Oru COVID Kalyanam
Never before have I laughed so much at the mere thought of writing a blog. While the subject had long been conceived, the accompanying ludicrosity had escaped the purview of my imaginative mind. Just so you know, I'm quite hilarious, in my own eyes, by my own loose standards. You would agree that without a funny bone, very few of us would have survived the cosmic joke of a life we're leading in a COVID world. I usually spend the most time scratching my head over the best way to kick-start a blog. However, I quite literally rofl my way here. For the five from six of my avid fans, who are mostly quinquagenarians and septuagenarians, rofl means rolling on the floor laughing (an internet slang if you will) and for millenials trying hard to pronounce the aforementioned words, nevermind.
My dad has been nudging me with noncommittal zeal, to blog about (dramatic pause) my marriage. If you must know, I'm married and have been so, for four days in a row now. I must admit that it's a pretty unexceptional and overestimated feeling. I hope this once and for all, if not tersely answers all those asking me, and I quote, "How does it feel to be married?" We lock our doors now and nobody cares if we do. Admittedly, this is our cheap thrill moment of marital bliss. The last blog about my relationship stirred up some mixed reactions, so I will err on the side of caution, and tread lightly moving forward (note to self).
My parents and I had boarded our plane to Calicut in the nick of time. We must've made a funny picture as we hastened to our gate while playing the blame game for this lapse of judgement, in between panting and lugging our overfull bags. As we huffed and puffed our way into the flight shamefacedly, we were greeted by passengers seething under masks and face shields. I wonder if this was the precise moment when a series of misfortunate events leading up to the marriage had begun unfolding.
As we zoomed past a verdant Calicut in a blurry haze, courtesy of our reckless yet competent driver, I reflected amusedly upon the consecutive unmaking of plans about our wedding. Our friends and family, who are well-aware of our yo-yoing nature as a couple, wouldn't have found it unusual in the slightest to find us in this sticky situation. For a run-of-the-mill couple, we've hogged the limelight for an unusually long spell. We for one were glad that we would soon merge seamlessly into the married brethren. When marriage seemed finally within reach, COVID restrictions mushroomed unceremoniously, hijacking our nuptials.
In my opinion, COVID is the result of collective karma. As irrational as it may sound, it's the only way in which my mind can make peace with the bizarre world we live in. It wouldn't make a lot of sense for someone to go bonkers on a shopping spree and express incredulity at the sight of an astronomical bill. While this isn't the best analogy, payback time is our reality for now (apologies for the morbid detour). Nevertheless, settling karmic scores on my wedding day was a bitter pill to swallow.
The Kerala Government had imposed a complete lockdown from May 8 to May 16. This piece of information combined with Vineet harping on the fact that it would be best if we headed straight to the wedding venue in Calicut than to my aunt's home in Palakkad is what let good sense prevail. We headed to the venue after all, which just happens to be Vineet's home.
A flashback at this point becomes necessary. Sometime around February, when wedding planning was in full swing, we found a beautiful location in Kerala for our marriage. Our wedding planner, a quintessential, mustachioed Malayalee man with a calm demeanor and impeccable Malayalam (most of which Vineet and I never followed) walked us through our wedding and won us over with his simplicity, and primarily his pocket-friendly quotation. He was as dejected as we were when our wedding plans derailed but jumped to our rescue immediately. He was our beacon of hope, however, by placing our implicit trust in him, we had become complacent.
We spent the days leading up to the marriage tucking into the various delicacies Vineet's mom cooked. Our parents were mostly on call, talking to our exceptionally large families. Vineet was working, while I, on account of being newly unemployed, had delightedly buried my nose in a book. As you would've guessed by now, we were blissfully ignorant and hopelessly optimistic.
My mother and I, in truly city slicker fashion, marvelled at the sight of squawking squirrels, iridescent Kingfishers, and a monitor lizard from the neighboring plot, basking in the sun among others. We'd developed a soft spot for a chubby tomcat who reminded us of our rotund dog back home. We oohed and aahed in touristy wonder and waited expectantly to catch sight of the elusive monitor lizard while scanning the neighboring home at odd hours in the day. We must've assuredly struck as queer to the neigbours. Luckily for me, a family of foxes caught my eye, as I paced up and down the terrace one evening. It was truly a feast for my eyes alone, which is perhaps why my mother and Vineet rubbish my claims of having seen them at all (obviously jealous). I must admit at this point, that it is beyond me to keep animals out of a blog with Kerala as a premise.
Coming back to the subject of my marriage, our wedding planner visited us one sweltering afternoon, to discuss wedding prospects that had over a matter of days shrunk from a resort to the hall of Vineet's home. While he appraised the house, we set our eyes on the sleek SUV and began mentally calculating the size of his bank account, as the adults went over the wedding nitty-gritty. As always, he charmed us with his never-say-never attitude and as one would expect, we began building castles in the air, despite all odds.
The next day the pandal contractor dropped by and the family got into an impassioned discussion over the pros and cons of various styles. I tend to straddle nonchalance, whenever a confrontation of any sort occurs. Vineet, meanwhile, spewed more Malayalam than he had in years. While I'm not too sure whether the contractor followed most or any of his discourse, his enthusiasm touched all our hearts.
In the next few hours or so, we had some unexpected visitors. As Vineet and his mom were away running an errand, they were attended to by my parents. I was sprawled across the sofa, reading a book when I was ominously drawn to the conversation taking place outside.
The unusually strained and formal tone had me convinced that some unpleasant news was in the waiting, to be unfurled.
The esteemed District Magistrate had paid us a visit, who evidently was a person of influence in the governmental hierarchy. Her visit was more or less a dressing down and a direct result of a cautious neighbour's complaint. We had deduced that an outdoor celebration would be out of the question, and keeping things low was our only option if the wedding were to see the light of day.
Our unexpected visitor left us feeling unnerved. Vineet and I had bent over backward to honour our parents' feelings as far as the wedding was concerned. Since our wedding date had been toyed with enough in the past, our parents felt unsettled and almost superstitious about extending it any further. Under the given circumstances, we knew that it was important to see the wedding through. The festive spirit that had slackened temporarily, was restored back to working order. We were running on a reservoir of buoyancy but we were soon to receive another jolt.
Our wedding planner had begun playing a game of peekaboo with us, as it was getting harder to follow up with him and he was invariably unavailable. To make a long story short, he indirectly told us that he wouldn't be in a position to make arrangements for the wedding. Our predicament was dramatic beyond a KJo movie standard. We were three days away from our nuptials and had made absolutely no headway with our wedding planning.
Enter wedding planners 2.0: young, creative, and mostly 'jugaadu'. I honestly can't find and wouldn't want to find an English equivalent. There is no better way of aptly describing these iPhone-wielding, bike-riding, bandana-clad boys who were our heroes without capes. Except for a photographer that they had dredged up from the crypt, they were unanimously satisfactory. As the wedding had already been through more than its fair share of upheavals, our parents felt the need to have a 'pandit' formalise things God's way. Vineet and I at this point were just bobbing about our heads cluelessly.
The wedding day finally arrived and my bodily functions reminded me that it was just another day after all. I woke up at an ungodly hour to the pleasant sight of my dainty, doe-eyed, and charming makeup artist. In a matter of hours, she along with her team had transformed me into a surreal version of myself: dewy, glowy, graceful, and womanly; which contrastingly, is a far cry from my usual self. The makeover had the surprising effect of filling me with a sense of never-before-experienced confidence. Emboldened by my newly shed inhibitions, I complied with our photographer's many requests and revelled in the attention being showered upon me.
The groom meanwhile, didn't have to sacrifice his beauty sleep and was greeted by the hustle and bustle that had finally enveloped the wedding home. While I was afforded the luxury of easing into the photography session (thanks to hours of makeup), he stumbled into his unsteadily. As the muhurat (auspicious time) drew closer, his session was wrapped up even before it had properly started.
Two things were unfolding simultaneously in the midst of all this. Our virtual guests had arrived at eight o'clock on the dot. An odd mix of family, friends, and colleagues caught in the web of an unanticipated conversation. Meanwhile, the righteous pandit was throwing a hissy fit, for our lack of ritualistic knowledge. He was obviously experiencing a lapse of memory, as he had conveniently glossed over his tardiness in the first place. It took massaging his ego, to get him to carry on with the holy proceedings if you will.
Our virtual audience was waiting with bated breath and their patience had begun to wear thin at the deathly silence on our side of the screen. My brother and sister-in-law were barraged with questions about life in Canada, which they dodged in flushed awkwardness. When we finally raised the curtain on the ceremony, our audiences must've surely had an anticlimactic experience. The build-up to the ceremony was in contrast to the sluggish pace of the event. Live-streaming behind-the-scenes action wasn't our original plan, little was left to the imagination.
Our blink-and-you-miss-it marriage for some reason had taken a circuitous route. As far as I remember, it was a terribly long moment of awkwardly interrupted movements. During the tāli-ritual (the moment when the groom ties a gold necklace around the neck of the bride), the only momentous highlight of the marriage, all I could think of was the stifling heat. I for one didn't think that the most mundane of thoughts would cross my mind during one of the most significant moments of my life.
We copiously thanked our guests, more for their patience than their wishes. We were more than happy to extricate them from the ceremonial tediousness. The last of the stragglers (mostly family) waited for nearly an hour catching up and reminiscing. My mother, in a bid to share unseen footage of the married couple, took on the role of a paparazzo, positioning the device in ways, so as to afford a better look of the clearly embarrassed couple, who scampered off in the opposite direction.
My account of the day's events might sound desolate, but I must assure you that I was stricken by the inflexibility of customs rather than the marriage itself. This was compounded by the fear of COVID. It would be an absolute lie if I feigned unhappiness. I was grinning from ear to ear, for all the world to see. Nothing at all, at that moment, would have stood in the way of my happiness.
Our COVID kalyanam had all the hallmarks of a typical wedding: tension, laughter, drama, and tears to name a few. Although our well-meaning plans were upended, we're hoping to make it up to our friends and relatives through a reception at some indefinite time in the future. Above all, we owe it to ourselves to have the wedding of our dreams, surrounded by our loved ones in person. Meanwhile, don't you think that our wedding would make a great story someday?
