THE WEDDING FEAST

Sharma-ji looked at Shyamala, his lovely wife of 14 years. Even after 2 children she looked young and lovely.

The diamond necklace and matching earrings he bought for her glistened in the bright lights of Ceremonial Hall.

‘Mom shall we head to the Chat counter?’ Asked 10 year old Rohit as his little sister Dimple clinged to his sleeve. Clearly both children wanted to have ‘chat’ and Shymala nodded with affection.

‘Don’t go far, find us we will be near the Lebanese section’. Sharma-ji pointed to the Lebanese counter as he said this.

‘The bride looks so beautiful ‘,said Shyamala as she looked at the bride and the groom on the extravagant stage. Payal Weds Amit was written in Rubies and Sapphires behind a large white velvety canvass. It must have costed the girl’s parents a bomb to host this wedding, thought Shyamala. At least a 1000 guests seemed to be in attendance.

‘Not prettier than you my darling, let’s go and have food. I am very hungry. The lovely couple moved towards the food counter smiling at several other guests on their way. Sharma-ji occassionaly kept talking on his expensive i-phone. “ I will be in Hongkong for a day Mr. Wang, after which I will be on a 15 day tour of Europe. So it would be better if you can make it there while I am in Hongkong.”

The Sharmas had the thinnest Pizza crust they had ever had. Later on they went to taste the Pasta and then moved to the Sweets section. They could see the children run all over the place but in a well-mannered way. They were enjoying the feast. Finally, they gathered near the Dessert section. Rohit had the biggest chunk of chocolate ice cream he could hold in his plate. Sharma-ji got Orange ice cream for his little girl and a ‘rabdi’ for his sweetheart. He himself preferred to have buttermilk as he was afraid of catching a cold.

Very soon, they made their way out through the massive gates of Ceremonial Hall and headed towards the main road. Staying longer was not in the agenda. ‘Dad, call Ramlal and tell him to bring the car here, my feet is killing me’, moaned Rohit. ‘Oh you little brat, don’t make up excuses. The only reason you can’t walk is you overate! said Sharma-ji in mock anger. All four burst out in laughter as they heard this.

‘How much?’ asked Sharma-ji to the auto driver. ‘ Twenty two saab’ said the auto driver. Shyamala opened the door to their one room small flat in MHADA colony in Mira Road. Mani their grey cat mewed as they entered home and started rubbing himself against Shyamala's leg. Shyamala poured her a cup of milk and the cat purred in content. The entire family had a look of content on their face. Did you enjoy your day, my little ones? asked Sharma-ji as he tucked the children in their beds. 

‘Yes daddy’ screamed Dimple  and Rohit.

‘Next Sunday we have to go to the Guptas wedding at Worli’. Sharma-ji told Shyamala as he looked at the bunch of wedding invites he got from the printing press where he worked as a paper setter.

With his paltry income of 5000 rupees per month, he could never provide a luxurious meal to his family. Seeing the amount people spent on wedding cards, Sharma-ji made a wise investment. He bought expensive clothes for all four of them and some imitation diamond jewellery for Shyamala. His Shyamala looked pretty in a simple cotton saree but she would look out of place in a high end wedding.  He bought  a defunct iphone from chor bazaar’. The Sharmas have been attending weddings since the past 2 years. He made certain rules that everyone had to follow to the ‘T’. For the children, it went as under:

• In case, there is commotion near mum and dad, leave the venue immediately and head towards nearest railway station.
• Check with a police inspector and tell them you got separated from parents.
• Give your home address and reach home safely.

He had certain rules for himself and Shyamala but he never had to use it till now. The happy family of four has never been caught as they gate crashed into several high end wedding. After all they had the wedding invite in hand....

My Possessive Scars and Wounds

Mr. and Mrs. Mehta left my home with a sweet smile on their lips. My next door neighbours, the happy couple  had come to invite me for their daughter’s wedding. I promised them that I would definitely be there to bless the newly married couple.

I looked at the card. Glossy, cream coloured with a golden border, the card depicted the image of Lord Ganesha on its cover. I dreaded opening the card. I read the lines inside the card, slowly and carefully, “ Mr and  Mrs. Mehta cordially invite you to grace the wedding of their daughter, Minal Mehta on.....

Tears welled up in my eyes. I could hear my mother screaming at me, “If you dare to put our names in your wedding card, I will call the police”. Circa 1985. I was barely 18, just over the legal marriageable age. My parents had learnt of my relationship with a boy whom they despised just because he belonged to another community. They had not bothered to even find out who he was or to speak to him to know if he was a good human being. Our age played against us and I was advised by one and all to not think of getting married to the boy in the picture.

My husband, Bharat, then my boyfriend, was my age and barely had any source of income. I agreed that we should not get married. I was not dying to get married either. But the condition of staying away from each other forever for a couple of years and not being in touch in any other way was unbearable to us. My husband reminded me of ‘Ek Duje Ke Liye’ ( a runaway hit movie in the late 80’s) type situation wherein under similar conditions the girl’s family succeeded in poisoning the mind of the girl against her lover and kept them parted forever to be united only by death.

Though I entertained the idea of experimenting by staying away, he was completely against the idea and I finally had to give in to his wishes. The marriage date was fixed by his parents. My father slumped in sorrow. My mother blazed in anger. They were helpless as legally they could not do anything. They did not attend the wedding nor did they bless me when we went to seek their blessings.

In grief, my mother did everything that has left a scar on me. Apart from being physically hit, (the bruises disappeared long back) I was badly hit deep inside my soul. The experience left a gaping hole inside me. This hole sucks hard at me whenever I encounter happy weddings. Happy parents, happy occasions all gnaw at me. My mother’s grief was unfounded. She found great joy when her grandchild was born two years after the wedding. She discarded every spiteful bone she had in her and transformed herself into the most loving grandmother a grandchild could have. Today, my son at 23, cannot resist her signature ‘sambhar’ and she never tires of tending to his needs.

All is well that ends well. But here is a pain that doesn’t seem to end. The pain comes back whenever I open a wedding greeting. Mr and Mrs. So and so cordially invite you to the wedding of their...

The learned have said...“ Forgive and forget”. I find forgiving easy, but forgetting seems to be a trait that is missing in me. So whenever I open a wedding card, I also open a deep wound in my heart...and then it pains and aches for a while. Slowly it subsides as I get busy with the mundane activities that comprise my day, only to be opened when there is a new wedding around the corner...