One Wedding and More than Four Colours

This past Friday I received an 8" x 8" envelope (all measurements are approximate). Inside the envelope was an orange-ish, red-ish card with an elephant-man printed on the cover. Below the elephant-man was a procession, a celebration of some sort led by a man-man with a trumpet (all nomenclatures for bronze instruments are approximate). Last in the procession was a carriage, a marvelous carriage. Eagerly I opened the card to see what all the fuss was about. A voice of one (Partha) called out: "You cannot read it. It is my mother tongue. An invitation to my brother's wedding. Prepare the way of the lord." (direct quotations are approximate or the result of plagiarizing god).

My colleague Lawrence and my very wise and pleasant on the eye superior, Jason, had attended a wedding on a prior visit and from what they said it seemed like a great opportunity to witness this most holy of events in a new forum. I have always found weddings in the US to be fascinatingly boring and, statistically speaking, 50% meaningless. Kathy and Joey, are you listening? I want to see some colour! Throw down. Get your friends a little tipsy. Celebrate. Walk out to Tom Waits. Joey, don't be afraid to sing at your own ceremony. You have a wonderful voice and new acquaintances will bring you new opportunities (your a Libra, right?).

Karthic, Ram, and Shahol came to pick me up at 7:30pm with two motorcycles and enough helmets for half of us. I asked if they had any extra helmets, since I had nearly killed myself in a motorcycle (read: Vespa, but it was powerful) accident 18 months ago. They told me that it was not necessary for me to have one; only the driver needed one. This is technically the "law", but not everything that is permissible is beneficial...

We agreed to bike just down the street and get an auto (rickshaw). However, as we road through the night and the breeze splashed across my face in a pleasant mixture oxygen, dirt, and the ghosts of those who had died before us, I realized that a rickshaw isn't really any safer (more safe?). The only difference is that you are surrounded by a very thing shell, which would not do much if you were sideswiped by a jeep. No, the death bucket, as I have come to call them, would not ensnare me tonight. Screw it, me thinks, this is India! And so I succumbed to my lemming-like instincts.

We rode for six hours before we hit the spot, the beat was thumpin' and the girlies.... er, it took twenty minutes, but the beat was thumpin'. On the center stage was the bride and groom, or the "garminitoadstool" and the "antipastitelipsidoz" in Tamil (foreign language entries are estimations of what I think they said). Every few minutes one group of people would go up on the stage and have their photograph taken with the bride and groom, which, from what they tell me, symbolizes photography. This was, in fact, only the reception; the wedding would take place early the next morning.

After the photograph was taken, most of them seemed to be disappearing somewhere. Feeling my stomach give a twicth, I remembered that I had not eaten yet. Of course, they must be heading off to eat! Hurray! But I did not see any food. And at any rate, I was now being filmed by this guy.

There were several camera's set up around the building where live video feeds of the event were being broadcast (you can see one of them in the corner above). There was also a giant projection screen set up outside. I've seen this high-tech commodity in American weddings as well. I guess humans just need to use what they invent. Now, I'm normally not too shy in front of a camera, but I think he filmed me for an unnecessary long time. After the camera man left, Vishnu, another co-worker, said it was my turn. My turn for what? "We'll go up there and get then get food." "Up where? Upstairs?" "No, the stage". I thought being filmed was awkward, but posing with the bride and groom in front of a auditorium full of Indians and having my picture taken like a celebrity, yeah, that was a little awkward. It was, however, an honour. And it meant we could eat. The meal was traditional southern Indian food served a giant leaf.

After dinner came the real fun. Dancing! A few brave/crazy guys got us started and before long there was pretty big crowd.

My heart sank as I knew it was only a matter of time before they got my sorry ass up there. And I was right. And I loved it.

I only lasted a few songs, but what great time. I realized when I walked outside to big grins that my dance routine had been broadcast on the projector. Silly white man. Back on the bikes and back home. That is actually where I live...

Original Post: Anthony in Wonderland