Saffron, jasmine, silk, and relationships on speed.

I've been avoiding writing a blog post about my trip to India. I was in transit for 24 hours on the return trip and vowed before I left that I would take that time to write, but after a hellish first flight and a mild case of food poisoning (both of which deserve their own post someday when I'm willing to relive that trip from Chennai to Bangkok), writing was the last thing I wanted to do. Healed and home now for four full days, one would think that I spent all this free time contemplating last week and writing the thoughts down...rather than lay in bed all day listening to my favorite "This American Life" episodes and reading the back of 99 cents popcorn bags lovingly sent to me from the states. I bought two books about Hinduism from the airport bookstore in hopes that I could thumb through them and be more accurate when I blogged or spoke about what I saw and did. Those books remain in the bag they were placed in immediately after purchased.

So why am I avoiding writing about Chennai, India and the friends and the wedding? I think I'm a bit overwhelmed. I was really moved by the people, the places, the sights and sounds. So much so that I consider myself speechless at the keyboard, frightened that by being inarticulate I will cheapen the experience, but I don't want to alienate readers from a story by gushing incessantly. However, I've thought about it and I realize that this blog is read by friends and family who can decide to read it or not, who have read through my phases of Stevie Wonder and Bruce Willis forgivingly, and who, for the most part just want to know what's up. This is for me as well, so I'll do my best not to bore myself, tell you how things affected me, and hope it finds you well wherever you may be.

The colors come to mind first. Color and texture. And smells and flavors. Everything was very rich, every taste of curry and coconut was delicious, each sari and garland of fresh flowers caught my eye. It was like looking at a mixed medium collage and wanting desperately to touch it. There was something very regal about the common shapes and shades of Chennai fashion, and they starkly contrasted the paler, messier representations of growing poverty in the city. I am curious if it was the golds, silvers, regal patterns and bold colors that attracted the Brits in the 17th century, or if British rule is responsible for them, or if the influence was equally exchanged.

Ghandi is on all the money. That's right. Ghandi's smiling face beams out from paper rupees, his doctrine mishandled due to his iconic image. Like so many other revolutionary figures of world history.

The colors, textures tastes and scents were stunning and overwhelming. I spoke to Nitya about this crushing stimulation of the senses while she lifted yards of silk from her suitcase as she repacked the night I left. A married woman now, with new designer saris lining her luggage. We were talking about the processes of Hindu engagement and weddings when she said, "You can understand now why Bollywood is full of big, showy and repetitive song and dance; everything we do is over the top." I felt the smooth gold flowers on the trim of one of her saris and replied, "Sure, melodrama even lives in your clothes."

Sometimes I wonder if I take for granted that I'm only an observer. We felt like ethnographers so often, I hope our questions or comments caused little offense. We were so patiently humored throughout the experience, it makes me think we were really coming off as lost children in an exotic place.

There was a straightforward quality to the Indian men and women I met, no patience for bullshit, and intense emotion was fully expressed. Women held both my hands when they met me. They called their cousins "brother" and "sister", and after the wedding, the groom's brother called Nitya's father, "Uncle". The entire celebration revolved around bringing two families, and two houses together. There seems to be no such thing as "extended family" in Hindu tradition, everyone is very close and very loving. It is that closeness which moved me the most. I was moved to tears constantly, but since when is that a new phenomenon...

Though the courtship and engagement were rushed from my western perspective, the occasion was running over with warmth and love. It was truly a celebration, with song and dance seeming to emerge from out of nowhere. There was a song on someone's lips for every occasion; when there was a song, hands were clapping; and when hands were clapping, people danced.

During the ritual of the wedding ceremony (s) we witnessed layer apon layer of rite and tradition. Butter, fruits, flowers and oils were thrown into the wedding fire during prayers. Balls of colored grain and coconuts with tiny flames at their tips were wound in circles around the couple's faces, then smashed on the ground to ward off the evil eye. This humbling display of emotion, intense natural beauty and complex layers of ritual made Japan seem introverted and synthetic (but only by superficial comparison of course...it's my home after all).

Before Nitya and Mitoo got married, Nitya's oldest friend Roshani, her younger sister Nisha, Mitoo's brother Chitoo and cousin Abi took what Roshani called, "the foreign collaboration" shopping for our omiyage and wedding outfits. The "foreign collaboration" consisted of myself, Andy and CJ- from the states, all friends from Emerson College, and Mashael from Qatar and Hend from Egypt-two women from Qatar who met Nitya in high school and went to college in Texas. It certainly was a collaboration. The amount of languages these women spoke made me feel so lazy. They automatically assumed I speak Japanese...heheh. We spent the curious shopping days staring in wonder at shelves of blouses and bangles of every shade (many covered in glitter and sequins, Marie).

In the days before the wedding we shopped, ate out, picked people up from the airport, participated in bathing Nitya in sandlewood and rose oil while her female relatives sang and danced, watched Nitya get her wedding Mehndi (henna), and waited 4 hours for our own to dry. We met many members of Nitya and Mitoo's family, as most of us stayed in one hotel, and rode in the same cars to and from the wedding hall. Everything was provided for us, we were not responsible for any costs. It was incredible.

The wedding itself lasted three days. The first day celebrated and reiterated their engagement. We missed both ceremonies for want of sleep in the morning and the afternoon ceremony was missed due to an impromptu and unnecessary trip with Nitya's "Auntie" to a silver store downtown. We listened to some music and danced in the late morning and were hennaed, bangled and jasmined at the prayers later on. That evening I was also blessed by an elephant.

The next day we wore our "half saris" for the official wedding ceremony with our accessories that were acquired days before. As I mentioned, the ceremony was complex and intricate, a lot of the prayers were spoken in sanskrit or Hindi so I rarely understood what was going on. One particular tradition during that morning was especially interesting. It was like a play within a play and usually is performed like this: The groom declares to the wedding party and guests that he doesn't want to get married, that he has more to learn and experience in life and he's leaving to go back to school. He then leaves the wedding hall in a funny procession of family and guests and band, handling a cane, wearing unmanageable shoes, under an umbrella while being fanned. He leaves the wedding hall until the bride's father catches him and convinces him to return to the wedding by saying that there are plenty of enriching life lessons to experience in a marriage. Later I learned that Nitya's father lingered at the wedding hall longer than usual because Nitya was getting a kick out of watching Mitoo walk in those shoes. The immasculation begins.

Lots of little occasions like this happened throughout and after the ceremony, but I won't detail every single one that stands out because this post is already long enough. Needless to say, so many fascinating rites were performed, it was hard to keep up. Throughout the proceedings there were traditional wedding games played between the couple, and playful glances that almost seemed like part of the process. The liveliness, extravagance, and stress of their wedding seemed deliberate. As if it was the ceremony's purpose to fast forward the process of falling in love and the decision to be with the other person forever. Nitya and Mitoo met last December for the first time (due to Mitoo's mother discovering Nitya's profile on a Hindu marriage website and contacting Nitya's parents. The two families then found ways to surprise and coerce their children into love. Their courtship reads more like a comedy of errors than reality, another story that deserves its own post).
The "I now pronounce you man and wife" moment was when Mitoo tied a knot (yes, literally) of a necklace that signifies that Nitya is married, and placed it around her neck while she sat on her father's lap. It was at that moment they were officially married. It was at that moment the family members broke down into sobs.

After that there were ceremonies in which each family welcomed Nitya and Mitoo as their own, coconuts, plantanes and spices exchanged, and the foreign collaboration (now including Roshani and Nisha and a very enthusiastic British man named Nigel) lounged in a small air conditioned room like young royalty resting before the ball. We dressed together for the reception because Roshani was in charge of making sure our saris were pleated snugly in the front, and that our bangles were patterned correctly. Andy remarked how feminine it felt to be wrapped in something so beautiful, with so many sparkling, clinking accessories. The two of us, so unaccustomed to the lavishness, felt awkward and sloven. She called us the two truck drivers dressed as princesses.

What is so interesting about a sari is the two pieces underneath, one acts as a blouse (more or less a fancy, mid-riff T-shirt) and there's a petticoat (matching skirt). The sari is the large piece of silk that surrounds the body and covers you up. India is a fairly conservative place, at least in the Southern part (I hear Mumbai is more cosmopolitan), so an unmarried woman walking around in jeans and a T-shirt, or something akin to the blouse and skirt without the sari was just unheard of. At one point during the wedding, Mitoo's father subtlely and kindly pulled Hend’s sari down to cover her ankles.

The reception was a frekkin' carnival. There were two large duck mascots, balloons with Nitya and Mitoo's names on them, an inflatable bouncing room for kids, a Baskin Robbins booth, a long line of booths carrying a variety of delicious Southern Indian dishes, a fondue fountain and cotton candy(very difficult to eat with sweaty hands). The trees were covered in lights, and the saris all around us shone brilliantly. Andy and I repeatedly mused on how absurd it was to be in princess dresses, walking from the chocolate fountain to sit beneath the twinkling trees. Were the malaria pills distorting reality? I heard that's possible. The poor, suffering newlyweds were stranded on a stage getting their photos taken the entire time. The only edibles they ate were the fondue covered cookies Andy and I brought them near the end of the evening, when their photos were wrapping up. Nitya left in tears but by the next day was relieved and happy in regard to the success of her wedding.

The last days of the trip welcomed the engagement of Mitoo's brother, Chitoo. Amazing. I was lucky enough to witness a Hindu wedding and the beginning of an engagement. The engagement functions were performed under circumstances that I won't get into publicly but were devestating and fascinating to witness. The speed at which matches are made and wedding dates set in India is astounding. The relationships I encountered while there made my reluctance to commit seem like damaging procrastination.

Nitya is happy. Mitoo is a joy, he really is. All the foreign friends were apprehensive about meeting him, but were so relieved when we did. He is good-humored, intelligent, honorable, patient and squeezably soft. I like him very much, and it's obvious Nitya does too.

My last day with them, Nitya and Mitoo brought me to a temple and we were blessed, and the evil eye taken off of us. I had a wonderful conversation with them in the car to the restaurant, and discovered that Nitya, Mitoo and I are sentimental fools of the same cloth. We talked about Hinduism and enlightenment, and how lucky we feel to be alive. All in all a light-hearted discussion ;). I mention it because it had been strange to see Nitya during her wedding, on stage and in the center of prayers and alien Hindu tradition. There were moments outside of the ceremony that I found it hard to engage with them because they were so untouchable during the day. But in the end Nitya was smoking cigarettes, telling dirty jokes and threatening people with physical harm just like she always did. I mention it because this trip was not only an adventure in an exotic place, but a rekindling of a friendship that I thought may have been lost. I feel very lucky right now.

If anyone has actually read as far as this you should find other things to do with your time.
Excuse over/misuse of commas.
If you still have some to spare and/or are interested, I put the photos up on flickr-->.
There are blossoms in Gotsu! So many blossoms! Later skater.