Rodevra Republic

At weddings, the bride and groom may be at the centre, but human behaviour steals the show

The proceedings usually begin with a muhurat, solemnly printed on the invitation card in bold letters, as though everyone intends to honour it with military precision. Yet, when the auspicious time actually arrives, barely half the “close family and friends” are present. This, of course, is mostly a big-city phenomenon. In smaller towns and interiors, the actual wedding ceremony still remains the central event. People arrive just in time for the exchange of garlands, bless the couple, may not even have the meal, and disappear with remarkable efficiency, sometimes within fifteen minutes.

Weddings are among the few occasions where one meets long-lost relatives and old friends. Sadly, funerals are the other. Time reveals itself most dramatically at such gatherings. One notices how people have slowed down. Men once energetic and commanding now walk cautiously with support. I was shocked to see a relative who, in his younger days, was something of a “Mr. Bombay,” now moving with a walking stick. Yet traces of the old glory remained. When he shook my hand, he nearly crushed it.

You also see children, once running about noisily at earlier weddings, now fully grown adults with children of their own. Some have aged gracefully; others carry only faint reminders of the striking personalities they once were. One also encounters every variety of human temperament. Some remain firmly rooted to their chairs throughout the event like protected heritage structures, while others circulate tirelessly, greeting people with the stamina and commitment of election campaigners.

Then there are the incorrigible socialite types, for whom weddings are less family occasions and more carefully managed social conventions. Their primary mission is visibility. They glide from group to group with remarkable efficiency, gravitating to the more powerful and well-known of the lot, ensuring that as many people as possible notice them and, preferably, remember that they have just returned from a foreign trip, attended an exclusive club gathering, or managed to secure tickets to a much-talked-about performance at a prominent theatre.

Their competitiveness is rarely open or direct. Instead, success is conveyed through casually dropped references to travels, social engagements, knowing the “right” people, and the unmistakable air of “been there, done that.” Even ordinary conversations somehow find their way to their contacts, invitation-only events, or children comfortably “settled abroad.” Most have reached that stage in life where finances are secure and routines well established, and where maintaining relevance, social visibility, recognition, and the gentle exchange of mutual admiration become pursuits in themselves.

Occasionally, this tendency takes a slightly darker turn. In the guise of concern and sympathy, they gently probe into other people’s troubles, gathering details with surprising enthusiasm. The unsuspecting victim may believe genuine concern is being shown, little realising that the information has entertainment value and future circulation potential. Weddings, with their abundance of captive audiences and scattered conversations, are ideal venues for such social athletics.

Then comes the other great pillar of the Indian wedding experience: food.

If people were entirely honest, many would admit that the menu ranks only slightly below the bride and groom in importance. Yet the reality often struggles to match the anticipation.

The ordeal begins with the circulating starters. Have you ever attempted to pick up a slippery cube of paneer or a stubborn piece of chicken using nothing but a toothpick while balancing a paper napkin in the other hand? It becomes a test of character. Usually, after two failed attempts under the watchful gaze of the server and nearby guests, dignity is abandoned and fingers take over. Then comes the secondary challenge: where does one discreetly dispose of the used toothpick and crumpled tissue?

I sometimes feel the servers should be given a full meal before they begin service. Watching hundreds of people eat while carrying trays endlessly around the hall must require saintly discipline. There is also a delicate art to attracting a server’s attention without appearing greedy. Some people manage this with sophistication; others pursue the paneer tikka with the determination of tax officers conducting a raid.

The main dining area presents challenges of an entirely different order. Live counters invariably attract long serpentine queues where people jostle politely while pretending not to jostle at all. By the time one reaches the counter, another anxiety emerges: how much should one take? Too little, and the effort feels wasted. Too much, and one risks discovering midway that the promising-looking dish tastes like an experimental chemistry project.

Often there is no opportunity to survey the entire spread beforehand. The safest strategy is to discreetly examine other people’s plates while walking past, a skill developed by experienced wedding attendees over many years. One wise relative of mine solves the problem by consulting nearby youngsters on what is actually worth eating. Their intelligence network is usually accurate.

Then comes perhaps the greatest challenge of all: finding a place to sit while balancing a dangerously overloaded plate. Empty chairs are rare, and when spotted usually turn out to be “reserved” by a handbag, purse, shawl, or occasionally a mobile phone occupying the seat with full authority. One may finally secure a place halfway through the meal and immediately enter into polite small talk with strangers already seated there, all while trying not to spill dal on oneself.

No wedding meal truly ends without dessert, regardless of whether one has any appetite left. The sweets may not always justify the effort, but by then dessert feels less like desire and more like ritual completion.

If the wedding ceremony and reception are combined into a single grand event, the final phase begins after lunch. Guests return to the hall for the reception and then begins the long wait for the couple to arrive dramatically onto the stage.

This is perhaps the most difficult stretch of the event. After a heavy, spicy meal, nothing feels more desirable than a short nap. Most possible conversations have already been exhausted earlier, leaving people with little to do except observe others discreetly. Finally, amid loud music and choreographed enthusiasm, the couple makes their grand entry.

The moment they reach the stage, a sudden urgency grips the gathering. Guests who appeared half-asleep moments ago spring to life and rush to join the line for greeting the couple. Husbands gently dozing in corners are shaken awake by their wives and instructed to “come fast, the line is moving.”

A certain orderliness prevails in the queue. People study those ahead of them, trying to guess their relationship to the family from fragments of conversation. Occasionally, in a spirit of friendliness, one even confirms the guess directly.

And thus the eventful, or perhaps uneventful, wedding comes to an end, unfolding almost exactly as countless weddings before it have done.

Two people have begun a new life together. For them and their families, it is a moment of joy and celebration. The rest of us attend to bless them, renew old connections, observe the endless theatre of human behaviour, and finally return home carrying memories, mild exhaustion, and perhaps a slight overdose of dessert.