To Do

I passed two weddings on the way to dinner yesterday. It must have been an auspicious time. Hindus don’t wed on any old day. They wait for muhurtham – an auspicious time, astrologically speaking – for everything from marriage to surgery to betting on horses.

I was on my scooter. The weddings spilled into the streets and caused minor traffic jams. I was happy for the bottlenecks because they gave me a few moments to bop to the thumping music and gape at the grooms, who were astride horses and dressed in finery.

Weddings are a big deal in India. The index in the back of my Chennai atlas lists more banquet and marriage halls than art galleries, banks, cinemas and “historical places” combined. Celebrations last several days. Brides go through elaborate outfits faster than pageant contestants. Grooms arrive on horseback – or by elephant – and guests can number in the thousands. A ceremony attended by 400 is "intimate" by Indian standards.

This is what I’m told. I’ve never been to one.

Sure, there was Sunita’s wedding in Maryland. Sunita is a dear friend from college who dressed us bridesmaids in bangles, bindis and custom-made lengha cholis with silvery embroidery.


But Sunita is Christian, not Hindu, and she married a WB (white boy), so her wedding wasn’t like the fetes I glimpsed yesterday. Hers was an elegant affair that was part samosa, part finger sandwich. In short: no horses.

I thought about pulling over, parking the scooter and crashing the weddings, but I was in t-shirt and khakis. Besides, Ben and Nico were waiting at Benjarong, a Thai restaurant that serves a mean yellow curry. I put it on my India to-do list: Go to a wedding.

All invitations welcome.