Unsung Heroes

 

 

In the days gone by, roles were demarcated, men were the providers and women homemakers.  This article is a tribute to those women who ceaselessly kept the home fires burning without any expectations  whatsoever and without any thought of pursuing personal interests.

In our own home, my doctor father was the  breadwinner, and my mother was the backbone of their nursing home. She would supervise the diets for all the inpatients, many times cooking the food herself, as my father was  fastidious about the quality food his patients sampled. Utterly pampered, their whims were catered to, be it western diets, non vegetarian food, or a strictly vegetarian diet,  tea with snacks and so on. I would always be amazed at my mother taking it all in her stride quietly 24x7, where bed tea soon ran into breakfast, then mid morning “chota”, then lunch at precisely 12.30. After a cat nap she would be up to serve  tea for the patients, then early dinner. In between she catered to the demands of a young family which took her for granted. The staff and servants had to be fed, and I still recall the large balls of “kalli” (ragi balls) which were served to the servants along with piping hot curries, for sustenance and good health, not forgetting the mounds of rice which came later!

As if this were not enough,  our home being the mother home as I call it, there were house guests and various droppers in. I still have the huge vessel my mother used to make biriyani in for her daughters and their families for every get together. Being hardbound non vegetarians, my father insisted on various kinds of meats and curries. Mummy as everyone  calls her would be there to nurse us whenever we fell sick, care for our two grandfathers who lived with us, and duty bound, would take a walk most evenings to visit her sister and her family whenever time permitted.

This is just one example and in my mother’s time there were scores of other mothers who slaved in the home.  Our annual  visits to Madras even if it were in the  heights of summer were enjoyable to us! That one month was the time my mother got a break. I used to admire my aunt who managed a huge mansion with a livery of servants whom she personally trained. She was another heroine who ran the household on oiled wheels and being open house, food was in plenty and absolutely delicious. The graciousness and warmth of the hospitality had to be seen to be believed, and in many ways we carry this tradition with us.

If I had my life to live all over again, I would have stood up and lectured the whole family on taking on some of the burdens these heroic women bore. Did any of us praise the householder?  Did any of us offer to give her a break, taking her out for a  movie, shopping, or  a lunch out..? It was sacrilege to consider that,  as shopping, accompanying the young things to movies etc was part of the schedule.

It falls to the lot of the woman generally to take on multifaceted roles and many a time as caregiver. Nature has built into the woman a different kind of psyche, which covers tenderness, caring and commitment. However good a son might be, it is impossible for him to care for his aged parents the way the daughter can, sometimes attending on them hand and foot. The new gen woman juggles with home and career, and it is an immense strain for her to cope with the mental trauma of illness, time management and running the household. Unlike her older counterpart, today’s woman needs appreciation and help from her partner, to ease  the load off her multi-tasking.

The mother image changes with each generation. For us, mother was a constant presence, to kiss a bruised knee, or to apply the awful iodine, and blow away the pain. Her lap was there for us to lie on and hugs there in plenty at any time of the day.  Fathers were unseen authorities, to be obeyed, because they made the rules.

Today’s fathers are delightfully different, even Indian papas!  They bathe the baby, participate, change nappies, witness the birth of the child and are willing to share household duties, at least a large percentage of them, though side by side, one has to accept the hard boiled MCPs. Both parents make a concerted effort to spend quality time with the children.

One last word about a real hero, Manohar Devadoss who quietly attended to his quadriplegic wife, giving her a meaningful life despite her terrible handicap. With his delightful sense of humour, he pampered Mahema, pulled her leg, goaded her into attemping new skills though confined to the wheelchair. To attend cultural shows, he would carry her into the car, turn her around at night so she didn’t develop bed sores, and what he did for her was legion. All this when he was nearly blind, and it was a handicap which never deterred him from writing books, leaning on his wife’s vision,  and painting exsquisite pictures. With Mahema’s help he donated large sums to charity.  An exemplary couple, the Devadosses to me are role models who have heaped sunshine out of adversity. God give Manohar strength to carry on his life without his beloved life partner. This is one unsung hero I thought I would talk about, before I am accused of gender bias!

 

my book Kids Kitchen

When I got two of my books back from the publishers,  I decided to publish them online.  The one I have published in Kindle is Kids Kitchen, and was a work of love for my grandchildren.

I thought I had done with writing cookbooks, but they badgered me into it, saying I hadn't written anything for them. It seems so long ago!  I have one grandson and three granddaughters through my two children, and they tried out the recipes and gave me suggestions on what to include and what not to include. their ages ranged from 8-11.

What was thrilling for me, was my granddaughter Aditi who was nine at the time drawing 350 illustrations for the book, even picturising the instructions!  As luck would have it the publishers chose only 15, but it was a wonderful feeling for all of us. I still have a file of all her original drawings.

We had a fun time sampling the food cooked according to the recipes in the book, and my grandson Aditya who was outnumbered by his girl cousins took churlish delight in  sampling the food and offering his criticisms or praise.  Like his paternal grandfather, (my husband) he is a great connoisseur of food, and his suggestions were valuable.

When you publish online, you have to adhere to a certain format which is not so easy for someone my age and one who is not exactly a geek!  And moreover, you have to promote your book! And that is when the grands decided to put me back on Facebook.

Here is a sample recipe, and do try to read Kids Kitchen on Kindle, you can tell your children I've written a story for every chapter!

BISCUIT FACES

 24 Marie biscuits

¾ cup mashed paneer mixed with 2 tbsp of butter
20 black grapes or black currants or black olives
10 tomato slices
6 cheese slices
6 cucumber slices
½ bunch washed coriander leaves with stems

     Place the biscuits on a big plate

1. Mash the paneer smoothly and apply on each biscuit
2. Cut each grape into half and use for the eyes
3. Using a kitchen scissor cut curved strips from the tomato for the lips
4. Cut thin triangles for the nose from the cheese slices
5. cut thin curved strips for the eyebrows from the cucumber
6. Arrange the coriander leaves to look like hair at the top edge of the biscuit faces.
7. Place all these as you wish, and you can make different faces if you feel like it or use other ingredients

Note:  It is always safer to have extra ingredients so that you will have enough in case some of them are not cut properly. If you don’t like sweet biscuits, you can use any of the salty biscuits in the market. Home made paneer is easier to spread, if you buy the paneer from the shop, blend some butter so that it is smoother.

 

Delightful Indianisms

We have our own brand of delightful Indianisms, cute to an outsider, often thought of as quaint, but to some of us without a sense of humour, downright repugnant. Starting with salutary greetings, the popular American “Hi!” is universally excepted, and easier to respond to with an equally spirited “Hi!”. “Hello!” produced with warmth and the right inflection is nice, but tamer.

At the Gym, it is mandatory for all the employees to say,  “Good Morning Ma’am!” even if morning is long past, and irrespective of the fact that many of us workout late afternoons. I have tried (in vain) several times to convince them that it is appropriate to say “Good Afternoon!”.  The management being great optimists instruct the staff to hold on to the morning even if it is over. I wonder how the late evening gymmers are greeted.

When someone I am introduced to says,  “How do you do?” I am usually stumped. I believe the correct thing to say is “How do you do?” as a response, but I am not convinced…hard core Indo-Brits could provide the answer. On one occasion I actually heard someone answer the “how do you do?” with…”just as you do!” It is accompanied by a handshake, which is supposed to be “warm”, but most of the Indian handshakes I have encountered are limp, where only fingers slide into your palm, and,  apart from a gentle pressure, withdrawn as if the handshaker has been accosted with a scorpion bite. This mainly from shy, gentle men ( and I don’t mean gentlemen) who are afraid of these emancipated women who dare to grasp a man’s hand.

Good friend Ram pointed out another form of greeting, “How are you?” And in case you think that the person honestly wants to know how you are, you are sadly mistaken. The “greeter” turns away before you can draw a breath and questions another person on how he or she is.  The logical answer would have, in the old days, been “I’m fine thank you,” Today you should say “I’m good.” And God help you if you ask someone, “And how have you been?” Please be prepared for a torrent of complaints ranging from arthritis to irritable bowel syndrome and hospital stays, not forgetting lack of domestic help and NRI children.” And do be gracious over it, having asked the inevitable question and remember to make appropriate noises of sympathy at the right time, whenever there is a pause, instead of switching off.

What I really love today is the hug, so freely given, especially now that I am past the age of being hugged by people with sinister objectives. But the mother of all embraces was the one I was locked in when I visited my small vegetable shop. Entering I admired a nice looking lady with an aquiline nose, on which sat a beautiful diamond besari  which I  admired. Determined to take a closer look at the design under the pretext of buying vegetables,  I stepped on a fat shiny aubergine and skated into her arms which were trying to stem my fall. We were both locked in embrace moving from side to side as we teetered to gain our balance, or rather mine. The besari lady obviously thought that this nice friendly lady decided to give her a hug first thing in the morning and must have thought I was a true disciple of the hugging swamiji. The vegetable man grinned and loudly proclaimed that we must have been good friends who were meeting after a long time, for never had he seen a  hug lasting so long nor a woman who, red faced marched out without buying vegetables after the prolonged hug.

We must remember to “lift the telephone” and “off the fan” and no amount of sniggers will change the hard core Indglish speakers. So and so is “going to come” and mercifully not coming to go. Apart from leaving some English purists speech less, we, could also come across some rare happenings, or situations created by well meaning Indians. Some months ago I read in one of  our national dailies that a swan had been arrested in Vijayawada for not following the pecking order. A woman complained that a swan (khajana bathu) pecked at her daughter who was playing outside her house and alleged that the swan was chasing people and causing nuisance. The police arrested the offending creature and brought it to the station and booked a petty case, saying that an inquiry would  conducted into the incident. When the Forest Department authorities pulled them up,  and animal activists protested, Police released the bird which was tied up in the Police station without food or water.

And another caring bit of advice that kindly people give is “Take Care.” In the midst of swirling health problems in my family and associated critical situations, I receive hundreds of emails, phone calls besides cards and visits and at the end there are always these two comforting words…Take Care. Being Caregiver myself how do I take care? Wish someone else would do that for me. But I know that the advice is doled out by people who love and care for us. How have I been able to write this piece in midst of all this? Because writing affords me solace and I can handle any situation after I share my thoughts and more so if I bring a smile into someone’s life.

That is the way I heed everyone’s advice…”Take Care”

A Precious Legacy

 The Textile Industry is second only to Agriculture in India, a recent survey confirming the presence of about 24 lakh handlooms and 43 lakh handloom weavers which include  those connected with ancillary jobs like spinning, warping, dyeing as well as hand block printers. It would not be an exaggeration to state that   that textiles contributed to changing the course of Indian history. When our exquisite textiles, lined the coffers of Britain, and our weavers exploited, it was Gandhiji who led a movement to “cremate” foreign fabric and encouraged Indians to wear home spun cloth which was the forerunner of khadi, so popular today in sophisticated wear. This created a big dent in the economy for the British, and one thing led to another, ultimately to the end of the British Raj in India.

The handloom industry suffered a beating post Independence with the weavers in bad shape. It was Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay who revived our precious heritage, seeking Government support, establishing the Handicrafts and Handloom Board, unearthing our lost textile treasures, travelling to remote corners of the country to resuscitate languishing craft and handlooms, re instating the past glory.

The Atharva Veda  describes day and night as two sisters weaving, the warp symbolising darkness and the woof the light of the day. Sunlight and shadow come together on the loom, and mention of the sisters indicates that originally weaving was possibly the preserve of woman, before it converted to a male dominated guild. According to legends,Vishnu himself collected the rays of the sun to create a magnificent garment for himself. It is said that Vishvakarma was the first weaver of the Gods who made cloth out of lotus fibre.

The Aryan scriptures compiled around 1300-600 B.C. was thought to contain the earliest references to weaving in India till the Indus Valley civilisation was unearthed at Mohenjodaro, on the banks of the River Indus dating  back to the third millennium B.C.The Indus valley inhabitants knew the art of growing cotton, and understood that this innocuous looking fluff could be magically transformed into cloth that would cover their bodies. What a significant discovery it was, when through excavations at Harappan sites, a scrap of coarse madder dyed cloth was stumbled upon! The fragments of cloth were found wrapped round a silver pot, preserved by the metallic salts that impregnated the pot.

 Ancient Sind deserts unearthed terracotta spindle whorls and a bronze needle. It established the fact that not only did the early inhabitants of the Indus Valley know how to spin and weave but the coarse scrap of madder indicated that they knew how to dye the cloth that they wove. In this quest, discovery of dyestuff was an accidental finding. By-products of medicinal remedies from plants and minerals resulted in the delicate-toned Indian palette of colour which was vital for producing dyed indigenous cloth, sensational in their muted colour codes. These natural dyes obtained from barks of trees, leaves and nature, were the only colours known before the brilliant burst of chemical colours which tinted the world of textiles.

The Master Weavers of India had their own poetic imagination melded with traditional expertise, guided by social custom. Weavers from the different regions of India expressed themselves variously specialising in their own art forms. They conformed to needs of various regions, and not to vogue dictated fashion as is the present trend today. The shaping of Indian textiles was governed by the climate, the contours of the countryside, the geographical conditions, the minerals and salts present in the waters running through the land, cultivation of crops, presence of deserts and lush forest areas. The blossoming of  this art was dictated by royal patronage, religious practices and migratory artisans.

Spirituality and poetic metaphors are woven together in the textiles of India. The delicate fabrics of India, moved men to poetry. In the words of the poet Amir Khushru who describes the muslins of Daulatabad, “the skin of the moon removed by the executioner star could not be so fine. It is so transparent and light that it looks as if there is no dress at all, but that the wearer has merely smeared the body with pure water.” He mentions that hundred yards of the fabric could pass through the eye of the needle, so fine is its texture. Eastern India produced textiles of great delicacy. Khushru again talks of the Bihari muslin being “a pleasant gift of springtide, resting as lightly on the body as moonlight on the tulip or a dewdrop on the morning rose.”

The fragile cotton-muslin drew world wide attention. Buddhist literature speaks of the magnificient cotton spinners and weavers of Kashi, where the fabric is so tightly woven that oil cannot penetrate it. Spinning was assigned to the women, and the cotton cloths, washed, calendered, starched and perfumed. So sacred were these cloths, that they were used to wrap the body of the emperors when they died, and it is said that it was used to wrap the body of  Buddha when he attained eternal rest.. The Roman Emperors paid fabulous prices for these Indian cotton treasures, known as ‘woven winds’. Centuries later in the Moghul period, these cottons or Mulmul Khus were given poetic names like Abrawan  (running water) or Shabnam (morning dew)

Textiles provided the canvas for painters, embroiders and weavers to express themselves  like the sujni embroiders in Bihar or the resuscitated Chamba Rumaals of Himachal where the women poured out stories with needle and thread.

Colours and modes of wearing cloth defined regions at one time but not any more. Such is our legacy. A legacy which cannot be brushed off in the quest for modernity and western wear, but it is something to be revered and preserved for all time.

The Oath of Hippocrates

Party conversations.Politics.Corruption.Ethnic violence.Rape.Cricket. And if you are above sixty, state of health, medications, and yes doctors. “And they take the Oath of Hippocrates!” says one vociferous friend, “you may as well call it Oath of Hypocrites,”  Laughs all around, vigorous nodding, sound support. Most of us are eager to quote anecdotes. Time to raise my voice. “Don’t tar everyone with the same brush,” I venture, at the risk of sounding supercilious. “There are kindly souls in the medical fraternity. I have been lucky. My doctors are understanding and compassionate, they don’t exploit us…perhaps I choose such doctors…”my voice trails off as I see eyes popping and brows knitted together in disbelief. “please introduce us to these wonderful doctors, you would be doing us a favour,” I decide to watch them explode. For bottling up angst causes stress, haven’t we been told a million times?

When health has become almost a paranoia for most of us, doctors are part of the package. India ranks second only to China as the diabetic capital of the world. We are living longer, average lifespan has been pushed to 65, and modern technology has made it possible to survive the most difficult of odds, but the pattern of survival has become different. Do we want to linger, suffer, with the quality of life deteriorating, just to prolong our lives in an offspring-supportless environment? The answer lies in locating and staying with doctors and medical services you trust, and people who help you get on in life. For get on you must irrespective of age.

You might choose a doctor because he is eminent, and top of his profession. “Yes we did, and we ended up waiting four hours to see him, and came back with very little satisfaction.” Don’t choose him because he is eminent.  One of the docs described is forbidding looking with a stern visage and strikes fear into the hearts of his patients. They sit before him expecting a death sentence to be pronounced. “Why should they fear me?” he asks, A kindly soul with a heart of gold..the fear barrier has to be broken before realization dawns that he is compassionate. “ I am so overawed that I forget half the things I have to ask him and before I know it I am ushered out.”  

When an appointment is made with a doctor, please put down every single doubt which crosses your mind, before you see him or her. Normally, BP is checked, your heartbeats, your pulse, a cursory glance at your old records, then a prescription given, to you who sits there dumbstruck, then you are out.  Remember your rights as a patient. You need to know why certain medicines are prescribed and what effect they will have. You need to ask if you take them before food or after food. And, since most doctors specialize in illegible writing, you have to ask them to decode it and note it down in your handwriting provided it is not worse than the doctor’s. Ask the doc if the medication has side effect or contraindications. Tell him about any allergy you might have. Write down the list of medications given to you on your last visit and hand over the paper. This registers better than just “getting it off your chest”.

For all my worldly wise advice, I learnt my lesson through a bitter experience. I was prescribed Osteophos70  once a week. With implicit trust, I didn’t go through the accompanying literature, had it first thing in the morning, and started my usual exercises, bending and stretching. I threw up, suffered intense pain in the abdomen and was in bed the whole day! Only a little later, a friend acquainted me of the strictures, , upright position and empty stomach. Stay still for an hour, she suggested. My husband suffered severe reaction after a few weeks of this wonder drug and could not eat for his tongue was blistered. We were told later that this could lead to allergies for some. Moral of the story, read the literature accompanying any drug.

Choose your doctors with care, it really pays to be fastidious. Do enough research, talk to your friends, find out more about them. If you are the restless kind like me, don’t spend hours outside the doctor’s consulting room. You will find someone else just as good, only not so busy. Find a doctor who has more patience than patients, who will listen to you, and will talk to you and explain things in a way you understand. “There is this doctor who is reluctant to see patients, at the same time can’t close shop. He spends exactly five to ten minutes with you. By the time your driver reverses the car, you have one foot outside his consulting room. And he charges a bomb,  though admittedly his treatment works.”

When you have a rough idea of what the doctor’s fees are don’t crib. Come on, hehas  to make a living. And if he is as bad as you make him out to be, just don’t go there! Of course there are malpractices as there are in every profession. The cuts from prescribing expensive diagnostic tests, links with hospitals who expect doctors to advise hospitalization and the ICU. There was this doctor friend who wanted me to co-author a book especially written for his patients, where the malpractices of the medical fraternity was pointed out with candour. Though I admired him for his guts, I pointed  out that he could be sued.. After taking a legal opinion he thought better of it and just as well!

In these days of specialization, it is good to have a family doctor, the kind my father was. He used to visit his patients and most of them were helped by the touch of his hand and saying they were not so ill as they thought. Only in cases where the prognosis was not good would he call in other specialists for an opinion. Our bleeding knees were administered good old iodine and the nurses would blow on the wound when it hurt like hell.  Squeasy stomach, and Carminative mixture was given or Hewletts mixture!  Medicines were compounded to suit your disease. Ah, those were the days.

But when you discover a doctor that you like so much, don’t turn into a hypochondriac and run to him at the drop of a hat, as he too has a job to do, besides placating neurotic patients!!

Counter Attack

Every one of us should be mentally and physically equipped to respond to attack, says Joe Rodrigues, who conducts self-defence workshops for women

In the wake of rise in crimes against women in recent times, deep concern has been expressed across the country for women’s safety. Nirbhaya has become a household name, and memories of her are triggered whenever a young woman from our homes is out on the road unescorted.

“Women of all ages are targets for assault,” said Joe Rodrigues, founder and former director, Breakthrough Communication Services Pvt. Ltd. Joe was on a short visit to Chennai with his wife. “Every one of us should be mentally and physically equipped to respond to attack,” he said in an interview.

The Mumbai-based Rodrigues has developed a module on self-defence for women, which consists of a three-and-a-half-hour programme with demonstrations followed by on-the-spot practices that can be easily mastered. It is a complimentary package offered by Rodrigues who has conducted many such programmes in colleges and schools, even in far off Shillong and Guwahati.

Thousands of participants from diverse backgrounds such as public sector undertakings, transnational corporations and voluntary organisations have benefited from Rodrigues’ 30 years of training experience. His lectures cover areas such as stress management, assertiveness, creativity, leadership, motivation, communication and negotiation skills.

Why did a man who specialised in copywriting, client servicing, public relations, who was head of publicity in Roussel Pharmaceuticals and later in CIPLA, turn to this unusual vocation? “My love of teaching,” he said, simply. When your communication skills are strong, your messages have an impact. And for people like Joe, his skills are channelled towards a receptive audience, providing them with the tools to cope with the aggressive, deviant behaviour of perverts in today’s society.

He gave graphic examples — body language, to begin with. “If you hold yourself erect, and your head high, and swing your arms as you walk on the road, the message you convey is ‘here is a woman who cannot be trifled with.’ People actually move out of your path.”

According to Rodrigues, there are two kinds of predators — Force Predators and Friendly Predators. Force Predators generally believe in a sudden attack where the victim is totally unprepared, and fear leads to surrender. The foremost myth to be challenged is the one that labels woman as the weaker sex. Like animal predators, the human predator can also recognise the weak that are easy prey. They believe in isolation, and drag the girl to a lonely spot. The Friendly Predator preys on the gullible nature of the woman and traps her into trusting him and then makes his move.

There is no standard formula for self-defence, and every scenario is different. A woman’s instinct and gut feeling is not to be ignored. “Fear could paralyse her, but with mental preparedness, fear could be transformed into rage which galvanises her into action.”

The four ‘stays’

Four “stays” are mantras for protection. Staying fit with physical exercise. Staying away which means avoiding places and situations that could be dangerous and not wearing provocative clothes. Staying alert in public places. A predator who finds you distracted, say with your mobile, finds you easy prey. Glen Levy, Rodrigues’ guru, recommends that you don’t stay while being attacked. Flight is a sure way of escape.

Distract the attacker. Rodrigues quotes the instance of a man, a regular walker on Marine Drive, Mumbai, who spied three men surrounding another walker and one of them had a knife open. He just walked up to the group, as if he noticed nothing amiss and touched the victim on the shoulder, and said, “The others are waiting at the usual place for breakfast, let’s go.” Saying so he pulled the man and they moved quickly out of range of the attackers who were surprised at this unexpected intrusion.

Rodrigues demonstrated a few “measures”. In self-defence you could pinch the attacker. He asked me to pinch the flesh on the inside of my upper arm, and twist it sharply. Ouch! It did hurt. Another vulnerable spot is the inside of the thighs, of course, not so easily accessible. He demonstrated certain grips on the wrists that are hard to break.

These are but few of the “tools” Rodrigues teaches, but the entire gamut is best learned in the Self Defence for Women workshops, part of his Women Empowerment Series. He is willing to conduct workshops for groups of women, especially at women’s colleges and can be contacted at jbrodrigues@gmail.com

WEDDING BELLES

As kids we had an abhorrence of weddings.  True to form our parents trotted us through every ceremony till we knew the rituals by heart …mercifully the family tree was not in such abundance so the number of weddings were limited.

The only attraction was meeting our cousins,  nieces and nephews, some of them who were much older than me, and some first cousins  old enough to be my mother.  One nephew in particular, took churlish delight in introducing me amidst gasps as his aunt, a habit which he has not given up!. We were strictly told not to “play” with each other but sit primly watching the goings on. No wandering about even accompanied by strong looking male cousins as we would be easily kidnapped what with the jewellery we wore.

The best event was the wedding reception. The bridal couple relinquished the comfort of the sofa to shake hands with well wishers, trying to balance the flow of gifts . They would finally abandon all hopes of sitting till the long queue eased off. The plastic smiles they wore slowly morphed into grimaces.  The most entertaining event was the kucheri. No one bothered to listen to the singers warbling, the women were most engrossed in sizing up each other’s clothes and jewellery and viewing eligible young “girls and boys” who were paraded at weddings. The mridangam player and the nadhaswaram artiste would engage in the funniest of facial contortions, and we would imitate them and convulse into laughter till we were ticked off severely by an adult at this show of deep disrespect.

Weddings stretched to three days and if you were closely related you attended every single one of them. I thought that with the passage of time,  rituals would coalesce into a single window, and a one day wedding. On the contrary wedding celebrations have ballooned into a display of wealth, and aesthetics at a price. It does not matter that you are South Indian. You have a mehndi ceremony for “close women friends and relatives”, the sangeeth, the mappillai azhaippu, muhurtam and wedding reception, making it a five-day wedding.

Out comes the jewellery from the bank and preparations are afoot as every invitee likes to look her best. The men have it easy, or so I think. The pandal décor could cost anywhere between 2 to 5 lakhs depending on how much you want to spend and you could extend it further. You have event managers who supervise the flow, and in some cases are assigned the task of welcoming!

The best part of the wedding according to me is where every guest is accorded warmth and made to feel that his or her presence added to the wedding something which the family takes on, not strangers. On one occasion there was neither the event managing team nor the bridal couples’ relatives as we entered the mantapam. A smiling stranger insisted we go straight for breakfast, and we headed in the direction he pointed and enjoyed all the delicacies. Lo and behold there were no familiar faces, and as we stepped out we realised we had stumbled on to the wrong dining hall, and hastily beat a retreat to the wedding on a different floor.

“The food prepared is enough to feed an army” said a young nephew fired with idealism of youth and determined to get married under the trees or on the beach when his time came. To prove his point that anyone could partake of the wedding feast, he along with two other bright young men, all of them still in college, and suffering hunger pangs, spruced themselves up and walked in. The girls at the reception giggled and sprinkled rose water on them and offered them buttonholes  and kalkand. As they walked to the dining area, interested relatives ogled at these eligible boys wondering whether they belonged to the groom’s  side or the bride’s  and made a mental note to find out who they were. The boys scooted as soon as they  had their meal, and after several namaskarams to the men who fed them.

Whatever food is left over could be distributed to homes where the poor and needy could have a feast.. The illai saapad has its disadvantages, as much of food served is often left uneaten. Gifting  is another debatable and difficult issue. You cannot really gift something to a couple blessed with everything. Money in envelopes could get lost in the mela. Flowers, even expensive bouquets are tossed out as no one has the time to arrange flowers. And yet, can we  attend a wedding without taking something?

According to me, one  good idea is the gifting of a book, if you know what kind of persons they are. Books on marriage, cookbooks, self help books..there are plenty to choose from . Gift coupons from popular stores work well. The nicest idea we encountered was a little line in a simple wedding invitation. It requested  persons who wanted to gift the couple something  to make a cheque however small in favour of a charity  they were supporting. The envelopes were dropped into a box kept for the occasion after you wished the couple, and there was no surfeit of unwanted gifts.

When we ape the west so much why don’t we think of having a bridal shower?  The bridal couple provides a list of what they propose to buy, and the invitees discuss among themselves what they want to give them. It goes against our Indian way of thinking but I think it is so so practical without spending money on stuff which they would find useless..

One of the best weddings we have attended is on the beach, with just a select crowd of 100 people. Of course the only concession was hiring a white steed, for the groom, who, being a German enjoyed carrying off his precious love after the ceremony.  A priest solemnised the wedding in English  for the benefit of the groom and his family. The thali was tied amongst the strains of soft nadaswaram recorded music. The guests were taken to a restaurant booked for the occasion and we all came back happy.

I just keep wondering whether we will retract from these kind of social customs which have become a way of life, or will weddings stretch longer or whether we will come back again full cycle…it remains to be seen.