A Wedding in India

Family, Fun and a City That Does Sleep

(Part 2 of 4)

(Link to Part 1: http://loungingpass.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-india-family-fun-and-city.html)

Being the youngest cousin was not always to my detriment. When I was a toddler, it was fun to be the center of attention, like the Buzz Lightyear in a extended family full of Sheriff Woody's. However, this age impairment quickly turned against me, forcing me to sleep when others were awake, and cover my ears when others opened their mouths. Finally, I was on even footing, relatively. Being 19, in a country where 19 is good enough to do anything legal, allowed me to look them in the eye, these people, cousins who used to tower over me, and say, "Let's Have some fun." I have cousins ranging from 35 to 5, but taking out the younger ones (who are well younger than me), I have cousins ranging from 35 to 19. This is way different than when we used to range from 21 to 5 like we did at the last wedding in India. Then, there were stigmas attached to that difference, there were things that separated us, that made for a "Kids Table/Adults Table" set up. Those shackles were long gone, the years that spanned Avinash to myself were now just a measure of experience, not a divide for what you were allowed to experience. It allowed me to act free, to act like I was really at a wedding of a cousin, a wedding of a peer, a wedding in India.

That first day was the roce, which is a ceremony that probably means a whole lot more than what I know of it. All I can tell is it is really a final send-off between the, in our case, bride-to-be, and her family and their friends. The opposite party may or may not come; as it is more of a family event than the joint celebration of a wedding. In the beginning, there are some prayers, and then the members of the brides family, starting with the parents, then siblings, then aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, go and bless the bride with what can only be described as white paste. We also bless the unmarried female members of the brides family and friends, which in this scenario included my sister and our cousin and our cousins children among others. Of course, none of this really mattered to me. It was all sweet and I have to assume emotional and meaningful, but I was awaiting the end, where we all get to douse the bride with eggs and beer and ruin the lovely dress she was wearing. That little act ended the formal parts of the day, which left the rest of the day and eventually night to do whatever we want. It was a good thing that my cousin's family owned that farm, or we may have had to actually be careful. Needless to say, the beer was not used to douse people after that.

The actual ceremony of the "Roce"

In retrospect, that roce night was probably the best single night of the week. Since it was first, everyone was a little more amped and ready; we all let our guard down, not totally sure what to expect. Also adding to the night was the intimate setting of the farm, as it seemed secluded not only from the farm, but the world itself. It was a dizzying place by the time the darkness slowly rolled around, with beautiful lights strung from palm tree to palm tree, showering down upon a dance floor that was placed firmly on the sand beneath it. What made it truly special was that the people occupying the dance floor and the farm around it were the people that we had grown up with and together, the people I have known longer than anyone else. We were always a strongly connected family, and a strong group of cousins, but as we all got closer, and that age gap became less important, that strength grew tighter and tighter. This really was the closest I have ever come to a family reunion, with all of my living Aunts and Uncles from that side of the family, as well as all but one cousin (we missed you, Roy) present. The fact that there were few other people added to the fun, as we were left with the people we had grown up around.

I am not a dancer. Never have been, and unless there is some dramatic change in my life that I am certainly not expecting, never will be. My line that I often used as an explanation (some would call it excuse) for not dancing was that "I am a Pinto" (which is my mother's maiden name, and the patriarch of the family who's wedding we were all attending), because in my mind, the older Pinto males didn't dance, but drank and played cards. I have no idea if this is true, but I liked the sound of it. I did dance that night more than any other, because the dance floor looked appealing under the glow of the moon, the lights and the kingfisher. However, limiting my dancing gave me time to really talk to all of these cousins, some who I obviously had known for a long time, but didn't really know. I learned just how amazing, odd, interesting and downright "Pinto" all of these people really were. We are crazy people, much more debaucherous than we seem in our respective daily lives.

Every cousin, minus the bride, from 5 to 35.

There's the bride to be, Vinitha, who I never really knew until now. I realize now I missed out, because her life seemed to be much more fun than I could have imagined. There's Smitha, Vinitha's sister, who I've long been told stories of her wilder, younger days, before she got married and had two kids, both of whom are about as intelligent and ridiculous (in a great way) as any I've seen. She still has that side of her who's as interesting and fun as any. There's Avinash, the responsible one, who actually lives a very respectable life, but always is around to add to the fun. There's Dhiraj who is about as crazy and wild as they come. (The previous four are siblings) There's Vikram, the smart one, who also happens to be a Doctor-turned-Consultant who, like the Hailey's Comet, comes around rarely, but comes in a fiery blaze. There's his brother Andy, the funny smart one, who coined the phrase "winning the night", a daily award given out to the person who fought the hardest. He ended up being the undisputed champion (in his eyes - in reality, there were many viable candidates). There's Marie, the next bride, who brought along her fiancee Ryan, who provided gritty depth (had to throw a sports metaphor, as this is still kind of a sports blog) and set a great foundation for what will happen come October when we all do it again. There's my sister, who I won't describe because I still have to meet her a lot more than any one else. Finally, there's my Uncle, the last "cousin."

The "Uncle" (on left), the final cousin

I'll leave his name out of it, because he probably wouldn't come off to nicely, and the people present know exactly who he is, but he is the one who is closer in age to my eldest cousin than any of his siblings. He's the one who I've long been told was like a cousin to all my older cousins, being more a prankster and teaser than anyone else. I hadn't seen this side of him in reality. He was always my Uncle. I was by far the last cousin to call him "Uncle." By the end of the night, there was no need to call him Uncle anymore. He finally became to me that long-lost oldest cousin, the one who did all the ridiculous things we did, the one who drank with us, joked with us, and laughed with us. I told him late in the night that "how crazy it was [he] was drinking with his paige boy." I don't know who was more shocked at that sudden realization of the sheer size of 14 years in time, him or his wife (who happens to be my second cousin on my dad's side, someone with the generational label to take his place as the eldest cousin a little more naturally). In reality, we were all equal that night, as even the parents, who initially looked in in a mix of horror and hollow shock, were taken over by the moon, the farm and the times.

When the night finally ended that same Uncle returned to his post as "Uncle" when he had to care for the members of the cousinhood (as I'll call them - more easy than naming the individual names) who were defeated by the bottle on night one. No one was knocked out, just a 2-1 split decision after 12 well fought, fun rounds in the ring. We finally left that secluded piece of heaven and returned to Bangalore, the setting of the days that were capped by the more memorable nights. Bangalore is the town that is now my hub in India, the place where most of my family in India is concentrated. I have been there when I was two, when it was a city that had charm, and open streets, and little pollution, and grass. All of those things are gone, erased by the power of computers. Now, it is the IT hub of India, a sprawling, landlocked, dense Metropolis that makes Bombay seem sparse. I might be wrong, since I was only five, but I remember a swath of green grass in front of my Aunt's house in Bangalore when I visited in the mid nineties. That is most certainly gone, with a dense street now surrounding the house. I started this little piece by promising to be honest, as much an implicit promise as anything, and I have to about Bangalore. It is now a city that has lost the charm it used to have. It is a city that reminds me of, say, Dallas, but with pollution. Sprawling, crowded and dusty, it is a challenge; much like its cadre of auto drivers, who often flatly decline to offer you service if the location is anywhere within 5 km. Bangalore is not exactly the greatest city to vacation in, although I have little to say for its nightlife, other than the fact that all public places close at 11:30 (one of the few rules they do enforce), so afterparties are about as crucial at night as a facial mask should be during the day. All I will say is thank God the main three nights of the wedding took place far from the bustling place that is Bangalore central.

Vinitha's Roce was probably the peak of the trip, but this isn't like a band peaking with their first album, or a TV Show peaking in Year 1. This was more like a restaurant that has great appetizers before a solid main course. The week had just begin, and with the amazing day that was in fact Christmas day, we were all ready for day two and three. Lucky for us, the saga had just begun, and begun it had. We left the farm behind, hopefully in a respectable condition. The location would shift, but the drinks, the songs (which were repeated each night until they all got engrained in our heads - Everytime I hear "Stereo Love" I will immediately be taken back to the farm), the people and the fun would stay constant, a reminder of what it is like to go to a wedding in India.


Coming Up Next, Part 3 (The Groom's Roce, the Other Nights, and returning to Mangalore).