Worlds Apart

I stood transfixed. The drums and brass instruments were deafening. Lights blazed from the stage. My nostrils twitched from sandalwood and masala incense. I was oblivious to the many eyes fixed on me, the pale skinned visitor. The round bellies of women bulged as they were wrapped tightly in their finest silk. Gold draped from various parts. The bride and groom held centre stage with no sign of a smile on either. People waited to have photos with the happy couple. So this is an Indian wedding I thought.

A hand wrapped around my wrist, startling me. I was dragged through the sea of vibrant saris into a dusty room. A thud, a clunk of the lock and then the woman spun me around. She pulled a pin from her bust and gently unpicked the extra material sewn to the back of my churridar. She ripped the bobby pins from my hair, took a comb from her purse and brushed my carefully styled curls; now it was just puffy. She broke the silence,
‘OK. Much better!’
She then assumed her assigned role as my chaperone; my Indian friends had forgotten to tell me. She provided colourful commentary on the proceedings.

We shared a meal. The banana leaf was laid so the tip of the leaf pointed left, splashed with water and wiped by the waiter. Each dish was served on its reserved part of banana leaf. Spicy curry, sambar and rice, a dash of chutney, chappati and more. My new friend instructed the order in which to eat. I broke all the rules of eating with one’s hands. I stained my palm with curry sauce, I smeared food across my face and I bit my fingers each time I took a mouthful, even though I was supposed to use only my fingertips.

Conversation evolved and Henu lightened. She was eager for her parents to pick the best candidate for her to marry. When the prospective couple meet, the boy’s family arrive and are seated with the girl’s family. The girl makes a dramatic entrance in a gold sari and rings dripping from her fingers. She brings refreshments to offer. Love is secondary Henu explained; the position of the stars at their birth determines a match. Later we shared a taxi home. For an hour we chatted. I had begun by feeling sorry for Henu having a life partner foisted on her but by evening’s end I was questioning my attachments and perception of freedom. We were two young woman with the same basic needs—yet worlds apart.

Everyone should experience India. And don’t pass up an invitation to a wedding; there’s a subtle world to explore behind the sensory overload.