The Big Fat Indian Wedding - Part 1

When I was twelve, painted film posters caught my eye. Amul ads at 18 and glossy models at 20. But now, all that catches my eye are wedding planners, bridal collections and flower decorators. No, I am not getting married, but my dahling sis (Mad) and best friend (Egg) are.

So naturally, even some cheap A3 sized, torn poster of a wedding expo at the Chennai Trade Centre, caught my eye right on. Vivaaha it said and featured a hennaed north Indian bride. Even before I could tell Mad, Egg buzzed me that she was going for the expo. But Mad cannot just do something about her wedding just like that. Even if you have all the 5Ws and 1H clearly written on the back of your hand for thathaya's cross questioning, you cant get past his big O - opinion.

He waved us away with a, "We are anyways going to do things our way, what is the point of all this expo business?" But Mad is a style conscious bride. She fought her way and I lobbied heavily - for the car and for her fiance (JJ) tag along.

Now, as Mad is dutifully following the wedding band, albeit her own way, she is the favourite grand daughter at home. And I become the villain, for putting evil ideas in her head.

So by the time Mad told me that the car had broken down on the way back - that is after seeing the bare three stalls and one stray mehendi designer; after having to wake JJ after a late night shift to act chauffeur, after forcing uncle to join the trail, after getting brother to tag along the party under the midday sun - I decided in my best interest not to get back home in a hurry that day.

This was the second time one of my bright ideas did not take off. The first was to have the engagement at the gorgeous Dakshin Chitra (actually Mad's, but you know the dahling vs. the rebel grandkid routine by now); it was dropped because imposing toll-gate fee on guests would'nt have been very polite. So as JJ came home for dinner and wedding plans abounded over the weekend at home, I avoided all talk like prickly cactus.

It was getting difficult, not to intervene when thathaya almost hired the local ruffian-temple swindler for a priest and fixed a photographer who used Word Art on albums and forced couples to bare their teeth. But I managed to hold on.

But yesterday at office, Mad calls me to tell that JJ has won three gifts from one of those three stalls at the expo - a dinner set, a goa luxury holiday and a family trip to VGP. Whoa! "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," I bounded back home early to tell this to thathaya, but he was at puja and my better sense prevailed. Now I am waiting for my moment until JJ confirms its authenticity and tax details.

And until then, I have upped the ante against the idea of hiring traditional jewellery for the engagement from one of thathaya's entrepreneurial nieces.