?” It’s Jeet’s turn to speak.

“Well. It’s good and bad.” I reply.

“How so?” Jeet continues.

“I mean. We have many visitors to our house who are interested in touring the city. Mom and Dad have to keep them entertained and be hosts. On the other hand, the city offers many cultural attractions and museums that we can visit. They are all free.”

“Great! It must be a busy life for you guys.” Now it is Harsh.

I shake my head sideways, throw up my hands halfway to indicate that that’s the way it is.

“So, how long are you going to be here?” Harsh asks.

“We came about two weeks ago. We will leave soon after the wedding.” I reply.

“What have you been doing here?” It is Jeet.

“We stayed with my uncle in Mumbai before coming here. There was shopping to do and stuff.”

“What do you think of India? I’m sure you have been here before?” Harsh wants to know.

Varun has been silently listening to us. He probably got bored.

“I have to run,” he says. “You guys continue. I’ll catch up later.”

We wave at him as he walks away.

“Oh yes,” I say, turning to Harsh. “I came a couple of times with my parents. Things have changed a lot in India.”

“That’s interesting. In a better way, I hope.” Harsh is curious to know.

“Yes. For instance, I notice some affluence here now. Some people are driving fancy cars, and new modern buildings are popping up. We had a private tour of the Film City, where we saw an active filming, and then visited the Trilogy Supper Club the next day. That guy, Akhil, was hilarious. I never thought such a thing existed in India.”

“Wow. That’s exciting, man,” Jeet says, giving me a high five. Then continues, “How did you manage to do that? Get a private tour of the film city. Do you know someone important?”

“Well. My uncle introduced us to his neighbor’s son Narayan, who is a script writer. He managed to get us in.”

“Good for you. I’ve not been to Mumbai. Maybe one of these I may get a chance.”

“Neither have I,” Harsh adds. “Mumbai is larger and more cosmopolitan than Udaipur. We don’t have anything comparable here, as far as I know. I’m glad you got to see that India is making progress, and you saw something nice, something new.”

Seems like Harsh and Jeet are enjoying talking with me and are genuinely interested in knowing my impression of the current state of India and American life in general. We continued talking for almost half an hour on topics such as American and Indian sports and differences in educational systems. They want to know if I drive and have my own car, to which I reply yes to the first and no to the second. Jeet wanted to know what I want to major in college.

“My Dad wants me to be an Engineer,” I reply. “But I have other ideas.”

“Don’t they all?” Jeet says. “All parents are alike. It’s always either a doctor, an engineer, or an attorney. So, what do you want to be if I may ask?”

“I want to join the military.”

“Really?” Harsh interjects, expressing surprise. “That’s a radical thought. Totally unconventional.”

“Arjun, that’s not a bad idea if you ask me.” Jeet wants to add his opinion. “My mom’s brother is a colonel in the Indian Army, and he is doing very well. They get good pay, have many perks, respect in the community, and wield great influence. He’s much better off than his engineer brother. Of course, one’s life is at risk if deployed in combat. That’s a chance one has to take.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that,” I say.

“Good luck to you.” They both say as I take leave from them and start looking for Krishna.

I wonder what he is up to? I finally notice him on the other side of the hall and walk towards him. I would like to spend more time with Charu, Harsh, and Jeet in the next two days. But with so many things going on, I am not sure of that happening. I wonder when and if I would meet them again. I am encouraged by Jeet’s statement that military life can be respectful. I am not ready to talk about it with my dad. I’ll tell him at the appropriate time.

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The day after the Mehndi ceremony, there is an evening of Sangeet, meaning a night of music. The function is in a garden. Multiple food stalls are offering not only north Indian but also Chinese, Thai, and food from other regions of India. A stage built in one corner with loudspeakers blaring popular Indian film music. I don’t understand a word of it, but it has a lilting rhythm. Akaash’s father is on the stage, making an announcement. Dad is somewhere close by. I don’t know if Dad is going to speak.

Some young attendees are dancing near the stage. All the guests are strangers to me. I go around the buffet stations picking up a bit of this and a bit of that on my plate. I have been eating so much since arriving in Mumbai. I am sure to gain weight. I walk around and notice a group of young men standing in a circle. I think I should try to strike up a conversation with these young men to see what’s a hot topic of the time. I wonder if they are talking about girls? Cricket? Bollywood movies? I am disappointed that I don’t see Jeet or Harsh in that group. Krishna approaches me and wants me to follow him. Dad wants help with something, and we need to help him.

So far, the celebrations have been grand. I am impressed. Mr. Joshi is not leaving any stone unturned to have a grand affair. He’s from the groom’s side and, as per Indian custom, is not required to do anything. It is the bride’s father who should be doing this. But because my dad is not local, Mr. Joshi took the initiative. I have no way of knowing how much it will cost, but Dad has to pay for everything.

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The Big Day has finally arrived. The ceremony is in the morning in a large wedding hall. The hall is decorated with garlands and flowers. There is a large tent with columns wrapped in colorful paper. The tent is a blessing in this hot and humid tropical weather. A rectangular canopy (Mandap) on a raised platform, decorated with marigold flowers on its four pillars, acts as a backdrop for a massive statue of Ganesh placed in front at spectator level. There are six decorative chairs, a pair facing each other and two in the center, thus forming an inverted U shape. Chairs with white covers are arranged in front of the Mandap. Unlike Western weddings, there is no groom’s side or bride’s side for sitting. Guests can sit anywhere. There is instrumental music, the Sanai, being played on a loudspeaker. The soothing tunes of the Sanai make it a festive atmosphere.

Krishna and I wear the Kurta Pajama we had bought in Mumbai. Dad and Mr. Joshi are wearing long decorative kurta pajamas with stoles wrapped around their necks. We are all wearing the Indian Jooties, decorative sandals that curve in the front. They are made of leather but are hard with no cushion underneath. My feet are killing me. I wish I had my sneakers on. I try to ignore the discomfort and walk as if everything is fine, and get involved with the ceremonies.

I see everyone walking towards the front of the wedding hall. I follow them. Akaash is astride a decorated white horse. The Baraat, the procession to bring the groom to the wedding hall, is about to begin. Akaash’s friends and relatives, men and women, have surrounded the horse. Two musicians, dressed in colorful local attire, are standing by. In a few minutes, the procession will start with loud chanting, drumming, and everyone dancing with abandon to the tunes of a bhangra song. Akaash looks like a prince. He is all smiles with happiness and excitement about the life he will start.

At the entrance of the wedding hall, Mom and Dad greet Akaash. The priest invokes Lord Ganesh. Mom places the red KumKum on Akaash’s forehead. Everyone claps, and we move to the wedding hall in a procession.

After everyone is seated, the priest, dressed in saffron-colored clothes, explains the hour-long ceremony.

Lakshmi, looking so beautiful in her green sari and professional makeup, walks up to the Mandap with Mom’s brother. That is the Indian custom. The bride’s maternal uncle is the one who escorts her into the Mandap.

In the Mandap, Akaash’s parents sit on the left side. Mom and Dad are across from them to the right. Akaash and Lakshmi sit in the center facing the audience. The priest sits on the floor on a wooden platform between the Joshis and the couple to be married. There is a small urn in the center to burn a fire.

The priest starts his chants in Sanskrit. Once in a while, he asks Akaash, then Lakshmi, then the parents to repeat something after him and make an offering to the fire god by throwing puffed rice or butter into the fire. The priest continues his chanting. At one point, he requests Krishna to come up to the Mandap. Krishna is asked to twist Akaash’s ear to extract a promise that he will take good care of his sister. The next big event is taking the seven sacred steps (Sapta Padi) by the couple. They make rounds around the fire pit, each time taking a vow as instructed by the priest.

Unlike weddings I have seen in America, all the attendees are not sitting on chairs to watch the ceremony. Some are sitting, and some others are mingling among themselves, chatting and eating hors d’oeuvres when the ceremony is in progress. I find it amusing. Shouldn’t they be paying attention to what’s happening? I learn later on that that has been the tradition for Indian weddings all along.

At the auspicious time, chosen by the priests according to the Indian calendar, a woman walks through the audience with a plate full of rose-colored rice. She places a pinch of it in everyone’s hands. She requests everyone to please gather around the Mandap. Someone calls me and Varun to approach the Mandap.

I have no idea what I am supposed to do. I start climbing the steps, but the priest begins waving his hands at me. I look around to see if I need to do anything.

“You have to remove your shoes,” someone shouts at me.

“I’m sorry. Don’t want to break the rules,” I say. I feel guilty for my ignorance.

Varun and I are asked to hold a shawl separating the couple. Now I realize why I was chosen for this act and not Krishna, because I am a bit taller than he is. Mom’s sister sings a hymn after which we remove the shawl, and Akaash and Lakshmi exchange garlands. Everyone in the audience throws rice at the couple as a sign of offering their blessings.

I go back to my seat. At the end of the hour-long ceremony, the priest declares Akaash and Lakshmi husband and wife.

With the wedding over, everyone lines up for the buffet lunch. After an hour or so, there is an announcement that the newlywed couple is ready to receive the guests. Mom, Dad, and the Joshis, as well as Lakshmi and Akaash, have changed into different clothes. Lakshmi is looking stunning in the Ritu Kumar designer dress. Aakash is wearing a suit and tie. He looks happy. Dad is wearing the sherwani Mom had selected for him. Mr. Joshi is wearing a light suit and a tie. A majority of men and children are in cotton kurta pajamas, some in dress pants and shirts. It makes sense due to the tropical weather. But the women are in colorful saris. A long line forms to shake hands with and congratulate the couple, and take pictures with them.

I am amazed by the details of the ceremony and the commitment required by the couple to be married. There are many questions I want to ask Mom and Dad, but Mom explains it anyway.

“Every step in the ceremony has some significance,” she says. “Lord Ganesh is the remover of all obstacles. So, we invoke him at the start. The fire signifies the Fire God, Agni, who is the witness to the marriage. At each of the seven steps, the couple is making a promise to each other to provide strength, prosperity, health, and happiness.”

“I realize,” I say. “Marriage, by all means, is a serious affair, according to the Hindu religion.”

“You are correct, beta.”

The day after their wedding, Akaash and Lakshmi depart for Bali to start their honeymoon, and we start preparing for our trip back home to America. Two weeks of hectic activities come to an end. The wedding has been successful. I keep thinking about the delicious Indian food we had been enjoying, the visits to the film city and the trilogy supper club in Mumbai, meeting with Charu, Harsh, and Jeet, and especially the encounter with Bahadur, the Maharaja’s soldier dog in Udaipur. I remember what Jeet had said about the military service. The next big thing for me is joining college and starting a new phase in my life.

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To read chapter 25 click here. https://wp.me/p2b25R-kt