Birthdays and Babies

First off, let me apologize for not blogging in...forever.

My life has been decidedly boring, with not much to share. I work, I eat, I sleep.

I occasionally have time to read the news or actually do something interesting, and about half of that time I get a chance to have an opinion about it, but I never ever have the time to express that opinion. Especially not in the form of a well thought-out blog post.

My husband can attest to this, as I have been known to make a vain attempt to get my opinion out there into the universe by muttering incoherently about it to him as I drift off to sleep at night. He is not a fan of this approach.

Today, though, I have the day off work and am actually managing to refrain from checking my email and getting sucked in. I'm sitting in a cafe with my laptop watching through the window as the rain pours harder than the Indian monsoon. I'm not going outside in that mess. And so I find myself with time on my hands, and I think I will spend it writing nonsense.

This weekend included a very impromptu trip to NC to visit family. Saturday was hubby's grandfather's 89th birthday, and since he is actually in the U.S. for the occasion this year, we decided to celebrate with him.

Dadaji is a man you cannot help but adore and respect. He's tiny and cute and smiles and laughs all of the time and does yoga every morning despite being old as Methuselah and gives big bear hugs with a strength you wouldn't expect from his scrawny frame. My husband tells me that he really isn't as sweet as I believe, it's just that I'm his favorite. Jealousy is ugly, my friends.

Dadaji was a Freedom Fighter. He spent time in prison. He also apparently voluntarily let someone break a concrete slab on his chest with a sledgehammer for the entertainment of his fellow prisoners. New story he just shared last night. Who cares if it's true, it's awesome. I refuse to fact check an 89 year old.

With all of this age and experience comes a certain "I don't give a damn" attitude. He will say whatever he wants and you will sit there and take it. Ok, ok, all of my in-laws seem to have this attitude. But I can rationalize it from him, so it's alright. There's also the aforementioned cuteness on his side.

It's been no secret from the beginning that my in-laws expect me to have babies and soon. Right after our wedding, my mother-in-law gave me a deadline of two years. Actually, she gave me two years to have a kid and get him into college so I can take over her "NC State Mom" coffee mug, but that's neither here nor there.

More and more people in India are waiting longer to get married, waiting longer to have children, even deciding not to have children (or get married, for that matter) at all. But this is a very new development, beginning really with my generation and primarily in urban areas. Traditionally, marriage is not so much about the two people getting married as it is about popping out kids.

My husband was born so close to the nine-month mark after his parents wedding that the situation just begs for jokes. That is how the family expects it to be.

Every once in a while, hubby's parents ask "When are you going to have a baby?" I ignore it, no big deal. Such blatant tactics have no effect on me.

Lately, though, Dadaji has gotten into the mix. He also doesn't mince words, but he manages to catch me completely off guard and blindside me. A much more successful approach.

Last summer when I was leaving India, in the midst of a very benign conversation about the bus schedule, he threw in the very matter-of-fact statement that the next time I came to India I better bring a baby. Since I was returning in six months, and was not already pregnant, it was literally impossible for me to do, so I laughed it off. But I will admit I considered borrowing someone else's child for the trip so as to technically avoid letting him down. Apparently he gets to me.

He has now started asking about my reproductive plans in the midst of random phone conversations. How is your family, how is your job, how is your uterus?

This weekend, though, the old coot took the cake. "You've been married three years. You should have a baby. If you need to, see a doctor."

Well, ok then.

Nothing at all intrusive about that.

Then he moved in for the heartstrings.

"I don't have many birthdays left. I want there to be a child while I'm still alive."

For the love of God, man! I very nearly promised him a baby right then and there.

My husband saw me breaking.

He pushed me off the couch.

While we may have gotten through this trip without agreeing to rent out my womb, the time is coming when we won't be able to dodge the subject anymore. Hubby and I will either have to 'fess up to the apathy we feel about the situation, or get on board with the baby business. Neither option sounds particularly easy.

My Big Fat Indian Wedding Part 2 (and 3)

Hubby's best friend (finally!) got married on Saturday. We were unable to be there (it was short notice and tickets to India are hella expensive), but she promised photos and details.

I'm still waiting for the details, but man did she deliver on the photos! They greeted me this morning in my Facebook newsfeed (hey FB you finally served a purpose! good job!).

While I'm seriously enjoying the photos and the promptness with which they were sent, it's left me feeling quite guilty about my failure to ever share photos of my own Indian wedding with you. She managed it in 3 days, it's taken me nearly 3 years...same same.

And so I have finally dug up the insane number of photo cds provided to us by the "professional" photographer (I use that term lightly). Selecting and uploading photos was no small feat, as there are literally thousands of photos. And my computer sounded like the cd drive might just explode right off it at any moment. The cat was terrified.

Now, the thing about our wedding is that I had no idea at any point what was going on. Hubby didn't know the meaning behind any of it either, and his attempt to translate everything the priest said lasted about 30 seconds before we both agreed it would take all day. We never got back to that discussion.

So I can tell you (vaguely) what happened, but not what any of it means. I've tried looking it up online, which only taught me that what I was told was a traditional Gujarati ceremony(ies?) was not according to the letter of the internet law. So there are pieces I can explain and pieces I can't. So much for your education.

(By the way, if anyone actually does know what these things properly mean, please share in the comments. I for one would love to know.
The day began bright bright bright bright early, as my ladies in waiting descended upon my mother's hotel room to get me ready for the big day.

In the meantime, hubby's family was already at the wedding site, engaging in some sort of preceremony ceremony. This is one of those parts that I have no idea about. All I know is there was a breakfast buffet that my brother-in-law raided and brought to our hotel room. Because he's awesome.

Hubby, family and pundits sitting beneath the 'mandap,' the stage where the ceremony takes place.

I love this photo for the facial expressions. I don't know what's happening with the coconut.

One part I did know to expect (thank you, cinema!) was what is apparently known as 'pithi.' The bride and groom (separately, in their own houses) are have their skin covered in turmeric paste to give it a healthy glow and look more fair.

They are just having too much fun with this. Love it.

Thankfully, since my side of the party consisted solely of me, my mother and my two sisters, we didn't have to do any of these traditional ceremonies that we were supposed to be doing on our own.

This didn't stop hubby's aunts from spreading the fun though!

After these ceremonies, hubby's family all trouped back to their house...to take showers and begin getting ready for the wedding. My family and I already looked like this:

That's my sister, already draped in her sari, and me heavily made up and decorated. I don't know why I'm looking at her like that but I love this pic.

And the sari draping begins!

Check out that gear! These days I can wrap a sari myself (shameless bragging), but THIS. This was the very first time I'd ever worn a sari. Or even seen one wrapped. Wearing a sari is awkward enough even with practice, but the very first time? With easily 50 pounds of bling embroidery? It's a wonder I was able to stand, and I was most definitely not able to keep it all in place properly. 

Once everyone was ready for the wedding, the professional photo shoot began.

Check OUT those turbans

Dadaji, the coolest man ever, even while sporting a million yards of cloth on his head

The bro-in-law

Spreading the embarrassing photo pose love. Because no one should be subjected to it alone.

Then it was time for the procession (actually my pro photos were much later, after all the fun stuff happened, but you get the drift).

Traditionally, the groom's family processes from their house to the bride's house, accompanied by a lively band. In this case, the processed up the hill to the hotel. They love them some dancing, so it took about an hour I think. 

While I, of course, was not allowed to participate (huge huge bummer), I was allowed to watch from a car parked on the side of the street. It looked like loads of fun.

We actually went to a friend's wedding in Delhi the week after this, and I was insanely excited to get to dance in the procession this time. Alas, his family is not nearly as much fun and there were about three people dancing. Let. Down.

My knight in shining (embroidered) armor on his white steed

Let the party begin!

The man of the hour

My mom (doesn't she look awesome in this sari!?) welcomed hubby to the wedding site and did some sort of traditional nonsense as she was instructed. This photo is awesome because she had just grabbed him by the nose. Go Mom!

This one is also awesome, because she's leading him by a string around his neck, like a leash. Again, go Mom.

Because the ceremony was so insanely late starting, lunch had been laid out and all of the guests were eating. They all paused to welcome the insanity that was the procession, but when I entered...not so much. Sure, none of them knew me, but you would still expect us to draw a little attention on skin color alone.

Cutting a look to the guy eating lunch in the middle of my red carpet walkway. Sometimes my sisters and I actually do look alike...

Once I entered the mandap, hubby and I placed garlands of flowers around each other's neck. Hubby's friends and family picked him up to make it difficult for me to reach (I think that's normal and not an attempt to prevent the wedding...it's in a movie). Jumping in a heavy sari is no easy task, but you better believe I did it!

There was lots of stuff put in our hands and poured over our hands. I don't know why.

At some point a scarf was put around hubby's neck and tied to the hem of my sari. I don't know where that photo went but damned if I'm uploading any more. It apparently symbolizes the joining together of the bride and groom. A symbolic ball and chain, if you will.

Adding lots of random (to me) things to the sacred fire. Part of all Hindu wedding ceremonies as far as I can tell, but all the explanation I can find is that it's to evoke the God of Fire to witness the ceremony.

Adding more fuel to the fire because it isn't hot enough in India in the middle of the day with a giant heat lamp shining on you the whole time.

A quick search of Google will tell you the bride and groom circle the holy fire seven times, each representing a different aspect and promise of marriage.

Apparently Gujaratis cheat.

In a Gujarati ceremony, the couple only makes four circles. 

The internet tells me they represent "kama" (sensual pleasure), "artha" (worldly gain), "dharma" (virtue, righteousness, duty, cosmic order, etc. depending on where you look) and "mosksha" (freedom from reincarnation).

They were explained to me as having to do with bringin' home the bacon, maintaining the household, raising good children and...something else I believe religion related.

A lot gets lost in translation.

Even more gets lost when the person doing the translating doesn't know any more than you do.

In India (or the part of it that contains my mother-in-law) there are several signs of marriage a woman wears. A necklace made of gold and black beads, called a mangalsutra. A gold bangle on each wrist. And a stripe of red powder (that I don't know what is) down the center part of her hair.

There are probably more, but these are the ones I've been told about. It's a piecemeal education.

The super sexy stripe

The mangalsutra

The ring, for shits and giggles

There is always food involved in everything. And it almost always involves feeding it to someone else and them in turn feeding it to you. (You should see birthdays. It's a hot mess.)

This red cloth is another thing I know nothing about. All I know is that between the heaviness of the sari and the garland keeping it smushed against the back of my neck, the last thing I wanted in all that heat was a blanket. Luckily it didn't have to stay on long. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, and I've never seen it again.

After the ceremony, we got into a car that was then for some reason driven over a coconut to much celebration.

Then we went to hubby's family house, where there was more to do before I could enter. There was the dabbing of various powders onto the forehead that seems to go with pretty much every activity.

And then I got to kick the rice. A cup of rice was put on the floor in front of me, and hubby said I had to kick it over and be sure to get all the rice out. I kicked that sucker clear across the room.

The internet tells me the bride represents Laxmi, the goddess of wealth and prosperity, and spilling the rice represents the bride bringing that wealth into the household (in the form of good luck, I guess, since traditionally the women don't work outside of the home).

Then I stepped into a pan of red liquid and tracked footprints across the floor. No idea on that one.

After that I was immediately whisked up stairs so that an army of cousins could get me out of all my gorgeousness. And after I laid down the law that the beautician ladies would do the family first so I could take a shower, I was promptly done up all over again for the reception.

Like a lot of weddings in the U.S., the reception involved a receiving line. Unlike most weddings in the U.S., there were 700 people to greet. While standing on a stage. Need I say more?

The reception venue

I totally want this for my living room...

My ears still hurt looking at those earrings!

For each group of ten or so people that crossed the stage to greet us, we paused for a photo. I'll just give you one example, because why would you need to see nearly 100 photos of people you don't know? I certainly don't.

This was how the reception progressed. There were no ceremonies, no little cultural eccentricities. It was comparatively a simple night (if you don't count having to greet 700 wedding guests).

Afterwards we were even allowed to eat! And talk to hubby's friends! And then I was deposited back in my mother's hotel room to await the next morning's final ceremony.

My Big Fat Indian Wedding

Here it is! Two and a half years later, the story of the circus that was my Indian wedding.

I started this blog last year to share my two month stay in India with friends and family back home. I thought of this primarily because when I got home from my first trip in 2009, so much had happened I couldn't remember everything I wanted to share.

It's all well and good to just cover topics from last summer forward, but let's just admit it...what people are really interested in is the wedding.

It's not something that can be summed up all neatly and tied with a bow. The wedding itself went on for three days and that isn't including the maddening days leading up to it.

Keep in mind that this was my first time not only in India, but in any non-Western country. So I was essentially overwhelmed 24 hours a day. Add to that meeting extended extended family and taking part in activities where I didn't know my ass from my elbow, and you can imagine the insanity of those few days.

So I won't go into any detail about that. (Also, I was so sleep deprived I'm not sure I remember any details anyway.)

So I will start with the first big wedding event: Mehndi (or henna as I knew it before that moment).

This was a bit of an ambush. It was supposed to take place the next day, all traditional style, but the family decided it would take too long so we'd just go ahead and get it over with. And thus I ended up with many many photos of me in hubby's aunt's pajamas. I don't remember now why they put me in her pajamas. But nevertheless, there I was.

Look at me, completely unsuspecting of how lengthy the process would really be

Hey one arm! On one side!

And five hours later. I have no idea where photos of my legs are. Perhaps every one was too tired to care by that point. Note the towels under my arms so I could relax without actually touching anything.

I thought this was the world's longest process. I was so incredibly wrong. The events just got longer from here.

After sleeping for a mere few hours (I must say, hubby had been napping all the while) trying to not move (such a restful sleep), guests began arriving (5am) and I was woken up, mendhi scraped off, plastic bags shoved on my hands and feet and told to shower. Oh the fun. Hubby whisked me off to the hotel where my family was staying, where I managed to steal a few more blissful hours of sleep before beginning the process of scrubbing all the ink and oils off my skin to leave just the stain.

A few hours later, preparations began for that evening's activity: the Sangeet.

A team of women had been hired to do my hair and makeup as well as that of most women in the family. By reason of insanity, they always started with me, then left me to sit for hours until everyone else was ready to go. I also learned on the very last day that none of these women had even seen a white woman before, much less done their makeup. Which explains why I had more bright makeup plastered onto my face than Barbie. (Did I mention they also didn't speak English and no one was around to translate?)

That outfit weighed about 20lbs. It turned out to be the lightest one I would wear.

My impression of the Sangeet was that it would be a lot of singing and dancing performed in our honor. That may have been the case but if so they really shouldn't have bothered.

My mother-in-law's singing group performed for several hours. And when I say "several" I only wish I were exaggerating. 

They don't sing all that well, and even hubby didn't understand most of the lyrics.

At one point, they attempted to sing Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline." They were at the chorus before my family and I realized what it was supposed to be.

Later came the story of how we met. As told by the leader of the singing group. I don't know where she got her facts from. Neither of us were asked, that's for sure. 

In case you're wondering, we apparently met at a nightclub. 

Yeah I didn't know that either.

The thing about something being done in your honor is that you're not allowed to stop paying attention. When it gets boring, you can't wander off to the side and talk to people (as 90% of the guests were doing). You can't even stare off into space because your photo is being taken constantly and you must be smiling happily in each and every one.

It was a night that semi-prepared me for what was to come. The next day would be the wedding and reception, and it was definitely a doozy.