He began the evening with "Sason ki zaroorat hai jaise..." And as if that let loose the 90's man in him. Memories came gushing in with every note he changed..."Ai kaash kahin aisa hota...ki do dil hote seene me...", "Tujhe dekha to yeh jaana sanam....", "Dheere dheere pyaar ko badhana hai...had se guzar jaana hai...", and so on. Sitting in a forlorn restaurant of Chandigarh listening to a fantastic voice singing Hindi songs accompanied by the traditional "orchestra" style banding...was a welcome change from the cacophony of a Mumbai Sports Bars. But much more than that they were a reminder of the glorious past the orchestra enjoyed as an inseparable part of Indian marriages. And in fact how well these marriages reflected the changes our society underwent…or the ones it didn’t.
During our early years North Indian marriages, were typically accompanied by an Orchestra playing on stage beside the massive Red Thrones of the bride and the groom. I would scramble up onto the stage dancing along with the other kids on similar songs showcasing my talents to the world (I was 5 ...OK!! Well...maybe 10.) ...it was a tradition then wasn't it..your parents would hi-hello the other parents while whining kids would suck on their thumbs hiding in their mothers' Sarees and us cool kids were up there...in the lime light. The marriages would begin with parents running into people who you had no clue were, people you have never seen before, pulling at your cheek, kissing you on the forehead and noting how you had grown chubbier since the last time they saw you before "Mom" would correct them...."...arey he is Montu my sister's son....". Ashu is dancing up there on the stage!!"
With laughter all around, the procession would then move towards the fast food stalls. Scanning through the stalls like professional wine-tasters sharing notes on the sourness of Pani-puri and chaat and how they were far better at the Khannas' wedding, people would eat enough to last them an year's hibernation. "Montu's" expert eyes would by now have noticed the ice-cream stall and like a master-spy he would have sneaked away without leaving so much as a hint to mausi as to where he was. The food would however soon follow and Dahi-badas, Kaju Katlis were the show-stealers then with people loading themselves up until the next marriage season. Then would come the ubiquitous "Lifafa", an envelope filled with cash, slipping expertly into the groom's hand and then to the kid standing beside the groom and then to the groom's mother (such was the talent of our fathers at this particular act that in New York restaurants, they could earn a living as "Tippers" helping neophytes tip the restaurant staff for getting them seats) . The groom's mother would then record it in annals of their memory (the same aunty who confused Montu to be you)...the exact same amount would be duly returned to you when a marriage in your family occurred and so the chain would go on...the more money you paid on that one day, the closer relative you were deemed to be..."Hmm...500/-...must be a chacha - mama"....Smarter people however knew exactly same amount was going to return to them soon...they had decoded the "Lifafa" far better than miserly wives pushing their husbands to put in 25/- bucks every time.
The marriage reception was (and has been) the playground of our favorite sport. "Who's got bigger". The Fielding Side (or the couple's families) would leave no stone unturned to ensure the incumbent batsmen felt the awe. The location (vast lush gardens or pool-sides of posh hotels), the extensive menu and most of all the number of "Stalls" were definite markers of the strength of the fielding side. The batsmen meanwhile also came well prepared...women sported (apart from their own belongings) their cousin's best Saree and neighbour's gold bangles along with a million other trinkets to add to their batting form. While husbands took out that precious little bottle of perfume (or scent) and spray it sparingly (even lovingly) on their collars and cuffs and bathe their kerchiefs.
But in a few years this would change drastically. The first in the series was the Chow-mean generation. Suddenly the Indainzed dish became the litmus test of a successful marriage. "Chow-mean nahin hain...?", asked the drooling nasty neighbour with menace in her eyes.. " Haanji..chow-mean to nahin hai...par hame to bas bachchi acchi chahiye thi...aur koi demand hamne nahin ki!!" would come the reply of the poor father of the groom...he had been subjected to the worst torture ever....his sone was getting married without chow-mean!
But a poor dish was not able to sustain the rich people trying to make a mark in every marriage possible. Sooraj Barjatiya pounced on the opportunity and came up with a mariage salvagin masterpiece. Suddenly every marriage became more about the groom's shoes rather than the poor guy himself. From being a primarily Hindi-speaking belt phenomenon, shoes-stealing became the national rage. All of a sudden, Punjabis, Sindhis, Marathis...everyone seemed to be running behind an obscure pair of rented shoes! Guys would defend their brother's / friend's / neighbour's / friend's brother's /or practically everyone's shoes hoping someday Madhuri would come along looking for...."ahem...ahem"...shoes.
Sooraj immidetly knew he had hit a jackpot, the new "formula" for bollywood! The last of HAHK hadn't even died that in came in 2000 another of his Torch-bearers in form of Hum Saath Saath Hain. And it was turn for us kids to pass expert comments on snacks while the adults danced around trying to introduce the new family members to the bride!...That beacon has held fort for the Barjatyas for some time now...I am sure he has sensed the need for another one of those show-stealing marriage-enlighteners...and we will have an all new avenues to play "who's got bigger"!
But the truth is the match (the function) here was mere culmination of a series of mind games and off the field tactics. It would all begin with invitations.
The invitation card itself was like the Brahmastra of the whole affair. The kill-all solution. In earlier days cards would fashion a jamboree of Indian Gods as the protagonists with big pictures on the front, back, overleaf, inside, envelope and covering every available inch of the limelight. The second fiddle were all the fathers, mother, grand-fathers, grand-mothers and a couple of Family-guru's thrown in for good measure. Finally cowering in some obscure corner would be the name of the groom and the bride.
But soon things changed here too. Turned out the "special relatives" weren't satisfied with the courtesy phone call and exclusive Barat invite. They wanted in on the card too...after all the family guru was there as well! So came the addendum to the card. The groom and the bride would further reduce in font to make space for two conspicuous lists. One was "Aapke darshan ke mahtvakankshi" (Desirous of having you at the function or something to the effect) list. All the uncles and aunties and brothers and sisters would be fitted in here. And then on the opposite side, for the balacing act came the RSVP list...and for some obscure reason I have even seen the groom's business partners' names adorn this one. Its not as if there was a standard however as to which list belongs to whom...some cards fit in the children into one and adults into others..while some make the division based on men and women...
The Gods soon lost their top spot as loving messages and designing effects took away the remaining space. Now they generally peep from a small portrait on the envelope and guard the couple's names in small ikon avtars! To top it up...a most recent deft touch has occupied the final inch left at the bottom of the page. "Mele mama ki shaadi me jalul jalul aana!" or "Please come to my XYZ's marriage" in child lingo. (Invitaion cards in South Indian villages in fact are even more interesting. I was invited once with a card fashioning two famous south-Indian actors flashing their big hearty smiles from the front....but thats another story.... J )
Then came the innovation generation. Beginning with a folded paper sheet regular rectangle with all things neatly printed, cards came easy to fathom. You open them round the middle and there it was...all the information you need. But then they started dressing up. Initially merely cosmetic changes were added like a string of silk or a lace informing you where exactly the middle of the two-page card was. Then as if to add to the enigma, a couple of butter-papered pages were added. Sizes changed and shapes became weirder. People started sending cards made of cloth, polythene. But for me the real jolt came when, I was summoned by a Maharaja. On returning home from college one day I found a red scroll asking me to “grace the holy union of two souls (souls of two VERY rich people let me assure you)”. I sincerely thought that was it. The rich had achieved the Moksha (or the orgasm) as far as invitation cards were concerned! Little did I know that along the way was the “Power-shift”? It had been only a few weeks after my post-graduation that the rumors of a marital-website of a certain duo from b-school started doing the rounds…and then…there was another…and another, asking you to drop comments, look at photographs…even specifying present requests that the happy couple would appreciate! Really…tech-savvy MBA grads…are the reigning champions of Marital Invitaions.
During our early years North Indian marriages, were typically accompanied by an Orchestra playing on stage beside the massive Red Thrones of the bride and the groom. I would scramble up onto the stage dancing along with the other kids on similar songs showcasing my talents to the world (I was 5 ...OK!! Well...maybe 10.) ...it was a tradition then wasn't it..your parents would hi-hello the other parents while whining kids would suck on their thumbs hiding in their mothers' Sarees and us cool kids were up there...in the lime light. The marriages would begin with parents running into people who you had no clue were, people you have never seen before, pulling at your cheek, kissing you on the forehead and noting how you had grown chubbier since the last time they saw you before "Mom" would correct them...."...arey he is Montu my sister's son....". Ashu is dancing up there on the stage!!"
With laughter all around, the procession would then move towards the fast food stalls. Scanning through the stalls like professional wine-tasters sharing notes on the sourness of Pani-puri and chaat and how they were far better at the Khannas' wedding, people would eat enough to last them an year's hibernation. "Montu's" expert eyes would by now have noticed the ice-cream stall and like a master-spy he would have sneaked away without leaving so much as a hint to mausi as to where he was. The food would however soon follow and Dahi-badas, Kaju Katlis were the show-stealers then with people loading themselves up until the next marriage season. Then would come the ubiquitous "Lifafa", an envelope filled with cash, slipping expertly into the groom's hand and then to the kid standing beside the groom and then to the groom's mother (such was the talent of our fathers at this particular act that in New York restaurants, they could earn a living as "Tippers" helping neophytes tip the restaurant staff for getting them seats) . The groom's mother would then record it in annals of their memory (the same aunty who confused Montu to be you)...the exact same amount would be duly returned to you when a marriage in your family occurred and so the chain would go on...the more money you paid on that one day, the closer relative you were deemed to be..."Hmm...500/-...must be a chacha - mama"....Smarter people however knew exactly same amount was going to return to them soon...they had decoded the "Lifafa" far better than miserly wives pushing their husbands to put in 25/- bucks every time.
The marriage reception was (and has been) the playground of our favorite sport. "Who's got bigger". The Fielding Side (or the couple's families) would leave no stone unturned to ensure the incumbent batsmen felt the awe. The location (vast lush gardens or pool-sides of posh hotels), the extensive menu and most of all the number of "Stalls" were definite markers of the strength of the fielding side. The batsmen meanwhile also came well prepared...women sported (apart from their own belongings) their cousin's best Saree and neighbour's gold bangles along with a million other trinkets to add to their batting form. While husbands took out that precious little bottle of perfume (or scent) and spray it sparingly (even lovingly) on their collars and cuffs and bathe their kerchiefs.
But in a few years this would change drastically. The first in the series was the Chow-mean generation. Suddenly the Indainzed dish became the litmus test of a successful marriage. "Chow-mean nahin hain...?", asked the drooling nasty neighbour with menace in her eyes.. " Haanji..chow-mean to nahin hai...par hame to bas bachchi acchi chahiye thi...aur koi demand hamne nahin ki!!" would come the reply of the poor father of the groom...he had been subjected to the worst torture ever....his sone was getting married without chow-mean!
But a poor dish was not able to sustain the rich people trying to make a mark in every marriage possible. Sooraj Barjatiya pounced on the opportunity and came up with a mariage salvagin masterpiece. Suddenly every marriage became more about the groom's shoes rather than the poor guy himself. From being a primarily Hindi-speaking belt phenomenon, shoes-stealing became the national rage. All of a sudden, Punjabis, Sindhis, Marathis...everyone seemed to be running behind an obscure pair of rented shoes! Guys would defend their brother's / friend's / neighbour's / friend's brother's /or practically everyone's shoes hoping someday Madhuri would come along looking for...."ahem...ahem"...shoes.
Sooraj immidetly knew he had hit a jackpot, the new "formula" for bollywood! The last of HAHK hadn't even died that in came in 2000 another of his Torch-bearers in form of Hum Saath Saath Hain. And it was turn for us kids to pass expert comments on snacks while the adults danced around trying to introduce the new family members to the bride!...That beacon has held fort for the Barjatyas for some time now...I am sure he has sensed the need for another one of those show-stealing marriage-enlighteners...and we will have an all new avenues to play "who's got bigger"!
But the truth is the match (the function) here was mere culmination of a series of mind games and off the field tactics. It would all begin with invitations.
The invitation card itself was like the Brahmastra of the whole affair. The kill-all solution. In earlier days cards would fashion a jamboree of Indian Gods as the protagonists with big pictures on the front, back, overleaf, inside, envelope and covering every available inch of the limelight. The second fiddle were all the fathers, mother, grand-fathers, grand-mothers and a couple of Family-guru's thrown in for good measure. Finally cowering in some obscure corner would be the name of the groom and the bride.
But soon things changed here too. Turned out the "special relatives" weren't satisfied with the courtesy phone call and exclusive Barat invite. They wanted in on the card too...after all the family guru was there as well! So came the addendum to the card. The groom and the bride would further reduce in font to make space for two conspicuous lists. One was "Aapke darshan ke mahtvakankshi" (Desirous of having you at the function or something to the effect) list. All the uncles and aunties and brothers and sisters would be fitted in here. And then on the opposite side, for the balacing act came the RSVP list...and for some obscure reason I have even seen the groom's business partners' names adorn this one. Its not as if there was a standard however as to which list belongs to whom...some cards fit in the children into one and adults into others..while some make the division based on men and women...
The Gods soon lost their top spot as loving messages and designing effects took away the remaining space. Now they generally peep from a small portrait on the envelope and guard the couple's names in small ikon avtars! To top it up...a most recent deft touch has occupied the final inch left at the bottom of the page. "Mele mama ki shaadi me jalul jalul aana!" or "Please come to my XYZ's marriage" in child lingo. (Invitaion cards in South Indian villages in fact are even more interesting. I was invited once with a card fashioning two famous south-Indian actors flashing their big hearty smiles from the front....but thats another story.... J )
Then came the innovation generation. Beginning with a folded paper sheet regular rectangle with all things neatly printed, cards came easy to fathom. You open them round the middle and there it was...all the information you need. But then they started dressing up. Initially merely cosmetic changes were added like a string of silk or a lace informing you where exactly the middle of the two-page card was. Then as if to add to the enigma, a couple of butter-papered pages were added. Sizes changed and shapes became weirder. People started sending cards made of cloth, polythene. But for me the real jolt came when, I was summoned by a Maharaja. On returning home from college one day I found a red scroll asking me to “grace the holy union of two souls (souls of two VERY rich people let me assure you)”. I sincerely thought that was it. The rich had achieved the Moksha (or the orgasm) as far as invitation cards were concerned! Little did I know that along the way was the “Power-shift”? It had been only a few weeks after my post-graduation that the rumors of a marital-website of a certain duo from b-school started doing the rounds…and then…there was another…and another, asking you to drop comments, look at photographs…even specifying present requests that the happy couple would appreciate! Really…tech-savvy MBA grads…are the reigning champions of Marital Invitaions.
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