Her Big Fat Hindu Wedding

I had just convinced myself that I am happy single. Not that it's been hard to convince myself of—I've been unexplainably happy here in India. In this state of euphoria I had decided that I would be able to get home to the crazed dating scene in Provo with my head on straight, my heart open, and my focus on graduation. I didn’t feel the desperate need to find a boyfriend anytime soon—they cause so much heartache, lead to lots of confusion, and take up so much time! And as I said at my 24^th birthday, “27 is the new 24” a.k.a. the age that seems very ripe for me to marry (mature, but not yet at the desperate 30). I’m two years from that “deadline” and in no hurry to rush things along.

However, I found my resolve melting as I watched this wedding unfold. Wait, first I’ll explain: I had been invited to this unconventional wedding by a professor in the Physical Education Department at Bharathiar University. Since the other girls in the group had never seen a Hindu wedding, we thought we might as well postpone our travel plans to watch this American man marry his Indian bride in the Hindu fashion.

Jeff was working for an IT company in South Carolina and had met Vidiya, an Indian working at the same company. They had a Catholic wedding in the states two weeks prior and all Vidiya had to say about that wedding was “It was short.” I laughed. Yes compared to the two day long weddings of Southern India with several ceremonies, clothes changing, etc. an hour long ceremony in the backyard would seem very short.

We came the night before the wedding to watch the many ceremonies surrounding the engagement. And that’s when my perfectly happy single future started looking like it might be missing something important.

Jeff was sitting on the “stage” holding the wedding saree his bride would be wearing the next morning. He was supposed to be presenting the saree to Vidiya’s sister. While holding out the saree to his soon-to-be sister-in-law, an old man from the village stood in front of the two singing old Tamil songs. The man was dressed in a worn button down shirt which was not quite white anymore, a lungi which looks like a long white hiked up to his knees and a towel wrapped around his head like a makeshift turban. He would throw rice at certain intervals during his singing and the drummer would hit his drum to emphasize the rice throwing. Frankly, it looked sort of ridiculous. Having been in India for 6 months I wasn’t much moved to laughter. I’d spent lots of time with Appa dressed this way, but trying to look at it from fresh eyes, this looked quite silly.

Jeff thought so too, but tried desperately to keep his composure, maintaining the dignity of the ceremony. He did well until the man’s singing droned on and on. Vidiya sneaked into the audience, sat on the second row, and started smiling at Jeff. His calm, dignified listening was interrupted as he couldn’t keep from smiling at her—a very shy sort of smile. My eyes darted back and froth between the two of them—yep, it was the look of love.

I watched them both again the next morning—this time I was sitting behind Jeff who was in the audience on the first row as he anticipated the arrival of his bride. His anticipation was killing me! She walked in and he only had eyes for Vidiya dressed in that beautiful pink saree. There are so many clichés I could use, but I must say I don’t think I’d do that couple justice. Their love for each other was so visible. I was touched at her willingness to go through a Catholic wedding and his willingness to go through a Hindu wedding. The sacrifice they were willing to make, the complete acceptance of each other (“weird” culture and all), and the deep love they conveyed in those small glances.

Maybe I won’t be so happy as a lone world traveler. Maybe I would like to have someone like that in my life. Maybe. It's yet to be seen if love will attack me with such force.