Wedding Crashers

Wedding Crashers

I thought it was a dumb idea.

Looking back, it was a dumb idea.

It was the among the most interesting travel days I have ever had, and I have been blessed with a lot of them!

We had a blast.

Judi and I, together with our travel partners Ellen and Michael, were invited to a wedding where we knew absolutely nobody and we were the most honored of guests. We had never met the bride, Jyoti or the groom, Himanshu. We schlepped an hour and a half by car in each direction outside of Mumbai, avoiding potholes, dogs, cows and other roadside obstacles, shocking to the westerners and de rigueur for Indian cab drivers.

After finding this website, joinmywedding.com, where for a not insignificant price four westerners like us can wrangle an invitation to a Hindu wedding. I was the skeptical one. I have been to many weddings in my life, sitting by the loudspeakers with people I didn’t know and would never meet again, doing the rabbinic smile to indicate that I am happy to be here—which by the way I was happy for the couple and their families, but I wasn’t going to hoist people up on chairs (with my back, are you kidding?) and it was too loud to make small talk and the minutes ticked by all too slowly and I timed my early exit after one drink and a glass of wine. They don’t teach that in rabbinic school. You learn on the job, quick.

Not wishing to be a spoil sport for Judi, Ellen and Michael, I went along. We paid our money and took our chances. We bought our Indian wedding outfits. My wife was a queen and I was a maharaja. I put on my smile and went for curiosity's sake.

We had an unforgettable, marvelous experience.

The wedding was entirely outdoors. India is hot. We worked hard to stay hydrated. No booze, no meat, no wedding singer, no orchestra. And as much as we tried to blend in, not a chance! The bride’s brother was our interlocutor, coming by frequently to explain the customs. We nodded politely pretending to understand.

Our weddings are solemn occasions. Everyone is meant to focus on the rabbi and the couple. Half an hour is all we get before the guests get antsy and the bartenders get busy. This wedding took hours. And our day was just the pinnacle in what is a several day affair.

Jyoti and Himanshu were part of the new Indian generation. Theirs is a “love” marriage, as opposed to the typical arranged marriage. Love marriages are still not the majority of marriages in India, but the times are changing. Just ask Tevye and Golda.

The outfits were bright and colorful, the jewelry overstated, the noise of the piped in Bollywood music unrelenting. And for the four of us, wedding crashers, we were the guests of honor. We first met the bride as she was preparing for her moment. And then we went out on the streets of wherever we were to dance in the procession as the groom followed his family and the street musicians on a white horse. Upon his entry, he offers gifts to his bride’s family. His soon mother-in-law to be washes his feet and his brother-in-law pulls at his ears as if to warn him, “Treat my sister kindly or I’ll come get you.”

The customs are mostly a blur for me. And as the wedding went on for hours, people drifted in and out, paying attention sometimes and sometimes heading to the buffet, milling about, catching up, sharing gossip and enjoying the social event of coming together.

In the meantime, on the stage, the photographers blocked everyone’s view. The Brahmin officiant chanted who knows what, kind of like chanting Hebrew at a Jewish wedding where everyone is supposed to enjoy the chanting, but few understand what is being sung. The couple makes some promises to each other, throws rice into a fire pit and walks around it seven times as the flames dance in the center. (Try doing this in the Marriott hotel ballroom.)

The parents were bound together with the couple. The weddings express a sense of loss, too. The bride leaves her home and goes to live among her husband’s family. This can be challenging. I feel sorry for the poor groom who has to manage his new wife and his mother under one roof. It can be hard to keep both happy, especially when both mother and bride are competing for the groom’s allegiance. Everything about married life is new for the couple. Prior to their union Indian couples don’t live together or even spend time alone.

The guests throw colored rice in the air. I don’t know why, but we threw colored rice in the air. Fireworks go off at appointed times, quite like when the Crimson Tide score a touchdown. I am not sure why, but it does add to the wow factor. After a break in the action for the couple to have a private dinner and a costume change, the couple dress in their fancy clothes and make a new entrance under a lighted walkway to greet their guests and collect their gifts.

Smoke machines add to the ambience.

Really remarkable to us was the opportunity to interface with the Indian guests. Every guest in a sari or kurta wanted their individual picture with us. I felt like I was a star at the wedding Oscars. Ellen, with her blonde hair was especially in demand. As the evening wore on and the attention to all things wedding waned, a delightful group of teenagers surrounded us to talk and play truth and dare over the Bollywood din.

By the time we left, we had been at the wedding for eight hours. We were honored and feted, almost like we were the brides and grooms at our own wedding.

Join my wedding, what a fabulous idea. We helped Jyoti and Himanshu pay for the affair, met some remarkable people, and had an experience that nobody I know has ever had before.

Love is in the air. When you come to India, go to a wedding. Be a star. You can be the wedding singer and boogie as loud as you want. “Celebrate good times, come on!” And everyone will take your picture.