Monday, 23 December 2013

Tambrahm Wedding Part 2: Surviving the reception

For raks, wedding reception is synonymous with the following items; make up, flowing ghagra choli, gold shoes, gifts (sadly not for her) and ice cream. And since I was on bridal duty, the daunting task of getting raks ready, fell on my sister and mother.

Needless to say, my mother was jittery and with good reason, she knew what a 'tantrum queen' her grand daughter was. But my planning was impeccable, or so I thought.

2.00 - Get ready for second engagement
3 - 3.30 - Second engagement
3.30 - 6 - Make up and hair do at beauty parlor
6.30 - Reception

And our plans were dashed by the zealous priest who kept chanting mantras for almost one and half hours and by the time I left for the parlor with the irate bride in tow, tempers were running high. And I did the unthinkable. I abandoned raks with my exasperated mother and husband and pushed off to the beauty parlor.

I am afraid this might be one of those events in rak's memory that would remain ever green!

By 6.30 PM we were as ready as we could ever be. But I was in trouble. My left contact lens acted up funny producing tears in both the eyes and ruining the make up. So I had to get rid of it before I left. Trying my best to see from my right eye, the effect was surreal. I had to blink a couple of times before I could see what's happening.

If this was a punjabi wedding, I might have been accused of getting drunk even before the bar was open!

Well, we proceeded towards the mandap in a floating traffic that inched slowly through the congested streets. By then, news bulletins started trickling in.

'Raks is having a major tantrum. Raks refused to wear the ghaghra choli declaring that she would wear an old salwar. Raks has disowned me'

Even before I could start worrying about raks and the ghaghra choli, we were surrounded by relatives. Some were trying to discern who I was while I tried to do the same with my right eye.

Some were very confident that I would recognize them and asked, "Do you know who I am?"

Mumbling, guessing and smiling politely, I tried to nod, asking a set of safe questions. 'How are you?' 'Did you eat?'

After escaping from relatives, I stood outside waiting for my mother and sister who were reportedly on route with 'Mount Vesuvius' in tow.

They came. She was so angry that she didn't even rant, rage or talk to me. I took her silently to the bride's room and then the volcano erupted.

"How can you think of putting make up without me? How can you think of putting...."

She went on to rage about every aspect of the light make up that was done to me and finally sat and cried. Properly chastised, we came to a compromise. I would get the beauty parlor make up done for her next day. And I had to make this holy vow on the high heavens, gods, chota bheem and on her latest favourite Nobita and place my signature on both her hands.

After the trial and tribulation of 'make up' was over, she forced me to keep my mouth shut when she devoured 5 - 6 ice creams and asked impertinent questions to the guests about what they are gifting and whether they would come to her birthday party with a bigger box and so on...

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