Party like it's 1399

Team 2008:

1. The rented event space.
2. The constant, constant, constant photography and videography. Of everything.
3. The fur hat (??) worn by the groom-to-be.
4. The Hindi film music.

Team 1399:

1. The arranged marriage.
2. The invitation of the entire family, neighborhood, city...
3. The pandit and the various Hindu engagement rituals (though the pandit was ignored, and the rituals were – my guess – considerably shortened).
4. The food. It was spectacular, in the eternal way food can be.
5. Did I mention the marriage was arranged?

Yes, it was a fantastic party. G and I arrived a couple of hours early so that our Sanskrit teacher could wind, prod, and poke us into our saris. (Actually, G wore her sari perfectly; I proved a more difficult case.) When I had finally squeezed into my bodice, petticoat, and multiple foldings and windings of heavily starched blue silk, I—-hardly able to breathe-—baby-stepped my way into the swirl of colorful fabric, sprinkles of rosewater, and flash photography that awaited me in the marriage hall.

Up on a raised platform was the bride-to-be, simultaneously subject to engagement rituals administered by the pandit, and to photographs administered by the multiple professional photographers. She was surrounded by seven blushing maidens – her young female relatives and friends. She couldn’t have been more than 21 years old. A couple of different saris later, she received blessings and gifts from her fiance’s parents. Then the reverse was done for the groom-to-be, who also wore multiple outfits. The crowd started paying attention when it was time for the couple to exchange rings, give each other garlands, feed each other sweets, and – the crowning moment – take their first photographs together. In those first fifty bright flashs, the couple who had barely seen each other before that very hour became truly, truly engaged. Everyone clapped. And you could really feel the change in the room, too: all of a sudden every eye was on the stage, the couple was smiling radiantly (if a little bashfully), more rosewater was sprinkled on the guests, and the whole room felt that something miraculous and exciting was going to happen to these two people about to start a family.

I recovered from the party by nursing my sari-fed aches and pains and spending the rest of the weekend in quiet Sanskrit land. I even composed a verse myself – since I wrote it in Sanskrit’s simplest meter, though, it really shouldn’t have taken the four hours that it took to write. (Oh well. I guess even Kalidasa had to start somewhere.)

And now I must learn 32 lines of a stotra in Vedic Sanskrit by Friday! (It’s these kind of tasks that give the Language Of The Gods a bad name.) Readers, please: put in a good word with those gods for me.