I’m not a quarterback getting ready to play in the Super Bowl tomorrow. I’m also not a star batsman an entire race is looking up to, gearing to open the innings in the World Cup Finals the next day. For the honest-to-God boy-next-door that I am, my version of “being in the spotlight” is something closer to home, the wedding ceremony. In my humble opinion, nowhere else are folks’ focus trained at you like a marksman while you’re gamely going through the motions of marrying your childhood sweetheart (or in some cases, mom’s handpicked choice of “your perfect woman”) The quarterback and Sachin Tendulkar had it easy. At least they had those noisy ads and two piece cheerleaders to distract viewers momentarily!
For what it’s worth, the Hindu Brahmin wedding is a microcosm of several thousand events, functions and formalities, each vying over one another for importance, all of which are written in stone and need to be done in a certain sequence, lest the heavens descend upon the couple and curse them in all their fury. Apparently, no one considered recession or the spiraling housing market… but whatever. And as much as “Nalangu”, “Kasi Yaathirai” etc. are screaming for attention, I’d like to vent my ire just towards the Pièce de résistance, the Wedding Reception, arguably the bitterest ritual in this whole exercise.
Now, if I were James Bond or possessed the physique of a Greek God, I would’ve draped myself in a suit for eternity. I’d have gone to bed in them, rode a cycle rickshaw in them, shopped for groceries in them, played cricket in them, stirred a martini and talked to young ladies in them and whatever else comes to your fancy. In short, I wouldn’t have minded standing in an elevated platform wearing one and smiling cutely to the crowd while cameras clicked all around me. For lesser mortals like me who aren’t Bond and who like to think a Lakers T-shirt and Old Navy cargo shorts are the answer to every fashion conundrum, a suit is pretty hard to convince. Especially when you know,
a. You’re probably never going to give it a passing glance anymore,
b. As much as you’re flexing your shoulders or buttoning and unbuttoning your coat a million times something isn’t right. Either the coat’s too big or the pants are making you look fat.
c. That at least one person in the room is thinking “Geez! He should’ve stuck to a sherwani or much better, a white shirt and black pants like a waiter!”
That means you’re enjoying standing in this elevated platform as much as you enjoy Chinese water torture and have enough fake smiles already that your jaws are read to dial 911 any second. But that’s just the start. The real trip begins when the videographer (who's probably thinking this is his "P.C. Sreeram” moment) starts shining a few thousand watts of brightness in your face. Pray why? To capture these blissful moments for eternity into DVDs, photo albums et al. And we all thought such firepower was required only when digging a bore well or something!
There’s no respite. For the next 3 hours or until the last guest has caught him/herself on camera, whichever comes first. I’ve attended close to a dozen weddings in my lifetime and trust me, it’s always the latter, which stretches the cardio workout to at least 4 hours tops. And it's not like after the first fifteen minutes you can call for the glare to be shut off.
Sir? Could you turn that thing off? I’d really like some darkness now.
No #$%^in’ way! That ain’t happening. Lights on and lights off when the elders decree. And while you’re up there shifting your weight from one foot to another you better be careful. Every yawn, every sneeze, every facial twitch is religiously recorded for posterity. Good luck if you suddenly want to scratch your balls or desperately want to dig your nose. The family’s going to be watching the DVD a few months later for the nth time and all I’m saying is you were warned.
James Bond, I don’t think had to go through any of this. The world would’ve been fixated with his face and the fair maiden in his arms…
But really, what is it about them wedding videos that makes guys duck for cover? Prompts them to unabashedly pretend “Oh! We lost it when we were moving houses” or sometimes drives them nuts that they’d end up recording Super Bowl XLIV or a Seinfeld marathon over it. I’m not putting any ideas here but you know… Why can’t it ever be a short-and-sweet cutesy home video projecting the protagonists in favorable light rather than turning into an endless parade of guests coming and leaving while they wear the same stock expressions? Given this isn’t a Dreamworks or Madras Talkies production, cannot the bride and groom intervene and say “Ok! This is our show and this is how we want it to be laid out…”? I mean, just because we’re paying the crew a busload of money, doesn’t mean they’re accorded carte blanche authority, right?
(Pauses 60 seconds)
(clears throat)
(switches from wailing to normal voice)
I know I know… A salesman would’ve had more success hawking his tupperware to a housewife. From what I’ve gathered the families encourage “creativity” and the crew are more than happy to oblige.
Case in point: Varun and Sunanda.
Varun’s a good friend of mine who got married to his lady love Sunanda two years ago. Brahmin meets Brahmin, Sunanda’s dad is an entrepreneur and his youngest daughter, so the wedding took place with its usual hype and hoopla, though Varun insisted later on that he’d always preferred a simple one and had in fact sleepwalked through portions of it. I was inclined to believe him. A few months back they moved to my city and the first order of business was to pay the couple a visit.
“You’ve got to come for dinner. We can watch our wedding DVD. You haven’t seen it yet” she informed.
Normally if this were some random Jack and Jill something would’ve cropped up. Like my friend was stranded somewhere in Orange County and I had to go jumpstart his car because he didn’t know what AAA was OR our Production system at work had suddenly caved in and I was the only one who could resuscitate it. But Sunanda cooks food that’s out of this world, so I readily agreed. After all how difficult could it be to concentrate on the food while sneaking a few peeks at the TV, I assured myself on the way over.
Both seemed eager to see me and likewise. Initial pleasantries aside I was getting ready to dig into a bowl of piping hot vegetable soup when Sunanda dropped a big book by my side on the table.
“What’s this?” I asked, surprised. The damn thing was thicker than an encyclopedia and could’ve substituted for the 25lb free weight at my gym.
“It’s our wedding album” she smiled. This wasn’t on the agenda! Curious nevertheless, I decided to give it a try.
Oh my God! One look at it and it sent me into a tizzy. It was plain freakin’ obvious the photographer had run amok. The album had every imaginable shot of the couple clutching whatever object came to his fancy. There were doves (a paper mache model, of course), plastic flowers and potted plants, a few round balls (?), them standing in front of all the wonders of the world (a more realistic painting would've helped) and also (God forbid!) some close-ups of the two that would've made any child bawl in fear. And mind you, they’re more-than-average photogenic and presentable in person. There are only so many times you can say "Soopera a irukku" without meaning any of it and I gave up after the first dozen or so pages.
I’m such a fool and I was sitting there expecting to see just a few simple photos of the couple smiling, where each frame would’ve made them look regal and majestic like a king and queen. Like something that they could look at admiringly after a couple of decades and say “God! Weren’t we really made for each other?” I doubt one could say that for a photo of them in an awkward pose in front of a 6 feet paper cutout of the Eiffel Tower.
Certainly that wasn’t a moment to embark on a truth session overdrive. Not unless I wanted to skip the rest of Sunanda’s delicious creations. The soup had made me ravenous and I was determined to polish off as much of the fried rice, sambar and potato curry.
“It’s good. I love it” I said and closed it and pushed it away. “I’m sure you must’ve loved posing for these” I continued. Sometimes I do a terrific job of concealing my sarcasm and this was one of it.
“We did” she replied. “Come, let’s eat now” Thank God!
Dinner was unarguably delicious and I made no bones of the fact that I hadn’t eaten good South Indian food in a long time every time I lunged for more sambar or potato curry. Mercifully the topic was changed to something more current, like football, each other’s work, movies, hiking in the Angeles mountains etc. Varun was a huge Colts fan and I had to interject and remind him that my favorite quarterback the past three years, Drew Brees was equally up there when he went on and on about why Peyton Manning was the best of them all.
“After all Brees won the Super Bowl last year and threw for 5000 yards the year before” I clarified. Sunanda responded with some statistics about the Colts defense that surprised me. You cannot not admire a woman who speaks fluent football and I commended her right away. “The sambar’s awesome too” I added.
Forty minutes of calorie overload later myself and Varun settled on the sofa with a beer when suddenly Sunanda broke through screaming “I forgot the DVD!” and rushed to play it. I looked at Varun in shock. Did he know about this? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. But his expression suggested he’d rather go through with it than watch ESPN. I shrugged and switched over to a couch farthest from the TV.
From the frying pan into the fire…
The videographer either had to be the photographer’s brother or was both the same person. Never have I seen a DVD crammed with some many FX not even worthy of a C grade movie. The first part was focused on the couple and that’s the one I found most hilarious. Faces of the bride and groom kept tumbling towards each other at the speed of light from all corners of the screen only to be merged slowly until their enlarged faces filled up the screen. One moment you’d be wondering what a small speck was doing at the bottom of the TV and the next moment you’d be thrown back saying “Wow!” because that just became a flower and Sunanda would be climbing out of it smiling! Two flowers might be swaying in the breeze, then the music changes and lo behold! An entire garden is populated with our hero and heroine! Really, you needed to have at least a PhD in computer graphics to even think of this s**t.
Fifteen years back when I first discovered PowerPoint, me and my friend made a presentation of this sort for a class event, creating havoc on the monitor by going crazy with all sorts of animations on JPEG files. We added a soundtrack of a peppy Bollywood number and thought we’d be the toast of the class the next day. Truth is, I’ve never been booed like that before.
Memo to Cheenu Maama: These kinds of artwork went out of fashion with the psychedelic 70s. And a wedding album slideshow to hit songs certainly doesn’t make a DVD!
I was resigning myself to this video when suddenly the TV went blank and the words started to appear from the bottom of the screen
And now what you have all been waiting for
Dance item by
Sunanda & Varun
I sat bolt upright. What the #$%^ was that? Varun came on first wearing a brown suit and looking dutifully uncomfortable. Sunanda arrived a few seconds later with layers of makeup on her face to go along with her red sari. The latest Tamil hit song started playing and the two people with both left feet began to sway awkwardly to the music. I should’ve howled in laughter right there on the carpet but instead spent the next few minutes biting the hell out of my right knuckles. Dessert (gulab jamun w/ ice cream) wasn’t served yet you see! The entire number was captured by someone holding a camcorder and given the way the picture shook it was obvious he/she was having as much fun as the couple on stage.
Probably as a reward for my good behavior or so, we skimmed through the second part. In one minute I must’ve seen at least fifty aunties with loads of makeup and jewelry on, each making a botched attempt to not appear self conscious when it looked as if they’d paid someone to be on this home video.
I dragged Varun out to the patio as the DVD ended and Sunanda left to busy herself in the kitchen. We hadn’t smoked together in a while and now was the perfect time to let loose my barrage of questions.
“Dude! What the #$%^ was that?” I almost shouted. Varun took a long wistful drag as if he were counting to 10000.
“It was ok. Slightly cheesy but it was ok…” he stammered. He barely made eye contact and knowing him and his old school ways he was anything but thrilled.
“Are you serious? Some of it was ridiculous” I couldn’t believe he was so nonchalant.
Varun stubbed his cigarette and took a deep breath and began to explain. None of the animation bloopers in the DVD were his idea. The disc was mailed one month after his wedding when they were back here. And no! He wasn’t hooting and clapping when he saw it the first time. What about the dance? Well… He kind of realized it was stupid but blame it on his parents and her relatives for egging them on. As the album, that was shot after the DVD. And to quote him “It’s hard to say no when you’re b***s are cut off!”
“Oh man! I’m sorry” I hugged him. I felt really bad.
“If this is the case I’m better off getting married in a beach with just my friends. Anand can be my best man, Shankar can be the priest and afterwards the only pictures we’ll have are those where we are half naked and drunk. That’d be cool” I laughed out loud. Varun glared at me and lit another one.
“Trust me! You’ll go through the same s**t” he warned. I shuddered. That seemed more like a curse…
If you ask me, they can lay ten lanes on each side but nothing shall ever take away the title of “the world’s longest parking lot” from I-405. People will still be stranded ready to tear their hearts out, like today. 11.30pm on a Sunday night and rows and rows of automobiles stuck with no light at the end of the tunnel. Sandwiched between a truck and a bus with nothing to do my mind went back to the events of the evening.
As cool and yuppie a couple Varun and Sunanda might turn out to be, I felt bad for them on some level. Honestly. You get married once and yet you can’t have your memories your way because a few distinguished gentlemen deemed so. How cruel is that? Think about this, fifteen or so years later their son or daughter starts dating, discovers this DVD before prom night and imagine the horrors they’ll be subjected to. Talk about scarring your kids for life!
The fascinating part about the human brain is its ability to switch from one thought to another in a flash. Of all the options in the world available, it had to settle for “Namma Veettu Kalyanam”! I’d like to lay the blame squarely on the heavy dose of marriage material I’d been subjected to for the best part of the day. Yeah yeah yeah… that’s the same 30 minute drivel on Vijay TV where a hostess in badly accented Tamil attempts to excite interest on a wedding of movie star/TV personality by showing clips of their wedding video and quizzing them on what they went through.
Every bit of their wedding was arranged, so as much as the couple are trying to throw in a few wrenches and make it seem as if they’d moved a mountain, is anyone going to be duped? For certain, no one’s going to be exclaiming after the show “Oh my God! I can’t believe they still got married!” And let’s face it. None of these were red letter days in the nation’s history and the BSE or NASDAQ didn’t skyrocket by any means. So why is this even a program? I can’t think of a single 20something DVRing this and later telling her friend “I’m so getting an interior decoration like what Manickavasagam did. 50s is the new 10s! Woohoo!” So what’s the #$%^in’ point?
(Pauses 60 seconds)
(clears throat)
I know I know… When I finally understand why Karan Johar is still asking inane questions to some Bollywood rejects I'll figure this one out too...
On a parting note, its true that for anyone who’s shown on camera the cameraman's their best friend. I’m getting hitched on November 12th and if any photographer/videographer worth his salt's reading this I'm fairly certain they're foaming at the mouth and plotting their revenge. Y’all watch out for a DVD that features a short, dark, rotund-as-a-potato guy standing next to a tall fair maiden doing all sorts of circus tricks…
After all, p(l)ayback's a bitch isn’t it?
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