Yet Another Wedding Narrative
Wedding bells chimed… metaphorically, of course. Crowds cheered, drinks emptied, cameras clicked, and speeches given. Another joyous occasion. And no, I am still safe, sound, and blissfully single. The wedding was of my prodigious cousin, Roshan Francis, and my multi-talented friend, Ashika Sharma. Wrongly rumored to be next in line, and the clear target for the loathsome ‘ooh-you’re-next-when’s-THAT-happening?’ speech, I sought refuge behind the camera lens… incognito as the unofficial photographer. The old hiding-in-plain-sight tactic. Not a bad strategy. Almost worked.
For those who came in late, Rosh is my high-flying, globe-trotting, wry-smiling, head-banging, crisp-talking, quiz busting rootin tootin cousin from my mother’s side. And he met Ashy, my French-teaching, paragliding, multilingual, guitar slinging, piano playing, pencil sketching, horse riding, palm reading, kathak dancing, matte painting, nature trekking buddy during a small party I had hosted a few years back.
Frankly, I never even imagined they would hook up. But looking back at the last paragraph, I realize I should have anticipated something of the sort. There’s a whole lot of him. And there’s a whole lot of her. Sparks were bound to fly. Matching each of their personalities would be a tough job by a third party…
“I’ll throw in a rock climber and nature enthusiast”
“Ha. I’ll see your nature enthusiast, and raise you a French linguist. GIN.”
They’ve been together for over two years now, unless my memory fails me… again. They say love makes the world go round. It certainly made THEIR world go topsy turvy, upside down… and spinning by the side. The problem was… like 92.73% of all couples the world over; they had differences… in opinion, in culture, in religion, in ambition, in drive, in interests, in addition to the generic differences between the sexes. But finally, they decided not to let trifles get in their way. Love, they proclaimed with their hitching ceremony, is all that matters, giving poets and songwriters a global boost.
It was an event so big it spawned a prequel and a sequel spanning over three states. The trilogy event started with a pre-marital fiesta in Pondicherry, where the bride’s friends gathered with the firm resolve to dance until they wake the sun up. This was followed up with the actual marriage in Madurai where tired, but still enthusiastic supporters danced and drank until the wee hours of the morning. And then they had a reception in Cochin where prudence kicked in before the tired bridey got tossed into a coma and festivities were euthanized early enough to allow a decent siesta. All activities from fiesta to siesta were covered in under a week, with barely enough time to breathe. The week was packed tighter than a wine shop on Christmas Eve.
It was strangely very fulfilling to see the event. It marked the end of the ‘is-love-really-worth-all-this?’ phase and marked the beginning of ‘let’s-get-committed-to-working-things-out’ era. The only thing they needed to know was whether they loved each other in spite of their differences. A lot of couples lose perspectives at this point.
Love is like an equation spread over infinite terms. Over time, you notice more and more and more factors, some of which seem unstable. The left hand side, or the LHS, and the right hand side, the RHS, both needs to be active in maintaining equilibrium. If the LHS starts fidgeting over a couple of new factors on the RHS, it might begin to lose balance. And then the RHS might say how awkward some factors on the LHS really are, but how it tactfully chose not to complain about them. And then LHS would say that RHS never thinks about how she would feel, and RHS would complain about how much LHS spends shopping. Then LHS would react by bringing in the time when she wanted to buy that lovely beige sweater with the pink border for her father but RHS spent that money on a new golf bag instead, hearing which RHS would simply shake his head and go bowling with his friends. Then LHS would storm out of the house with the kids and stay with her mother and serve divorce papers to RHS, who would, by this time, have taken to drink…
I screwed up the metaphor, didn’t I? I stretched it too thin. My metaphor turned out like a samurai warrior in scuba gear – vivid enough to catch attention, but too irrelevant to make good sense. And it doesn’t do much to retain the attention either.
Anyway, it’s good to find that some people can and do see past the trivialities and focus on life. I’d give two thumbs up to Rosh and Ashy, but then that’d make it difficult to type. I use my thumbs for the spacebars, you know. But then again… hmm… what the hell, they deserve that much.