Authors: Carol Jackson
Julie & Kishore (22 page)
Saras,
with a twinkle in her eye came close, she murmured in my ear, “Kishore bhaiya
will be pleased Julie, you look just like a Bollywood movie star, you could
even pass as Padmini Kolhapure…he did tell you she is his favourite
movie
star, didn’t he?”
I rolled my eyes and replied a little sarcastically
“Yes Saras, he
did tell me that once or twice.”
My
sarcasm was quickly forgotten as it hit me, I mean, boy did it hit me. I was
getting married. Out of nowhere, tears began rolling down my cheeks. I missed
my Mum, a girl should have her Mother at her wedding. It wasn’t right, I needed
a hug and seeing my face crumble Mummyji came near and hugged me tightly. The
other ladies followed suit, enclosing me in their arms
,
we were soon all crying. My tears quickly
changed
into
giggles, we all laughed and cried together.
The
Hindi word for festival is teohar.
It
was now early evening, an electric excitement was in the air as a procession of
women with shining cheeks
,
dressed in
glittering colourful saris promenaded out of the flat, bustled down the stairs
and buzzed
across the road
to the ceremonial garden. I was in the
middle of those women, a rose surrounded by butterflies, giddy with delight,
feeling like I was floating on a cloud.
Kishore
had not yet arrived so I stood on one side, partially hidden amongst the trees
to wait for him
. I didn’t want to reveal myself until
just the right moment.
From my spot, as
I observed the scene,
I saw many people had gathered and countless decorations had been arranged. The
garden looked glorious. Set aside in one area I noticed a raised platform, like
a small stage, with two decorated chairs placed in the centre. This was for the
bride and groom, where we would sit and be the stars, the main attraction.
While
I was busy taking in my surroundings, I realised I was unexpectedly all alone.
The women had gone to attend to their various chores or to greet guests. My
excitement soon changed to trepidation which inched up my spine as I
watched
the people around me, the people
gathered here for my wedding. I realised I didn’t know any of them. If I
recognised some of the faces it was only because I had met them in the last few
weeks. I felt abandoned and a little bit anxious and well out of my comfort
zone.
Again my self-confidence was shaken
, what on earth
was I doing? Did I, in reality, want to do this? Saris, bhindis, henna… how did
I wind up like this?
A
feeling of dread took over – why didn’t I just run away, escape? No one was
looking. No one would notice at least for a few minutes that I was missing. I
had been to the embassy well, at least to the driveway, I could get there again
and find my own way home to New Zealand. Home! That word sounded so consoling
to me. I yearned to be in my own familiar surroundings, my safe little world. A
world where I could talk openly and everyone around me understood what I was
saying. A world where I felt comfortable, womb-like, surrounded by my family
and friends.
My
sad thoughts were momentarily interrupted as someone approached. It was Mrs
Roberts, the Christian lady from downstairs. She must have seen the distress in
my eyes as she immediately put her arm around me
,
giving me a hug.
“Julie,"
she said, continuing in broken English, “Julie, I am Indian woman, I had
Christian wedding,
I
married in white wedding dress.”
I
swallowed and slightly nodded my head. Mrs Roberts laughed, “You English girl,
having Indian wedding, getting married in Indian dress.”
I
saw the funny side and despite my despondency laughed a little too. Mrs Roberts
took my hand, opened it and gently placed something in my palm. As I glanced
down, there, lying in my hand was a beautiful silver necklace with a cross
attached to it. I lifted the chain and looked closer at the cross that
elegantly dangled, it was exquisite. I was astonished - I hardly knew Mrs
Roberts and her kindness was overwhelming.
I opened my mouth to thank her but she had already gone. Searching for
her in the crowd
,
I noticed the
back of her head as she ambled away. I squeezed the cross tightly in my hand.
Although
I was not religious, this act of kindness gave me great comfort, giving me the
strength I required to go on. It touched me deeply and somehow encouraged me to
go forward into my new life.
Saras
appeared, “Julie bhabhi, are you okay?”
Five
minutes earlier on the verge of tears, I would have said no. Now, as I gently
squeezed the cross, I boldly took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Saras I am
fine."
She
adjusted my sari so it was covering my head. I asked for her help to put on the
necklace. When she had done this, I put up my hand and felt the gold and silver
necklaces together around my neck. It was ironic – I shook my head
in wonder
, these two necklaces representing the
two cultures in my life. That little silver cross had transformed my gloomy
thoughts into elation. It gave the small piece of home I had been longing for.
Mrs
Roberts
kind-heartedness reassured me and gave
renewed courage. My love in my heart for Kishore was enough to put my feelings
of homesickness to rest -
everything would be a
l
right.
I knew I had made the right decision.
Saras
clutched my hand tightly. We sensed the building excitement.
We
concealed ourselves behind the trees, making sure I was completely hidden I
quickly pulled Saras in front of me. Soon, we heard music, hollering and
cheering. The crowd gathered near the road side. Kishore had arrived.
My
heart pounded. I peeked through the hanging branches and saw a group coming
towards the decorated garden. I couldn’t believe my eyes, was I seeing a
mirage? Kishore was sitting on a horse, a horse! I knew an elephant or horse
was the customary way for an Indian groom to arrive at his wedding but
I knew nothing about this
,
I realised this must be the surprise he mentioned!
A band, which
included two men banging on hand-held drums were on either side of the horse
which was
decorated with red and gold tassels and
was being led
with a rope by a smiling man. Kishore’s Father, Sunil and other family and
friends were walking next to the horse, they
were
clapping
and loudly
whooping
. I strained my neck but from my tiny
viewing window I couldn’t see Kishore's face properly.
The
crowd parted as he dismounted and I gasped
,
he was so handsome. As the horse was led away, the guests shook Kishore’s hand
and slapped him on the back as he made his way through the garden and stepped
onto the stage. They laughed and encouraged him as
he
almost
skipped to the groom’s chair. He sat and faced the crowd. I could just make out
his sparkling eyes as they darted around the scene playing out in front of him.
I knew he was looking for me.
I
wanted to make a jaw-dropping brides entrance. I wanted to look directly into
his eyes as I walked towards him in my bridal sari. As I squinted through the
branches of the trees I managed to see he was wearing a creamy beige wedding
coat with a short collared neck. The coat had long arms and draped down past his
knees, I could just make out a gold-flecked pattern. He wore around his neck a
deep burgund
y
pashmina shawl and his trousers were also made in
the same creamy beige colour as his coat but did not have the gold flecked
design.
Now
Kishore was comfortable it was time for me to make my grand entrance.
Ranjini
joined Saras, the sisters stood on either side of me and as they clasped my
hands I knew I was ready to begin walking towards my soon-to-be husband. Some
of the other ladies who had helped me to get dressed earlier gathered around,
they would accompany us. This is similar to a bride walking up the aisle with
her Father.
Before
we began those magical steps toward
s
the stage
Ranjini squeezed my hand and put her head close to mine, “Julie Bhabhi, you
know an Indian bride should have her head down and act bashful as she
approaches her groom.” I nodded, so with my eyes downcast I put one foot in
front of the other and focused on the tips of my chappals as they poked out
from underneath my bridal sari. My stomach was filled with butterflies but I
blocked out everything around me and hummed softly to myself…'da, da,
da
da…da, da
.
dada…
here comes the bride.’
I
couldn’t contain myself any longer, lifting my head I shyly looked at Kishore,
his mouth was wide open in surprise, as were his bulging eyes. I smiled at him
and once he
had
recovered from
the
shock
,
he
flashed his
gorgeous cheeky grin. He then winked at me, which made me smile even more.
Ranjini’s advice to act shy and demure was forgotten, feeling elated, I could
not stop beaming.
Letting
go of the
girls
hands I stepped up onto the stage and
took my bridal seat next to my groom. His eyes met mine, he leant towards me
and whispered how beautiful I was. We knew our love for each other was so
strong and I began to cry. The tears rolled down my cheeks but this time they
were tears of happiness. A swirl of emotions swam through my body: the immense
love I had for this man who was to be my husband and the sadness of missing my
family and wishing they were with me. Not wanting to mess up my make-up, I
dabbed at my tears with the back of my hand, Kishore quickly fished into his
pocket and handed me a neatly pressed handkerchief.
I
scrutinized the scene in front of me and was filled with awe at the people
chatting, drinking, laughing and looking towards the about-to-be-married couple
and I felt truly humbled. They were all here for my wedding. Some of them had
gone to a lot of trouble to arrange the decorations, food, lighting, tables,
chairs and music.
I was truly blessed.
Kishore
,
on strict instructions from his Father-in-law had
given his camera to Ravi, an old university friend and persuaded him to be the
official wedding photographer. He asked Ravi to take ‘heaps’ of photos. I
remembered my Fathers words, that when all of this was over, photos would be
all we would have as memories.
Dusk
was falling and darkness was slowly creeping over us as we sat on our
wedding
chairs. One by one the guests
approached, stepped up onto the stage, congratulated us and posed for a
photograph. The traditional gift for an Indian wedding is money, which is
generally given in an envelope to the bride or groom,
some gave us notes that were linked together
in a garland which they placed around Kishore’s or my neck. As was the custom
the money received as a gift would afterwards be given to the grooms parents to
help cover the expense of the wedding.
My
cheeks were soon tired from all the smiling and thank
-
you
’s
but I continued to do so as every single guest
wanted to pose with the happy couple. As they approached
,
Kishore whispered the name of each person in my ear
- relative
s
, neighbour
s
, school or
university friends, so many well wishers! There was no way I was going to
remember everyone, it was too much to take in. Every man and woman conveyed his
or her compliments and blessings. I wondered how in
such
a
short time all of these people had come to hear of our marriage. Word certainly
got around fast in this country!
Night
fell but before it was completely dark, someone flicked a power switch. Bright
twinkling decorative lights, linked to every wall, tree and table blinked on.
They reminded me of Christmas lights but were so bright the guests were able to
see each other’s faces. With the gift giving and congratulations over it was
time for food. Ravi continued to click the camera as dishes of aromatic,
mouth-watering
delicacies were placed on
to
four long tables.
I
was once again astounded by the generosity of the people who were strangers to
me that had prepared this wonderful feast. Large bowls of steaming
hot
rice, huge pots of dahl, samosas made with delicate
pastry filled with spicy potatoes, fried onion bhajias, platters piled high
with garlic-butter naan-bread and kheer - a sweet rice pudding laced with white
almonds. The neighbourhood women had spent hours cooking these amazing dishes.
I watched the guests licking their lips as they loaded their plates. Daddyji
and Mummyji made sure the guests of honour did not go hungry, Saras and Ranjini
carried plates of finger food and a bowl of kheer for Kishore and myself.
Having not eaten since breakfast, I realised I was famished
and
ate with great enthusiasm. Saras
at this time also decided to carefully remove the
garlands of notes from around our necks and collect the envelopes from our
laps, she stored these safely, then
readjusted
my
sari
so it covered my
head
.
