For Whom the Bells Toll

Weddings and I have a chequered history. I expressed my feelings for the Kerala edition of this time battered institution some time back, in this post.

I have been proud of my ability to have wiggled out of many many invitations and even more relatives, trying to make me go to a wedding. I had my standard deviation and deflection tactics, and in extreme cases camouflage clothing with a week’s supply of essentials.

But sometimes, one must succumb, for the sake of friendship, for the sake of keeping some things intact, especially one’s sanity, which can be battered down by people who know that special trick of getting inside your head.

So I decided to go for this wedding. As luck would have it, the wedding was at 7 am on a Sunday morning. I never thought I’d even think 7 am and Sunday in the same sentence, let alone write it. Someone apparently forgot that 7 am on a Sunday, is preceded by the many hours of the night (and sometimes afternoon) of Saturday, and none of the activities during those preceding hours lend themselves favourably to an early morning awakening. Late afternoon is possible, if one is lucky, but 7 am was definitely out of question.

So anyway, I threw caution to the winds and did Saturday proud. The impending early morning filled me with a masochistic drive to try and be as unprepared to wake up even in the same time zone, let alone the next morning.

I will spare you the details of the revelry and rambunctiousness, and to cut a long story short, I found myself wide awake at 7 am the next day morning. It was nothing short of a miracle. While I was checking in the mirror to see if it was still me, some vague vestigial memory crawled out of my prefrontal cortex, staggered up and reminded me that various people at various times had told me the night before that I would never make it to the wedding.

Ha! to them. Ha!

I was up. Yes, I was late, but I was up and I would make it there – perhaps in time for tiffin.

I pumped myself full of Gatorade, ensured I had matching socks and ran out the door looking for an auto. After about 5 minutes of this strenuous activity, I decided that prudence lay in propping myself against a pole, breathing heavily, while hoping that a passing auto driver would have a sudden attack of ESP and stop right in front of me. Well, what do you know – that’s precisely what happened.

So I staggered aboard, mumbled the address to him and said in broken Kannada – fast. Then, proud of my accomplishments, I proceeded to sleep with my head hanging back into the little luggage rack that autos have behind the back seat.

I was jerked out of my reverie not by the Bangalore roads, but by the sounds of drums and naadaswarams. I took a moment to gather my bearings and then commanded the auto to stop. I had made it in good time. Actually, just the fact that I had made it was exceedingly satisfying. I gave the auto guy a ten rupee bonus, smiled and walked into the wedding hall.

The crowd was not as large as I had expected it to be. That was good. What was better that all the people who had predicted that I would never make it here, had themselves not made it in time. So much for the superiority of the morning people.

I swaggered around to the back of the hall, poured myself some juice and started calling everyone who was not yet there.

Yes, I was here already. No I was not kidding, nor was I playing recordings of marriage music in my house – why would I wake up so early to do that? Of course you are on your way (snigger), of course you’ll be here soon. See you here. Ha!

I stood there at the back of the hall, safe from anyone who might want to make polite conversation, and watched the proceedings while I waited for the rest of the gang to turn up.

The guy was already on stage, looking morosely at some point between the tip of his toe and the edge of the stage. The photographers were asking him to smile at the camera, but he seemed like he was in some other dimension. Perhaps he was up late last night too, I thought to myself.

In a while they brought the girl into the hall in one procession and I was thankful that things were moving along. The girl sat down and the gesticulation began. At that moment, something struck me as very wrong.

I walked up closer to the stage, to try and figure out what was bothering me.

One Pandhal – Check.

Many Glowing family members – Check.

One self important Uncle, taking notes of cash transactions – Check.

Two priests chanting mantras and talking on mobile phones at the same time – Check.

One queasy looking groom – Check.

One unfamiliar defiant looking bride – Check.

A bunch of…Unfamiliar bride?

Double take.

Yes. It had been confirmed. So that explained the strange looks from everyone around.

Weddings and I were not meant to co-exist. I was at the wrong one.

I made good my escape, but not before I helped myself to some idlis from the breakfast that was laid out. I deserved that much for my fortitude.