If you’ve ever seen a Bollywood film featuring a wedding, then you will have witnessed the tear- jerking debacle that signals the end of the ceremony. Called rukhsati in Urdu and vidai in Hindi, it is when the groom and his family, at the end of the wedding, take the bride home. This is also when she says goodbye to her family – she has just gone from being a daughter and sister, to being a daughter-in-law, sister-in-law and a wife.
Didn’t everyone know this was going to happen? Didn’t they all gladly agree to this? Weren’t all the celebrations of the past few days a build-up to this very moment? Then why is everyone crying?
I’ve been asked this question many times by non-desi friends, but I have no answer. I bawled like a baby when it was my time, just like every desi bride I have ever known has done. I can’t even attend somebody else’s rukhsati without going off like a broken tap.
As an onlooker, it’s hard not to get caught up in the moment. The bride is a mess, crying through all her make-up. The bride’s mother is hysterical at the thought of having to send her precious princess away and the bride’s father – despite all his efforts to appear collected – mopes and looks miserable.
My only advice: look away.
Have another go at the desserts, return that phone call you’ve been meaning to, or just go update your Facebook status. Do anything that will keep you away from the action. Your sinuses will thank you later.
The second-most valuable piece of advice I can give for surviving a desi wedding has to do with food: eat before you go, or, if you plan to eat there, go at the buffet like it’s your last meal.
If you’re naive enough to show up at the wedding at 8pm, like the invitation says, and expect dinner at 9pm, like the invitation says, then you are in for a rude shock. Don’t show up before 9pm unless you want to be the first person there, and do grab a snack before you go because dinner will not be served until 10.
And when it is served, brace yourself. It’s every man for himself.
When the lids come off the pots, it’s carnage. If you don’t get in there first, don’t bother at all. And if you do survive the scrum, don’t even think of going back for seconds. There will be nothing left.
Once you are back at your table with a plate piled high, you’ll realise what the fuss is all about.
There is nothing more divine than desi wedding feasts. As a Pakistani, I am partial to the biryanis, kormas and kababs served. Add to that the kheer (rice pudding) and Kashmiri tea served afterwards and you end up comatose with happiness.
So eat and drink your fill and remember: a desi wedding is like skydiving, you won’t enjoy it until you let go, and you definitely don’t want to do your first one without a guide (a good desi friend).
The writer is an honest-to-goodness desi living in Dubai
