The Wedding Saga: Part One
As far as I can stretch my memory, I’ve dreamed of a wedding either in the lap of a beautiful mountain, surrounded by the murmur of a river, under the pristine gaze of the stars and moon, or by a beach with the waves breaking on the shore. Don’t we all have an idea of how we would like our wedding to be until reality blindsides us?
Reality, I believe, is the antithesis of a dream. As a kindergarten teacher, I often find myself drawing analogies between my work and personal experiences. Lately, I’ve felt like a child grinning proudly from ear to ear over a castle made of blocks; one I put together with all the determination a four-year-old could muster, only to have it rudely broken and rebuilt by some children who decided to join in unannounced. Wasn’t I perfectly happy playing solitary until more players decided to join in? My castle is now a far cry from its original self. My castle, as you may have guessed by now, is a metaphor for my wedding.
Before we dive in deeper, I believe that the premise of the blog needs to be understood in order to avoid needless implications. My partner and I have been in a long-distance relationship for the better part of our time together. So, in order to spend more time together in a traditionally acceptable manner and to give our relationship the seal of societal approval, we decided that it was time to involve our families. A cousin’s wedding gave us the opportunity to get together in Kerala. The setting of another wedding to plan our own may seem like a good omen to many, but to my partner and me, every moment building up to the day of the ‘big wedding talk’ was turning our initial excitement into full-blown dread.
You must wonder why we dreaded a seemingly innocuous meeting. All our discussions about the wedding so far were marked by heated arguments and long spells of not talking to each other. When my mother first broached the subject of the wedding with the extended family, my aunt, upon hearing me opine every now and then, declared, ‘Tere shaadi hai na? Tu chup chap side mein jaake baith.’ (Translation: ‘It’s your wedding, right? Go sit quietly in a corner.’) My aunt unknowingly doled out wisdom, which I came to appreciate much later. Perhaps from her own experience, she learned that there was peace in being quiet and playing along.
My partner and I play the adult version of the game ‘ghar-ghar’. Don’t get any ideas now. It’s pretend play for those of you who don’t know about it. I can vouch that a lot of couples play this game without realizing it. Most of the time it’s a lot of fun, as we’re doing up our imaginary future home together, choosing pastel curtains that go with the color of the walls, or discussing whether we should get a cat or dog. But with a wedding as a backdrop, conversations had begun to turn rather nasty. That’s the thing with reality; it’s not a fluffy puppy that you want to cuddle with, but a growling full-grown dog that bites.
For a very long time, I was under the misconception that the only people who should have a say in the wedding are my partner and I. I wonder what led me to think that way. Perhaps I was idealistic and a wee bit self-centered. My partner and I would argue incessantly, defending our families and their demands. After lengthy, emotionally charged conversations with my mother, I came to understand that it’s necessary to look at the wedding more reasonably than emotionally. While I didn’t like that my feelings were being discounted a lot of times, I did realize that doing away completely with what our families wanted wasn’t a possibility or even completely fair. A truce ended this rather unpleasant phase. Now that we had put this behind us, we had our minds cleared to panic in its entirety about what was to soon follow.
Chugging along the scenic Konkan route would’ve usually brightened my mood, as would idle gossip with family about family over greasy, unpalatable railway food with watery tea to wash it down. However, anxiety had wrapped me in its cold embrace, and I was slowly succumbing to the feeling. I was trying to turn my attention to imminent worries such as the impending washroom visit or the prospect of indulging in inane conversations with fellow passengers my family was connecting with like long-lost friends. Amidst the chaos of my own crowded thoughts, Adam Levine brought me the much-needed, if short-lived, respite from frayed nerves. When the train journey finally came to an end, I was relieved and anxious in equal parts.
Social custom called for visiting the bride’s home, and since a delay had thrown our plans awry, we had to jump straight to the part of social niceties. Packed off in a Qualis as befitted the size of our family and mountain of luggage, we made our way through Kerala, juxtaposing modernity and tradition.
The hubbub from the bedecked wedding home was evident from a distance. Our travel clothes, as against their festive wedding garb, made for an unusual sight. What followed was a torrent of hugs, excited voices, and good-natured banter. We met a quarter of our family at the doorstep, and in a few minutes, I had spoken more Malayalam than I had in months of obvious disuse.
The sight of sadhya (a traditional Malayali meal served on festive occasions) gave me the distraction I was happy to find. You can never underestimate how efficient a stress reliever food can be. I had almost forgotten the original purpose of my visit until my wedding was being casually discussed like the next meal. All I could do was smile abashedly and not let my feelings give way. On my way out of the house, I chanced upon the perfectly poised bride-to-be; my cousin seemed lovely and surprisingly at ease with herself as she checked on guests and played the perfect host. As much as she had won my admiration for her self-assuredness, I was feeling weighed down by the thought of unforeseen expectations mushrooming in my head.
On returning to my hotel room, Adam Levine crooned, and I let the phone ring long enough to catch the first few lines of ‘Memories’ before answering it. I had forgotten all about my partner until I heard his voice reminding me again of what was to come. I couldn’t help but notice a certain edge in his voice. A cold war that had seized our relationship had made conversations more habitual than anticipative. Upon hanging up, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of excitement to see him. The next few hours passed in a flurry of excitement mixed with tempers running high, as typical of getting ready for any function as a family goes; with the elderly men announcing disapprovingly the lack of respect for one’s time and women huffing and puffing while throwing them cold stares.
Piled into vehicles, we weaved our way through the snail-paced traffic. I was glad to notice that everyone’s energy seemed to be wearing off. It was nice to enjoy a few moments of peace before being galvanized into the same state all over again. Once at the venue, my family greeted each other with hugs, almost entirely forgetting that they had met only a few hours ago. I would have a déjà vu moment every time someone thumped my back and asked, ‘Do you know/ remember me?’ To which I would smile sheepishly and say, ‘Of course I do, but I can’t place you.’ The same situation has been repeating itself for as long as I can remember.
I scanned the crowd for my partner, but he was nowhere to be seen. When I finally spotted him, my heart skipped a beat, as it always does in acknowledgment of his presence. With so many pairs of eyes glued on us, we exchanged a formal greeting, and his appraising look made me blush. We couldn’t even exchange a few words before being dragged in different directions by our individual families. At one point, my mother introduced him to one of our relatives as my future husband. I gulped nervously as we exchanged a look of embarrassment mixed with confusion.
We decided to head to his brother’s hotel in the hope of finding some time to talk before the ‘big wedding talk’ scheduled to happen early the next day. I’ve never been good at first impressions, and I was convinced that I would come across as a muggle in a world of wizards. As a homebody who has her nose buried in a book most of the time, I was an oddity of sorts among my cousins, who are, let’s just say, not that way. The night passed by pleasantly, and I wonder if Old Monk had anything to do with it because I was talking more fluidly, and my heart wasn’t fluttering nervously.
Early the next morning, we arrived at the dot of time. After beating around the bush and making small talk as social custom demands, our families finally began to talk about the wedding. My partner and I, meanwhile, were merely turning our heads in synchronized fashion from one side to the other. After what seemed like an eternity, my mother turned to us and said, ‘Let’s find out from them what they want.’ The spotlight is something I’ve never enjoyed. I prattled on something nonsensical, and my partner followed suit. As a couple, we seemed thoroughly clueless and, after a long time, compatible in our shared lack of direction as far as the wedding was concerned. I always prided myself on how I could find words to perfectly encase my thoughts, and here I was with nothing more than a few monosyllables at my disposal.
What followed after the ‘big wedding talk’ was an unsavory fight triggered by the rush of overwhelming emotions that the thought of a wedding had unleashed. As for me, an overexposure to social situations had drained me to such an extent that I was considering therapy I couldn’t afford for undiagnosed anxiety that I believe I’m most likely suffering from. By the end of it all, I felt like crawling under a blanket and staying there forever.
The relationship had taken a hit after this particular fight, and I couldn’t believe this was all happening in the wake of our wedding planning. It gave me more reasons to be displeased at the thought of a wedding. We were questioning our compatibility and mostly arguing in a dramatized way, which was so unlike us. Fears and insecurities had seized us, while we had both clearly taken leave of our senses.
Around this time, I had begun watching ‘Little Things’ on Netflix, and like any other couple, I began relating to Kavya and Dhruv’s experiences. Believe it or not, but this show gave me more clarity about my relationship than I had had in a really long time. Long distance had begun to delude us. We didn’t question our feelings for each other, but we were both reaching the end of our rope. The last episode of the third season made me realize that everything has its time. As a couple, we just weren’t ready for marriage, and just because the whole world seemed to be tying the knot, it didn’t mean that we had to too. We were in a good place, and marriage didn’t have to be the end goal. This realization freed me in more ways than I could’ve imagined. I had as determinedly pursued my partner for marriage as a dog chasing its tail. This realization had an immediate physical impact. I felt lighter, and my sudden change in attitude left my partner feeling confused. He was taken aback and was possibly waiting for me to snarl back at him like I always did.
My focus had begun to shift from my partner to the idea of marriage. I had been nursing an unhealthy obsession that had been detrimental to our relationship. I was mad at him for hindering all my plans. Ironically, as someone who couldn’t wait enough to marry, I was jumping in joy at the wedding having been moved to a later date. The Universe must have sensed our apprehension.
As of today, we’ve been together for 3 years and 17 days, out of which for more than 2.5 years we’ve been away from each other. We’re working on ourselves as much as we’re working on our relationship. I still smile like an idiot when I hear him on the phone or when his face suddenly pops up on the screen during a video call. But there is so much more to a relationship than dating clichés. Weirdly, I’ve come to appreciate my partner so much more now, and we nurture our relationship a lot more than we did earlier.
I just finished reading ‘Beloved’ by Toni Morrison yesterday and could find no better way to end this blog.
“Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.” ~ Beloved
To be continued…”
