Wedding Vignettes: Excusez-moi?

Not yet ready. Not today. Kalé ao. Worker has gone for tea. Worker has gone to his gaon. Come in afternoon. Come in evening. My man not yet come. Wait khali five minutes. Wait half an hour. Wait one hour. Bandh tomorrow. Autos on strike. Yes, we are open, but no one there. Credit card machine broken. ATM does not work - no electricity. Sorry, no change. No hot drinks, only cold drinks. No cold drinks, only hot drinks. (I swear all this happened to us).

Not here, there. Not there, in the city. Not in city, in Satellite. Not in Satellite, in Law Garden. Not Law Garden, try Navrangpura. Not Navrangpura, NARANGPURA. Not Narangpura, try Shivranjani Char Rasta. Shyamal Char Rasta. Swastik Char Rasta. Bodakdev Char Rasta.

Everything is Char Rasta. Char Rasta ni agal. Ni pachal. Ni dabi baju. Ni jamni baju. Everything is behind, in front of, across from, next to or on top of. We ran from char rasta to char rasta. From place to place. From shop to shop. When I took out my proudly-printed-from-Google map, they laughed and advised me to put it away and take heed of the in-front-of, behind-and-next to directions, they would serve me better.

It didn’t help that Bachubhai, our aging family driver of thirty years, could not remember how to get to the same shop we had visited every day for the past three days. My fingernails grew by the time he reversed. We could get in and out of the car whiIe he was still pulling into a parking spot. I can walk faster on one leg, said my daughter. Once when we were short of time, I suggested that we make a quick dash to the tailor. She laughed. It’s a whole kilometer away, Mom. Let’s do it when we have a couple of hours to spare. Amazing how the sarcasm gene, so light and subtle in the mother’s body, once inherited by the progeny, can generate barbs sharper than a two-edged sword.

Wedding Vignettes: The India Trip

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.

Wedding Vignettes

My daughter is getting married.

While my husband wallows in depression, I roll up my sleeves and crank-start the brain. Venue. Guest list. Invitations. Hotels. Caterer. Pandit. Panetar. Jewelry. Gifts. Tastings. Florist. Photographer ... Now I need the Prozac. And give me a Xanax while you are at it, because I am starting to panic as well.

At least she found her own soulmate. She spared us the agony of ‘Kai chokro-bokro che ke?’ and blessed us with the ecstacy of the best damaad we couldn’t have even conjured up in our imagination.

So for the next six months I will blog the excitement (as well the trials and tribulations) of getting this production on the road. And a production it is and will be, if it is anything like your typical, over-the-top Indian wedding. The mehndi. The pithi. The pooja. The garba. The sangeet. The wedding. The reception.

Aaarghhh! How about “the elopement”?

Album 4: I wish. I wonder. I hope.

I wish my dad were still alive.

I wonder if he knew how much I loved him.

I hope to be more like him.

Album 3: A Love Affair

It didn’t happen the first time. It was the second time I went to Europe that I became (and still am) a total Europhile. I am infatuated with Germany and Italy. Call it obsession. Call it whatever you want. Call it love.

The first time was as a gawky, thirteen-year old who trailed despondently behind her pretty sisters through five countries. The second time I toured Europe with a Eurail Pass in hand with my friend Jo and her parents - her parents (who were really cool and in total contrast to my dad) pretty much let us do whatever we wanted without the million WhoWhatWhyWhen and How inquisition that I was always subjected to.

We traveled through Europe and had some fun times.

In Germany, I translated the specs for studio lights in four languages.

In Switzerland, we got kicked out of the train at the border.

In Italy I started my love affair with Florence.

In Spain, we went with the station manager at 1 am to see Madrid by night.

In Portugal, we tended the bar when the bartender passed out (gee, I wonder why?).

Pshaw! say the backpackers of today. Lame-o! Whatever. It was the 70s.

Album 2: India Diary

We took the kids to India (almost) every winter. Apart from the photos which serve as good memories, there were their diaries, which were fun to read and gave us a good perspective of our desh from their ABCD point of view.

Here are excerpts from my son’s album from a trip he made when he was nine.

It was fun staying with family. The kids got a lot of attention. A lot of love. And a lot of gifts. Well, my daughter did. She got gold necklaces and diamond earrings. My son got ganjis. Not just any ganjis. Rupa ganjis.

It was fun eating out. “We ate lunch at The China Garden. The food was excellent! Better than any Chinese restaurant in the States!”

Well, I guess not all the time. “We went out to dinner with my cousins to the New Yorker. The pizza was De gou tant - which means disgusting in French. It had one speck of sauce and 20 pounds of cheese.”

It was fun eating at home. Well, again, not all the time. “Today’s Christmas! Also my cousin’s birthday! Today we celebrated my cousin’s birthday by having the biggest turkey ever. It was made so beautifully, it looked as if a gourmet cook prepared it. There was just one problem - I hate turkey. Call me crazy if you will, but I think it just doesn’t have any taste. So I ate Indian food. After dinner, we all had cake and chocolates. I wish my birthday was on the 25th too.”

It wasn’t always fun. “A bad thing is the pollution - it is awful. It’s the pollution that makes me wheeze. They call me Wheezer William. There is dust, bugs, trash and dirt flying everywhere you go. My mom, sister and my aunt go shopping. I watch TV, play basketball and golf and then start wheezing.”

That year, we also did the Golden Triangle. We went to the Amber Fort on an elephant.

Who would’ve thought that my daughter would be making the same trip almost exactly fourteen years later and come back with a ring on her finger?








We went to Jaipur. At the museum, we saw the Bhagvad Gita “handwritten in about number 5 font size”. On the way to Fathhepur Sikri, we got a flat tire. While the driver was fixing it, the kids looked around for entertainment on the side of the road.  “It was kind of fun, because there was a pond and we threw rocks in it. There was an old lady, who yelled at us for throwing the rocks. We gave her thirty cents to shut up. My mom called her my mother-in-law.”

The old lady was not the only one who yelled at him on the trip. On our return to Bombay, we attended my nephew’s wedding. “We were hungry, so my mom ordered french fries. She got mad because I put the ketchup bottle in my turban.” I realize Indian weddings are boring, but sitting patiently with the guests is the least he could have done. “Pahiniben and I were sitting behind them. She said that what happens if I pinched a guy’s butt? She tried it and he screamed! It was funny.”

Nope, it wasn't funny. 

Album 1: Bhutan

It should be fitting that I start the Album Blog with one of my top five countries in the world.

Bhutan is a country after my own heart - I could easily retire in one of the monasteries and spend my days in pensive circumlocution, wearing a kira and spinning a prayer-wheel.

I went at the invitation of my friend Patrizia, who is married to one of the Ministers. I flew to Calcutta to catch the Druk Air flight. Waiting in line at the airport, I was approached by the airport manager and then escorted to First Class. Hmmm... can life get any better? I thought. It did. Patrizia came to greet me on the tarmac in ceremonial garb and it just got better and better. I spent a wonderful five days with her family. I toured Thimphu and visited the Dzong at Punakha. A dzong is a fortress, built with hundreds of wooden planks joined together without a single nail and no formal architectural plan. I climbed to the top of one of the 108 Chortens (stupas) the Queen Mother had built for her son. We had tea and went dancing with royalty.




Drawing done by Patrizia's son Ugyen.

I stayed at the Yeedzin Guest House where Suresh and Purna looked after me as I were a Queen myself.




I got a personal tour of the Thimpu Dzong by the Honorable Lyonpo Ugyen Tshering.

Less than a million people live in this country where the focus is on the GNH - Gross National Happiness. The people are gentle and considerate. Traffic courtsey is in complete contrast to the chaotic each-man-for-himself mayhem on Bombay streets. Overtaking another car, one gives a short beep in acknowledgement and driver Pema would even give one each time he passed a cow.

As I left Bhutan, I was given a note by the hotel staff, which ended with:
“Lastly, I would like to say, plez madan (sic), save your journey with peace and happiness.”

No one could have expressed it better.