Friends and Family

Vivek's Granny .... somewhat bemused by all the activity ....

Day One - of worlds colliding

So the first of my friends arrived from England into Calcutta yesterday, and we all met up at VIvek’s sister’s place for lunch. Talk about twilight zone, it was just so bizarre to see my two best girlfriends Sarah and Justine and Sarah’s adorable 3 year old , one of my oldest and dearest friends Jamie and his Israeli friend Maya, old friend Jimmy and his wife Sha … sitting in Jo’s living room in Calcutta tucking into Biryani. It was truly one of those – am I awake or am I dreaming moments, and as I’ve been having increasingly bizarre dreams for weeks about the wedding, it was hard to differentiate.
All the guests have settled into the cutesy little guesthouse we’ve booked, and acclimatizing themselves to Calcutta’s pace. Those who have visited before are fairly relaxed and enjoying the familiar sights, sounds and smells which are so generic to any Indian city, those who are coming to the continent for the first time are a little more wide eyed, a little more challenged by the spicy dishes, and certainly not entirely relaxed as we hurtle around the streets in Calcutta’s traffic.

One week countdown ....

One week today and I’ll be waking up as a newlywed. Can’t believe the time has finally come, and we’re actually living all those excel lists and plans and e mail promises. Seems like we’ve been planning this forever, I can’t even remember a weekend when we haven’t had to shop for lehenga, go for wedding dress fittings, send e mails to guests reminding them to confirm flight details, speak to sister in laws about accommodation plans in Calcutta, order rings etc etc. But I think we planned it all pretty well and down to the last detail, finally. Now all that remains is to see how far life imitates the plan.
Of course, the best laid plans always go awry, and last minute hiccups should be savored rather than stressed over. My ability to relax and go with the flow was sorely tested yesterday when I decided to show Mum my amazing bridal lehenga …. And so I shook out the jewel encrusted skirt, flaunted the backless bodice and reached for the dazzling dupatta … the dupatta (scarf part and very integral to the entire outfit) … which was nowhere to be found. After scrabbling frantically through the cupboards and searching my brain for its whereabouts whilst my husband to be tried to calm me down, it was clear that the dupatta had not accompanied the other parts of the lehenga home. WE rushed to the store …. I tried to stop my voice from going squeaky as I breathlessly asked the patient salesman – my lehenga, my lehenga, no dupatta, see …. Calmly he reached for his book of receipts, located one and informed me that I had in fact left it back for minor alteration a month previously. Doh!!! Shamefacedly I retrieved the gorgeous item and finally banished all nightmarish thoughts of being the world’s first dupatta-less bride.
Mum and Dad and Julie arrived 3 days ago, and we’ve enjoyed catching up and getting them prepped for the wedding events. Picked up a lovely salwar for Mum, another dazzling lehenga for Julie (though of course not as blingy as mine J) and a sherwani for Dad. Then went shopping for bangles and bindis, the best part. Simply hold out your lovely bright saree/dupatta/blouse, stand back and allow the banglewala to mix and match from his vast and glittering collection of brightly coloured bangles, some silvery hued, others all colours of the rainbow, some studded with crystals and pieces of glass which catch the light as you glide through the room. Within a few seconds, he has feverishly unwrapped and mixed and matched a set of bangles, one for each arm, which perfectly complement your outfit.

So near .....

Picked up the rings .. (but had to lock them away for safekeeping ... waa waa)

Three weeks and counting

So we crossed the 'one month and we'll be married' point ... couldn't work out if the 'one month to go' countdown started from Weds 8th Oct or 4 Saturday's before D day, but both seemed significant anyhow. Today we went to church and heard the first banns being read which was awesome and kind of strange at the same time. 

So now everything is really done, lists and lists written and rewritten and ticked off and everyone organised and sorted and flights booked and invites out and accomodation booked for foreign guests and clothes organised and church booked (that took some doing as they required M15 style security check in form of proof from various sources that I'm REALLY 38 years old and omigod actually unmarried yes spinsterish and withering away on that top shelf with ovaries rapidly dessicating into sultanas I may be BUT NO I AM NOT MARRIED). Finally, it took a letter from a Brit Member of Parliament and a letter from one of

 India's Top 25 Businesswomen (according to Business India Today) to prove to the Cathedral's fogeyish committee that I am free to be married and that after marriage it is unlikely that husband and band of 5 kids will turn up and claim otherwise (an event which actually did recently happen, hence their paranoia). But now, finally, I am set to glide swanlike up that long long aisle .... 

We had fun getting the 500 invites printed at this wonderful little homestyle printers tucked deep into one of Andheri's little communities ... every invite hand printed, this was one place which the digital age hasn't touched. We did end up laser printing the envelopes, but still the desi hand touch defined our invitations. The invites were loudly claimed to be 'awesome' by one and all - a particularly flattering pic of the 2 of us taken at a party last year (and a bit of retouching of lines and freckles Praise the Photoshop) and with a tracing paper cover and the invite inside in silver lettering. Gorgeous. 

Indian Shocker

So I was in the office today when in bounds Ashok, visiting from Delhi. Last time I saw Ashok, he was lamenting his single status and wished he could find a nice girl to marry and settle down with. that was 3 or 4 months ago. He rushed into my office today, huge grin on his face, and thrust  card into my hands. No ordinary card this, but a wedding card - Ashok marries Priya. My face must have showed its confusion, but the Indians in my office nodded wisely. From single to married in a heartbeat .... sometimes I think the whole Indian system of arranged marriages has its benefits. Whilst a million western girls wilt bridget jones like on the shelf, their perky Indian counterparts are advertising for their spouses in the newpaper, interviewing them, and arranging their nuptials if their horoscopes match. 

Buying sarees

Made a trip to Chennai this week, where I shopped til I dropped … for sarees. Tradition has it that the bride to be has to give sarees to various relatives of the groom, plus I wanted to pick up sarees for all the girls coming from the UK to wear at the wedding reception. I had heard that Chennai is India’s silk saree capital with rock bottom prices and huge saree stores everywhere but was total unprepared for the reality – cavernous three and four storey saree shops ringed with sarees stacked floor to ceiling in every imaginable colour, fabric and price range – from the cheap and cheerful 50 rupee number to wedding sarees for 2 lakhs or more. Hundreds of little men in dhotis whisking lengths of gorgeous fabric onto cushioned counters for inspection by hordes of aunties, chaiwallahs roaming around to refresh those parched from the selection process, crowds pushing and jostling to make payment. The entire process was amazing – simply select your saree type (silk, chiffon, georgette, silk mix, etc), your price range, grab the attention of a salesman and try to keep hold f your senses (and your wallet) as saree after saree in all colours of the rainbow are spread before you. I picked up 25 odd sarees in about 45 minutes, not bad going for a gal who can browse for hours. Having picked the colours which I thought would suit everyone in the price ranges as per protocol (most expensive for mother in law, expensive ish for sisters in law, less for the myriad relatives and frankly cheap and cheerful for the UK guests who won’t anyway know the difference) I joined the queues for payment, receipt stamping, delivery and wrapping.
Later in the week I made a trip to Goregaon market, a brilliant indoor market with fabulous Indian clothing shops jostling along narrow walkways. Picked up one saree which I have to wear on the day of returning to the marital home (bought by my future mother in law) and one red and silver number which I’ll wear in the office for diwali. Indian clothes are so fabulous, so bright and ostentatious, makes me laugh when I think back to my drab old English wardrobe full of greys, blacks and browns punctuated with the occasional dark red. I must, simply must, learn to tie a saree.