There is a wedding. And there is a festival. My car is stuck among crowds of joyous people. They are coming from everywhere, all moving in the opposite direction of the car. The mass of people is like a big wave, and there seem to be no escape. They’re on their way home from festival celebrations. Whereas I’m on my way to a wedding. My expectations are disturbed by the driver’s silent cursing. Hees’s trying to manoeuvre the car this way and that way, but for the most part we’re standing still. The people in the streets seem oblivious to the cars, as if they didn’t exist. I get a creeping feeling of claustrophobia as I watch their exciting faces, and suddenly – quite irrationally – I imagine the crowd going violent. The driver coax the car out of the undulating masses and we’re once more on the main road. My western mind is thinking that I might be late, at least I will miss the arrival of the bride or groom or even both, and I’m cursing the traffic too.
The car eventually comes to a halt, and I realise we have reached the wedding venue. It’s out of doors, still I pass through a covered gate and enter what looks like an assembly hall. The dark night covers the area like a roof, and my eyes blink when I look around. At first glance I see a world brightly coloured in red and gold. The area seems to be divided in order to meet several needs, and people are scattered here and there. I realise I must be early nevertheless. There is no crowd, as I had expected.
Soon enough the heat fastens its grip after the pleasant, cool car. I’m given a tour of the area, I stumble in carpets as I’m trying to get familiar with the hall. Tables are laid out alongside the walls, for drinks, fruit, plates, cutlery, some food – although the main buffet is in an adjacent room. The inevitable Indian stage is in the far end of the room, whereas the middle of the room holds some sort of ramp for whatever use it may be. Chairs are lined up in rows, but I realise that my back is going to suffer considerably if I don’t sit down immediately and keep the chair for the rest of the evening. People are going to circulate, I mentally correct myself. A few tables with chairs, few considering all the people expected, are also scattered more or less in the middle of the room – and suddenly my eyes catches a jumping-tower in the far corner – to keep the children busy I assume. Everybody and everything is taken care of. The opposite corner is set up as a disco, but I never noticed before I heard it.
I see some familiar faces from yesterday’s evening. A common language prevents us from exchanging pleasantries, but a few of the younger generation grabs the opportunity to speak English with a foreigner. Cameras and cell phones are more dominant than handbags. We stand in rows. Click. Exchange places, more clicks. Flashes are shooting up like lightning, and afterwards, bent over the small screens we make sure everybody is captured within the frame before the small crowd disperse – and new ones take form. I admire the women, trying my best to tell them how beautiful they look. The colours, the patterns, the silk, the gold. It’s amazing how one, or maybe two styles of clothing can show such a variety. When I think I have seen the prettiest sari ever, my eyes catches sight of yet another. And another…
I wonder if the heat will ever subside when I suddenly realise people are pouring in, and they must have been doing so for a while because when I look around me the hall seems full of people – I haven’t really noticed. It’s like watching a theatre play; something is going to take place but I just can’t imagine what. Instead, people are roaming carelessly around, but an empty chair allows me a few moments of relief. The air is thick, India has a way of eating you up. Right then I felt nibbled at. Unexpectedly, a child serves me some fruit and suddenly the air is ablaze with sound. The disco in the corner takes me by surprise, and from that moment the “all India picture” is complete with heat, people and noise.
I’m told the groom has arrived and I hurry to the gate. He is surrounded by quite a crowd, they all seem to be playing some game with money. He seems to be floating in a sea of hangers-on, I wonder if his feet are touching ground at all. He seems restrained, but maybe I’m misjudging his face. He looks at any rate beautiful in his outfit in red and gold, – undoubtedly the going colours for a wedding. The atmosphere is almost hypnotizing.
Somebody is trying to put an end to the disco as the groom is moving towards the stage. Still, the temperature is boiling on the dance floor, which is dominated by young men raising their arms in the air. Again I’m thinking; will this night ever become any cooler? Big umbrellas are flooding the stage with light, it’s like a photo studio. The groom has a tie of rupees around his neck and there seem to be some sort of a ceremony taking place. He looks stunning, standing tall in the limelight. He is somewhat heavily built with a square-cut face and full lips, in his outfit he looks like a Maharaja from times gone by. Whatever happens on the stage seems to be taking place without nobody really caring. A restless feeling takes hold of me; is the bride ever to turn up? Meanwhile the disco picks up and a few young girls have joined the male crowd on the dance floor. It radiates so much energy, the dance floor is like a human generator.
I’m not sure how much time has passed. People are still floating, eating, sitting, standing, I can’t see any form nor any formality. Young girls are picking at me, shy mothers hovering in the background, their daughters full of a foreign language and a straightforwardness unknown to them. A baby is thrown in my lap. His father trying to wrest my age out of me. More clicks. A young woman tells me I look tired.
And then the bride….. Like the groom she enters through the gate and she is welcomed by a small band whose members are dressed in pink kurtas, playing incessantly yet not able to drown out the disco spitting out Indian techno music in the background. A colourful entourage; a protective crowd of females encircles the bride. They’re taking one small step at a time, it’s a slow procession while people are squeezing closer together and cameras fighting for attention. The bride has a downcast glance, sometimes a shy smile lets out. Her right index finger sends me a small hello. She looks amazing – never was red so red. She takes a step to the right, she is all by herself in the limelight. More clicks. Before she again finds her place among her followers and…more clicks.
We turn our attention to the ramp in the middle of the hall. The bride seems to be crouching by the small flight of stairs, and you don’t need much fantasy to understand that the bride and groom are going to meet in the centre of the ramp. Again the bride is closely encircled by the women. People are buzzing around, cameras and cell phones constantly shooting off lights. I’m craning my neck, people allow me space. But nothing happens. Nothing. The strange thing is that nobody seems to lack patience, neither do I find anybody who can tell me why nothing happens. I realise that what makes me tired, and sweating even more, is the lack of understanding. It has been an evening of waiting for something to happen, at the same time there has been a continuous stream of small events. But this must be the climax, and finally the groom leads the bride up the narrow stairs. And there is more…. The ramp starts to rotate. Only in India…., I’m thinking. Only in India. And only in India does the couple not grab the opportunity to indulge in a deep, long kiss as the ramp meticulously rotates….
After much ado, although in a low-key voice, the couple find themselves on the stage. The newlyweds – at least I assume that they somehow along the way are declared husband and wife, pose beautifully together. More clicks. More posing combinations. More people.
But for me the wedding has come to an end. The car is waiting, I enter and let the cool air embrace me and as I lean back I want to say; Drive through the streets of Delhi until the early morning. And let the evening stay with me for a few more hours before I let my head rest on the pillow.