The little flat, abuzz with family members, opens wide its windows to beg for a breeze. Instead, the blood-thirsty mosquitoes find their way through the bars, screens, slits, to make a meal of us. The sun has set and still 100 degrees in the flat. Henna tubes make their way out of bags, corners and are squeezed generously onto empty hands. Soon, the musty, herby smell takes over from the spicy aroma of dinner. Girls, giggling and wriggling for their turn. Matrons, with watchful eyes are much more patient. The floor is quickly swallowed by mats as all the family spreads out.
The Grandmas and Aunties fall quickly asleep. Who could in the heat? Yet the day has been full and there are but a few hours before the wedding day. Get sleep while you can. “Sing another song, Auntie!” The excited girls chime together. So, I wrack my brain for more love songs and lullabies. They beam at me and ask again, “Just one more!” Of course, it won’t be just one. Then, “Dance for us, Auntie!” With a house full of 20 people at least and most of them strangers or men. Yes, I’ve danced at weddings. I’ve danced at my own. But for this group, not so much. Then, it’s my turn for the beauty treatment. Beautiful young women grab my hands and get to work. I sit by the bride as designs form on my wrists, palms, fingertips are darkened. How quickly they work! Now, we all wait, with arms outstretched, for the heat to dry the designs, set them on our hands.
We lay down wherever we find ourselves. Maybe there’s a mat, maybe there’s a sheet, maybe there’s a pillow. Maybe not. But, we’re together. The henna flakes off our hands and reminds me of cracker crumbs in my bed. The electricity toys with us for a few minutes as the fans begin again. Ahhhh, the breeze! “Thank You, Jesus!” escapes from my lips before it quickly shuts off again. Drat! I guess Jesus wasn’t so concerned about our comfort this evening. I grab my thin shawl to cover my hands, feet, and head against the barrage of mosquitoes, only to throw it off quickly again because of the stifling heat. But, we’re together. A few short hours of sleep and the call is resounding for prayer and I’m up for the day. The first rays of light shine through the open windows and the mosquitoes slink into the corners for a nap.
Today is the day that changes a friend’s life. Here in India, weddings are different. The bride and groom barely know each other. Some don’t know each other at all. During the day, the bride sits quietly while everyone looks on, thrusting cameras in her direction to take pictures of her downturned eyes and still, bejeweled hands. She waits for all the chaos to happen around her and says very little. This is a good, Indian Bride: quiet, beautiful, fair-skinned, meek, sad. Sad? Why? Because after this day, she officially belongs with her husband’s family instead of her own. Most of the brides move into their in-laws’ home that very night and spend much more time with their in-laws from this day forward than their birth family.
How strange to try to explain an American wedding to these friends. The bride wears white? That’s the color of mourning. The bride went to tanning beds before the big day? Her skin is too dark! The bride laughs and talks and mingles with everyone? She must not love her family! The bride and groom dance and kiss in front of the whole assembly? She has no shame.
The real test of love is the same. Will it last? Can a man and a woman survive their differences, their family struggles, financial difficulties, you name it? Can a man and woman love and respect each other, not just survive? This is the mark of a good marriage. Not how it starts, but how it ends. I pray for my friend that the end is as beautiful as the beginning. That her life is blessed because of this marriage. That her wedding day is not the best day of her life.
A henna design I drew
My friend and I ready for Wedding Festivities
Bridal Hands
The Grandmas and Aunties fall quickly asleep. Who could in the heat? Yet the day has been full and there are but a few hours before the wedding day. Get sleep while you can. “Sing another song, Auntie!” The excited girls chime together. So, I wrack my brain for more love songs and lullabies. They beam at me and ask again, “Just one more!” Of course, it won’t be just one. Then, “Dance for us, Auntie!” With a house full of 20 people at least and most of them strangers or men. Yes, I’ve danced at weddings. I’ve danced at my own. But for this group, not so much. Then, it’s my turn for the beauty treatment. Beautiful young women grab my hands and get to work. I sit by the bride as designs form on my wrists, palms, fingertips are darkened. How quickly they work! Now, we all wait, with arms outstretched, for the heat to dry the designs, set them on our hands.
We lay down wherever we find ourselves. Maybe there’s a mat, maybe there’s a sheet, maybe there’s a pillow. Maybe not. But, we’re together. The henna flakes off our hands and reminds me of cracker crumbs in my bed. The electricity toys with us for a few minutes as the fans begin again. Ahhhh, the breeze! “Thank You, Jesus!” escapes from my lips before it quickly shuts off again. Drat! I guess Jesus wasn’t so concerned about our comfort this evening. I grab my thin shawl to cover my hands, feet, and head against the barrage of mosquitoes, only to throw it off quickly again because of the stifling heat. But, we’re together. A few short hours of sleep and the call is resounding for prayer and I’m up for the day. The first rays of light shine through the open windows and the mosquitoes slink into the corners for a nap.
Today is the day that changes a friend’s life. Here in India, weddings are different. The bride and groom barely know each other. Some don’t know each other at all. During the day, the bride sits quietly while everyone looks on, thrusting cameras in her direction to take pictures of her downturned eyes and still, bejeweled hands. She waits for all the chaos to happen around her and says very little. This is a good, Indian Bride: quiet, beautiful, fair-skinned, meek, sad. Sad? Why? Because after this day, she officially belongs with her husband’s family instead of her own. Most of the brides move into their in-laws’ home that very night and spend much more time with their in-laws from this day forward than their birth family.
How strange to try to explain an American wedding to these friends. The bride wears white? That’s the color of mourning. The bride went to tanning beds before the big day? Her skin is too dark! The bride laughs and talks and mingles with everyone? She must not love her family! The bride and groom dance and kiss in front of the whole assembly? She has no shame.
The real test of love is the same. Will it last? Can a man and a woman survive their differences, their family struggles, financial difficulties, you name it? Can a man and woman love and respect each other, not just survive? This is the mark of a good marriage. Not how it starts, but how it ends. I pray for my friend that the end is as beautiful as the beginning. That her life is blessed because of this marriage. That her wedding day is not the best day of her life.
A henna design I drew
I praise God for your willingness to enter another culture and share your insights with us.
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot. By the way, do I know you? I know a lot of people whose names start with J :)
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