The Big Fat Indian Wedding

I'm so fashionably late in blogging that I'm positively ashamed of myself. I have absolutely no excuses other than that I was very very lazy. You can also partly blame it on my brother in law who refused to give me any photos of the wedding. How can I write about a wedding without colorful pics ? Anyway I have a lot of pics and stories to share with you about my brother in law's big fat Indian wedding. Have you attended an Indian wedding? No? Then you are really missing something in life. If you have ever wondered whether there is an experience in life that is happy, stressful, maddening and a total emotional roller coaster, all at once- let me enlighten you that there is one- an Indian wedding. From meddlesome relatives to medley of songs; from mouth-watering food to mammoth guest lists; from tears of joy to fears galore an Indian wedding has it all. Add to it a house teeming of relatives, friends and little devils and the wedding is complete.

My brother in law, Shiyaz got married to a lovely girl Hina from Chennai.



Yes it's a cross-state wedding but none of the hullaballooo that the book 2 states has familiarized you with. That's because my husband belongs to the Kutchi community and they marry within the community- irrespective of whether they are settled in Chennai or China.

A Kutchi wedding in the olden days used to last a whole month. Yes! What did they do for a month? I don't know, really. The current 3-4 days of wedding itself drives me insane. Can't imagine doing it for a month.

So a few days before the wedding, people start visiting the house to enquire about your well being. Its more like an excuse to come and see the dress and gold we have bought for the bride (yes in Kutchi weddings, the guy buys the wedding dress and gold for the girl). So you have close to 50 people visiting you every day. And if that wasn't enough, about 2-3 days before the wedding, relatives from across India and the globe, come and stay at your place. Now you understand why I said a house teeming with people? But, I do admit that it's a lot of fun. That's when the true wedding spirit comes alive. There are loads of people around the dining table every meal.



The rooms smell full of mehendi as all the girls in the family decorate their hands.



Bright lights adorn the house and is recognizable from very far away as the wedding home.



The first function of a Kutchi wedding is peeti. It's a special powder that's mixed with rose water, perfume oil, Badam paste, and a load of other things. Once the peeti function is over, the bride or groom has to spend the rest of the days until the wedding sitting in the corner of a room, reapplying this paste all over their body 3 times a day. They are not allowed to have a bath, come out of the room or even breathe. Ok, I was kidding about the last bit. The concept is that by doing this, you smell of peeti for the wedding. Trust me it's an absolutely lovely smell and it makes your skin really soft and glowing. In the olden days, the bride and groom used to do it for 2-3 weeks. But Shiyu and Hina did it for just 3 days.

Then comes the mehendi or henna function. Basically the groom's side goes to the girl, makes her wear a duppatta of a dress we take, make her wear bangles, put some henna on a tissue that she is holding on her hands to protect the actual beautiful henna she has on her hands and feed her some sweets.


And then every person in the room does the same. What's the point? Then point is that you get good food- ahhhh you should have seen the hot Jalebis they were making at the mehendi function. YUMMMMMM!!!! And oh once the girl's mehndi was over, Shiyu's friends made sure he also went through the same rituals.



Why should only one person suffer, they asked

And then finally comes the wedding. Most people are by this time just fed up and want the groom to run away with the bride and save them the rest of the energy. But that rarely happens. On the day of the wedding, the groom sends a bag called Peda to the girl. In it is every single thing the girl needs for that day- wedding dress, gold, perfume, towels, handkerchiefs and even safety pins.


It's taken by the oldest people in the family who go and ask the girl personally if she is happy with the wedding. Assuming she says yes, the wedding then takes place. Shiyu's was in the evening. My darling sister-in-law (who was my Rock of Gibralter throughout the wedding) and I helped each other dress up and then spent the rest of the time chasing Mehreen who by the way hated that the house was full of people. I will not go into the details of pulling almost 100 people out of the house, stuffing them into a bus and getting to the hall. It took a lot of patience But we made it in time for the nikah.


After the nikah we took the girl on to the stage to sit next to Shiyu for the rest of the rituals.




Uh-huh but not so quickly. On the stage Shiyu was surrounded by Hina's cousins who said they wouldn't move until they were paid 25,000 rupees. Then it was bargain, bargain and some more bargain. Arfaz ended up paying 3000 rupees. Yep he is a bargain expert.

Then comes the moo-dikhayi or in simple words looking at the face. The bride has all this while covered her face. Now the guy will remove the face covering and look at her face before everyone else sees her.


He then puts a ring on her. After this is the sending the girl off ritual where her family gives her a Quran and sends her off to her husband's house. Quite an emotional ceremony that invariably ends in tears.



But the real fun hasn't yet begun. After all the rituals, we got home. Now shiyu has this thick group if friends.


Many of them had flown in from abroad just for the wedding. they wouldn't do that for no reason, would they? When we got home, all of them sat on the stairs and refused to let the bride and groom go to their room unless they were paid 10 thousand bucks. After almost an hour of bargaining they settled for 7500. Hefty sum to pay just for being able to go into your own room in your own house, eh? I said to them "with friends like you guys, who needs enemies?" So finally at about 3 am we were all able to go to bed.

The next day was the valima or wedding reception. After a 3am sleep, it was hard to get up at 9 but we managed it.

Thus in 4 days, the most important ceremony in the lives of two people are over. Needless to say, the one person who enjoyed the wedding the most was the superstar of the family Mehreen. She enjoyed all the attention she got



And the late night bike rides with her Chachu.



The limelight was on her even though it was his wedding




I had to deal with a lot of post-wedding tantrum syndrome because of the fact that a house full of people pampered her. But I managed to pull through all of it with my sanity intact, thank God. But I was so pooped out that it took me almost a month to recover. Now I can't even begun to comprehend the task of my sister in law's wedding whenever that happens. I think I may just run away :-)

Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Cochin, Kerala

Shopping spree

I love shopping. Especially for weddings. And becoz I don't have any brothers or sisters, I have never been involved in any major wedding shopping sprees apart from my own ( at the time of which I was more concerned about my exams and schedules than shopping). So imagine my glee now that I have to go wedding shopping for my one and only brother in law (who is getting married to a lovely girl on October 1st). I must admit that going shopping with an enthusiastic but clueless would-be groom can be a bit trying.
"Bhabhi, shall I buy this cream?" "Shyu haven't u bought 15 bottles of cream already?"
"Bhabhi, does this deo smell good?" "But you don't use deo spray" "well I could use it, couldn't I?"

You see what I mean? But hey, I will stop pretending that I'm annoyed. I actually do secretly enjoy my position of power as the eldest daughter-in-law of a closely-knit family. And also, I love both Arfaz's brother and sister to pieces. Partly because I don't have any of my own and partly because they both are so loveable. So for the shopping spree I took Arfaz and my brother-in-law Shiyaz (see the rhyming) to Naif Souq- colloquially called Oot market. Do you know why it's called so? Because several years ago, food for camels- which is Oont in Hindi- was sold in this Souq. This place has been my shopping haven for as long as I can remember. Clothes, shoes, bags, toys, whatever you want, you get it here- at reasonable prices. And then of course there is the haggling. Haggling is a refined skill that you sharpen over years of shopping. My dad and Arfaz are pros at it. I’m just average. My mom’s hopeless. So I usually like to go with Arfaz because he just manages to squeeze out the best deals.

On this shopping expedition first we headed off to buy some clothes. Vibrant colors, distinctive textures, variety of styles and different cuts. Had so much of choice




Then perfumes. Attar, oud, CK, Gucci- name it and they have it. A few weeks ago, I interviewed perfume expert Charlotte Mathesen from Lush. She told me that every person should have a fragrance suited to their personality. So people should try on a perfume, walk around with it, sleep on it and see if they like it. The smell apparently changes every minute after wearing it. So you should really see if this is the smell you would like to live with and then go and buy it. Never rush into it. But ofcourse we couldn’t be bothered with all that hassle




Then of course how could anyone go home without buying some toys for the queen bee of the house????





And then the mandatory tea and shawarma from the roadside joint. Just look at the table fan, the drum...everything about it is soooo cool. And I must admit, the shawarma tasted better than anything I have eaten from anywhere else in the UAE






At the end of the trip, we had to wait for an hour just to get out of our parking lot. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t be bothered to take pics. But then hey, kuch paane ke liye, kuch khona padtha hai (to win some, you gotta lose some)

Chao until next time…



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Naif Souq

When Eid comes...

Eid Mubarak everybody. 



Eid is one of the most special occasions in our family. And one of my favorite things about it is the uncertainty. Will it be the 29th or will it be the 30th? That's the question from Day 1. One of my colleagues asked me "how do you deal with it? You can't really make any plans until the last minute. That would never happen in the Western world. Everything would be spelt out and holidays would be decided well in advance." and I said to him "really? Don't you like uncertainty? You are here now. Can you tell me for sure where you will be the next few hours? Will you be able to guarantee me that you will stay healthy the next few days? You can't because that's life. So we deal with uncertainty on a daily basis. And anyway eid is not a matter of life and death. It's just the ending of one month and beginning of another. I can deal with it thank you very much. In fact I even like it."



Everyone has their own favorite Eid moment. Mine is getting up early in the morning, after barely 3 hours of sleep, bathing in the cold water and shivering while getting dressed in brand new clothes. And then rushing to the Eidgah (the special ground where Eid prayers are held) to get there in time for the prayers. We stand to pray on a thin mat through which the coolness of the sand seeps through our feet. Afterwards when the sermon is going on, tiny droplets of water from the tip of my freshly bathed hair falls on to the nape of my neck, making me sneeze continuously.  And as we sit there, the sun slowly creeps out from behind the clouds and shines on our black abayas, warming our bodies as well as our hearts. There are young children running around, basking in the rare chance of being in an open ground filled with sand. After the sermon, there are duas, asking Allah to accept our fasts, forgive our sins, praying for peace for our brothers and sisters in Palestine, Libya, etc. Afterwards, a sea of people troop out. The men wear crisp, new shirts. The women have fresh, dark henna on their hands. Many will be on the phones trying to call their loved ones back home. Several of them will be hugging each other wishing Eid Mubarak. And amid all the mayhem, there will be two groups of people who try to maintain some order- the policemen and cleaners . The policemen patiently wait outside the venue, without praying, keeping vigil to ensure that everything is smooth. Afterwards as everyone piles into their cars, chatting and laughing, they will try to direct the traffic with as little hiccups as possible. The cleaners quietly sweep the road to clear out all the carelessly discarded waste. And as they do, cars honk at them and people beckon them. When they go, the men will lean out, shake hands with them and wish them Eid Mubarak. And when they withdraw their hands, there will be a tiny note of 5, 10 or even 100 quietly crumbled in their fist. Once the cars are gone, all the cleaners will get together and compare their earnings. They will then probably head out to send that extra bit of cash back home. 



And then there are some Eids that are memorable. My dad always tells me about one of his. It was about 30 years ago, back when he was a bachelor living with his friends. During ramadan  he and his roomies would chat with each other for a long time at night. On weekends these chatting sessions would extend till early next morning when they would pray Fajr and go to sleep. After one such Thursday night, on the 29th day of Ramadan, they were getting out of morning prayers to go sleep when the muezzin announced that it was Eid. That year Ramadan lasted only 28 days!!! Needless to say, the guys went around like zombies the whole day...



Have a safe holiday everyone. 

Saturday Centus

Was quite kicked about the prompt. The story below is partially true. I told my husband with a letter that read somewhat like this.

It had been 3 days. She was acting quite strange. ‘Is it an affair?” he wondered. Why else would she be smiling, giggling and talking to herself?

The house was still when he walked in. And then he saw the letter. “She’s left,” he thought, picking it up with trembling hands, preparing himself for the worst. It read

Ted, howdy mate? Just wanted to let you know its dark and cozy here. Am really liking it. But don’t worry, I’ll be with you shortly. Love, your 5-week old baby.

She jumped out saying “Surprise, I am pregnant.”

School reunion

So its been exactly 28 days since my last post. Procrastination is my middle name. And this post was due two weeks ago. But better late than never, right?





I am not a particularly great organizer. My cupboard is never neat, my drawers are always messy, I can't seem to keep anything straight. So imagine my horror when I realized that I had to organize a party for 270 people. My first thought was "why don't I leave the country for 2 months and come back when everyone forgets about it?"



"So then how did you get yourself into this?" My colleagues asked me. Let me explain. Farah (aka Fud) has been my friend for more than 11 years now. From school, through college, to now. So Fud kept sitting on my head and saying "Let's have an iftar re-union before school shifts to the new campus." You see our 43 year old school was shifting from its campus to a new one (by the way my school is older than this country itself). I loved my school and really wanted to see it one last time but more than that I wanted to keep Fud happy (read: I wanted Fud to stop pestering me). So I created an event on Facebook and invited all my friends and batch mates. People started signing up, commenting, blah, blah. And then Fud comes up with a brainwave. Why don't we try and organize the iftar at school itself and invite every possible Our Ownian we could? I'm not too excited but I agree. You see I want to keep Fud happy. And then began email exchanges with the school principal. I sent an email, he replied. I sent another email, he replied again. And this went on until I had an appointment with him to discuss the re-union. Please note, up until this point Fud has done no actual work other than come up with brainwaves. So I met the Principal Mr. Aziz Akhtar in his office. For me this meeting was more emotional than the reunion itself (you see at the reunion my emotions had evaporated in the heat). This was the campus where I had spent a good deal of my life. And to drive into that campus in my own car as an adult, it made me very nostalgic. And then to walk into the principal's office- which was obviously out of bounds for us in our school days- and announce that I had an appointment to meet him just made me feel more grown up than I wanted to admit. Mr. Akhtar was to the point, helpful and totally amazing. He agreed to help us out in whatever ways he could.



At night I was filling Fud in about my meeting and we were discussing food options. I said we could get iftar kits from a few restaurants that I know. "But you know Nas, I think we should do a school theme," says Fud. "Let's get puffs, pizzas and areej- the stuff that school used to give." At this point I no longer wanted to keep Fud happy. I wanted to punch her in the face. I said "Fud, don't ask me to do that. Will you please do it?" Why did I say please? This was something she wanted. But I did and she agreed. "Let's give the job of arranging other stuff to Rash and Sand," Fud said, referring to two other friends- Rashmi and Sandhya- and not a skin disorder or the desert.



And thus began a series of arranging. At this point 50 people were attending the iftar. We ordered 65 packs. Water and areej had to be bought separately. Then dates, garbage bags, tissues, etc. Three days before the event, 70 people were attending. More phonecalls. Increase the number of iftar packs and water. Two days before, 150 people attending. The day before 220. "Nas, all I wanted to do was just go to school, have a small iftar, meet friends, take pictures and come back. NOT worrying about organizing iftar for 200 plus people," Fud sighed on the phone the night before the event.



D-day dawned nice and bright. I was so nervous that I had butterflies in my stomach all day. My mom said I was just hungry but I refused to buy that explanation. "Nas my horoscope today says that I will be lynched by 200 hungry people," Fud messaged me. "Then I will just escape by the back door," I messaged back. "I love you too," Fud wrote. At 5 sharp we were there at the school gate. To put it mildly it was a day from hell. Hot, humid and sweaty. Within 5 minutes of stepping into the school, we were all drenched . We ran around delegating jobs to everyone, making sure things were getting done, etc. By 6 30, I was so severely dehydrated that I thought I'd have to break my fast (the azaan is at 7). I started to feel dizzy, my hands and legs felt weak, etc. I just sat in the only AC room looking into thin air. Then on it was Fud, Rashmi and Sandhya who held fort. Welcoming people, collecting money, making sure everything was ok, etc. It was only after I had broken my fast and had some chocolate cake that I finally had enough energy to stand up. The rest of the evening passed quickly. Some old faces, some new; some who I hadn't seen since graduating and some I had met many many times. But one thing was common- not a single one of them left without thanking both of us for giving them the opportunity to come back to school and relive their memories. By the end of the evening, the four of us were sweaty, tired and had lost a good amount of money. But it was all worth it.





However I must add that there were other ramifications of the event. "I'm not organizing another event till Mehreen's marriage," I declared to my husband that night (Mehreen is my 15 month old daughter, by the way). And a few days later when he met Fud, my hubby said "oh hi reunion organizer" and Fud put her hands over her ears and screamed :-)

Saturday Centus

This week’s Saturday Centus reminded me of a story my mom told me just a few years ago. It was a story of when she was a young, nervous Indian bride living with her husband in Dubai, away from her family. Read on…it’s a true story.


She carefully broke the egg into the pan. Oh no! The yolk had broken again. She slapped her forehead. Her husband of one month was particular about his eggs. “If the yolk’s broken, the egg aint any good,” he says. She quickly dumped it in the bin and had the next one in the pan. Chssszzzzz- it fried quite nicely. She proudly looked at the sunny side up. “Is it ready honey,” he peeped into the kitchen. “Just bringing it,” she smiled sweetly. And as she took it out of the pan- plop- the yellow liquid oozed out

Bomb Blasts et al.

Bomb blasts in Mumbai: 17 dead 131 injured, 23 serious.

I was at a parlor when the story broke. And my beautician was a Mumbaikar. She went pale when I told her what had happened. She immediately tried to call her husband, daughters and siblings living in Mumbai. But obviously phone lines were jammed. When I left the parlor about an hour later, she still hadn't been able to talk to her family.

The next day it was crazy in our office. We were trying to get witness accounts, get our facts right, update our information as new facts and figures came out. Total mayhem. The TV was blaring away in the newsroom. One reporter was standing in front of the hospital and interviewing victims' relatives. As I watched them, I realized that whenever an accident takes place or a disaster happens, we always identify it in numbers- 17 killed and 131 injured. No one really talks about 50 people who may have lost their livelihood because of the 17 people killed. No one really talks about those who are among the 131 injured, who will never be able to be the same again. These individual stories are what makes a tragedy so tragic.

One of the interviewed relatives had lost his brother who runs a shop in Zaveri Bazaar. He had just stepped out for a walk. What will happen to the shop? What will happen to the people who work in the shop? How long will it take for the shop to recover from its damages? No one knows.

Another person had lost his son who had been married only for two months. What will happen to his wife? Will she ever remarry or will she stay a widow in honor of the husband whom she hadn’t even known properly? What if she is pregnant by now? The child will never experience the warmth of a father’s love

I remember an Indian movie which told the story of a guy who earned a meager income but dreamed of sending his daughter to medical school. He worked hard to manage the fees of the good school his daughter went to. And then he gets injured. The girl quits her studies and starts working in a factory near her house. The man spends the whole day in bed, unable to do any work and being extremely frustrated at his inability. The girl then gets an offer from the factory’s owner, to go work in his factory abroad where she can earn better. Her family agrees and off she goes. From there she sends a wheelchair for her father and some money for the family. Its all hunky dory until the end of the movie when we get to know that she is actually working as a sex worker. Such a tragic yet realistic story. So many women are tricked like this by scheming people who understand their dire circumstances.

Nothing has been achieved by this bombing. Nothing has ever been achieved by any acts of terror. Yet they continue- in the name of religion, in the name of clans, in the name of countries, and in whatever possible names one can think of. When will they stop?