30
Nov
2009
Last night we stopped traffic. Literally. After being picked up from the i-could-be-anywhere prison of my hotel room I was taken by deep’s neighbour Kshitij (amazing guy, his name translates as Horizon I’ve since discovered) to Deep’s place which on the surface of it is in a good neighbourhood but still one that is in a constant state of re-development.
I arrived to see Deepesh, dressed in a bejewled full length gown and ceremonial turban on a horse surrounded by his whole family with drummers and cheers and dancing. There was a woman throwing rice at his head which is apparently good luck! The closest parallel I can think of is like turning up to your friends wedding to see him dressed as a knight of the round table on a horse, surrounded by morriss dancers and a marching band with their whole family breakdancing. No, that doesn’t quite do it, but it’s about as strange.
We then paraded down the street, stopping cars, bikes, auto’s (tuk tuk’s) and everything else from doing anything. People were out on their balconies watching and cheering. The horse didn’t seem to be affected by all this attention, but deep was wearing the broadest smile I’ve ever seen. He was carrying his sister’s younger son in front of him on the mare (female horse) as it’s good luck.
After making our way through several turns at a ridiculously slow pace we finally made it to the temple where Deep dismounted to receive his blessings. Unfortunately I wasn’t allowed in, but the dancing on the street continued and I got a chance to meet (listen and smile and nod) at Deep’s friends and relatives as they spoke fluent pujabi to me and I responded in fluent smiles. Damn I’m good at smiling, but need to work on my punjabi. I learnt Bohat Acha Lega Absay Melke (phonetically) which means ‘Nice to meet you’. Unfortunately rather than ending the barrage only seemed to introduce a small chance that I might understand anything that they are saying. More fluency ensued.
After the temple we walked back to Deep’s flat where I met more of Deep’s friends and family on the way, though fortunately more of them spoke English. I meet Amit and Taru – Deep’s school friends who were already wasted and Ranjit and another guy who were Deep’s Uni friends. All were wearing their own unique style of suit, shirt and shoe combo that made me feel like my grey suit, white shirt, moustache and blue tie was a little colonial. I met primobadesh, who I nicknamed Indian Michael Jackson cause he had all the moves… The warmth with which I was received was impressive and heartfelt. Deep arrived in his brand new car, covered in flowers and regalia, seemingly releived that the woman had stopped throwing rice at his head.
We were the burati – the friends and family of the groom and we headed to the brides home town in convoy.
After a 2 and a half hour drive through Delhi out to Rohtak with Shitish and a bottle of Teacher’s to keep me company we pulled up in a reception break 4km from our final destination. Multi-coloured drinks or tea to quench our thirst or potato chips (battered and fried flat chunks of spiced potato) or finger chips (like batter fried french fries) in dips of green, orange or creamy sauce ensued. Deepesh went through a ritual or two and I slowly realised all the young men had disappeared. Amit arrived and dragged me off, telling me that ‘the young guys don’t like to drink near their elders’… we disappeared out of the venue and round the back of the building where there were 15 guys all drinking whisky and vodka out of the back of a small silver car. Suddenly I felt like I was back in a UK car park. I arrived to a cheer. For some reason I seemed to be popular. I think genetics may finally be on my side. Yes, I’m the token white guy, but here it seems to work in your favour.
We drank a fair amount of whisky and I met more of the family, we told jokes and broke the ice. Apparently I’m good at one-liners. It was a great laugh and for the first time I felt part of the event.
We got back in the cars and after about 15 mins stopped on the side of the motorway and for some reason, got out. It was instantly obvious as I stepped out the car that we had reached our second destination. There were about 8 cars and a coach pulled up on the roadside, Deep was back on a horse (a different one of course) and the woman was back throwing rice at his head. We started off on the second procession, only this time it was in the dark, there were a marching band of about 14, five kids pulling portable bright lights and a train-shaped generator, a huge metal trailer with a huge trumpet like speaker and a sound system on it and more dancing.
Just to remind you, we were on the side of a 2 lane motorway.
In the distance we could see the venue (not far off the size of a football pitch lit up in flashing lights). It was about 100m away but it took about an hour to get there. Deep’s family were standing on the central reservation setting off massive fireworks, some of which exploded at ground level creating an invasion like feel to the whole affair… that’s if the invading army were trying to blow themselves up… I got told off for ducking. Several people got hit by cars going past but didn’t seem to be bothered.
That’s mostly because everyone was busy dancing… the drums were the key, drumming over the top of the songs being played out – the whole family got involved and although I’d avoided it up till now, Umesh, Deep’s younger brother dragged me in. There’s a real style to dancing this way – freestyle. At first I struggled a bit with the pressure, but soon relaxed when I realised that it’s hard to get it wrong. The energy levels were intoxicating as was the proximity to the drums… The sheer volume of the music and of everyone cheering was getting me high. But then you save a thought for Deep, sitting at the back of the parade on a horse. I went to pay him a visit to check he was ok, but he was loving it and was more worried that everyone seemed to want to dance with me. He wasn’t wrong. In the space of half an hour I’d had a punjabi dance off with almost every member of his male entourage. I had thrown shapes I had never managed before to live percussion surrounded by a live audience ‘the white man can dance’… It was hard to let go of my preconceptions of fun and of intimacy – holding hands and dancing with so many different men, all ages, shapes sizes and styles. It’s not usual… but liberating. ‘You honour us’ was a humbling comment often used.
As Deep’s regiment marched towards the venue we dropped a couple of mortars close to the door and put the band into overdrive. The family of the bride – fronted by the four sisters were waiting on what seemed to be the finishing line 20m away – despite this it took a further 45 mins to get there. Money was thrown in the air, more dancing, more music.. the atmosphere momentarily went a little odd as the men fought over who was going to pull the horse over the threshold but eventually Deep dismounted to a cheer and stepped up to be painted by the sisters.. I’m not entirely sure what happened but I saw some facepainting and a large lettuce leaf. Deep then spent another 15mins here before a massive cheer was let out as he crossed the line… Woop woop!
I can’t really describe the venue, but imagine a large building at one side of a square about 30m square. The other sides of the building were set with food and drinks stalls. That’s right, 270 degress of food and drink. I decided to play spin the white guy and where I stopped I headed towards a food stand. It worked every time. In the centre was a platform, around the platform radiated groups of tables and seats that filled the rest of the space sparsley but effectively. The building at the front had a stage, upon which were two throne seats which Deepesh had since made his way to, surrounded by his entourage, a TV camera, three photographers and the rice woman that was still throwing rice at his head. Damn it…
I had a moment to catch my breath and watched Deep as his friends and family slowly moved from dancing around him to the dance floor, which was in the left corner of the building, on the grass. It was amazing – the guys that had been dancing all the time were suddenly confined to a dance floor. Now you see where the organisation comes in. 20 mins later Anjana arrived to a massive cheer. She looked incredible – decked out in every way imaginable. She took about 10 mins to cover the 10m to where Deep was waiting at the thrones, till a massive cheer erupted as they met…. they didn’t waste time now, now it was time to get married. This involved a short walk, followed by their entourage, to the platform at the middle of the event, the whole way paved with marigolds and blessings. Damn that rice woman.. They climbed the stairs to the platform from opposite ends and met in the centre… They were handed their wreaths to the start of a petal cannon that was showering them in orange and red flowers. They slowly took it in turns, smiling in fluent smiles, to place the wreaths over each other heads. Deep first then Anjana. Another cheer erupted, for now they were married. I let myself tear up a bit. They both looked ecstatic…
They then made their way back to their thrones for the photo opportunity, which was still going on when we left an hour later. I had the chance to sample some of the food, paneer tikka – flame grilled cheese in a tikka and lemon juice sauce (yum) and the saag sauce. Sweets were like a condensend milk sauce with a sweet coil of sugar stick, spiced carrot or hot milk. All was delicious. I wish I had the stomach to go crazy with the food but Deep told me I needed to take it slowly as the oils they used would not agree with me straight away. It was tough but I’ve got another chance tonight to be more experimental.
There’s no way I can convey what it’s like to you. But I’ll tell you one thing. I know who does it better out of the British and the Indians. It was a festival of joy.
This article was written by: Rich
I'm the author of miune.com. Please get in touch if you are interested in a photobooth or some photography work.
One comment.
Common Rich my name is Kshitij not Shittish. meaning of my name is Horizon not Horrific
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