Part and parcel of preparing for a wedding is going to India to wedding-shop. Not necessary if you have sons and you can just order a sherwani on-line (lucky swines). But mandatory if you have a bridezilla ... er, I mean daughter, who has to go there personally to ensure that every sequin is in the right place on her lengha. One blog - although I have enough material to write a book - will be devoted to buying the panetar.
So off we went to India.
We stopped in Turkey first, where we ate enough eggplant to not touch bharta for the rest of our lives. Istanbul a beautiful city and we fell in love with the friendly people. The friendly men fell in love with my beautiful daughter and I was offered a hundred camels for her. Had they offered a hundred Lindt ... just kidding. (Although by the end of the trip, I would’ve sold her for a bowl of khitchdee).
Second stop Bombay, where the astronomical prices sent us screaming in terror, wallet clutched to our chests, to Ahmedabad. Unlike Istanbul this is not a beautiful city, but again we fell in love with the people. I may have been born and brought up in Bombay, but each time I come to this city, I have the feeling of coming home.
Every experience we had, every shop we went to, every person we met is etched indelibly in our minds and hearts. When we wear our sarees, when we slip on our bangles, when we use the rubber stamps, when the priest burns the camphor, and when we hang up the toran, we will remember them not only for their friendly service, but also for their smiles.
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