Bells are Ringing

They look resplendent. Music softly plays in the background. Sometimes the music was in line with the volume, sometimes it was upbeat and incompatible with the volume. It was still nice though. They looked resplendent. My son in a black coat, gold vest underneath it. Shalwaar white and starched. I wish he had brushed his hair though. His bride looks beautiful. Maybe he could have done a better job. He didn’t. It was us. I wonder how she’ll fight me. Will she? Saas susraal problems, naa? Everyone seems happy. Are they judging me? Of course they are. This is the Indian subcontinent. The entire purpose of people’s lives is to judge. To be fair though, they do things that should be judged. Not us. Not us.

I make note of who comes in late. And of who doesn’t. Tomorrow, I’ll make note of what each person has given the bride and the groom. Really says a lot about a person, and what they think of your relationship to them depending on what and how much they give the bride and groom in salaami. Literally shows how much they value your relationship. There is my husband’s best friend, with his two sons. There is my brother. There are all the relatives and friends and acquaintances, scattered piecemeal throughout this place. I’m glad we got a private place. We can go on for however long we want. God, I’m terrified of what happens tomorrow. And the day after. Both public places. They shut down weddings at 10pm in public places. And they have ‘one dish’ menus. Little more than one dish. But nothing as extravagant as the stuff we can have here. Really, what’s the point of having money if you can’t use it.

Loud cheering, lights dimming. People are seated with their tikkas and other succulent meats, and their eyes turn to the stage. The dances begin. Colognes permeate the air. And now the sound becomes louder, and throbs in the nighttime sky. The dances throb with the beating of our hearts. I look up at the sky and wonder what the next few nights will bring. First, they will celebrate matrimony. She looks happy. Then they’ll settle into comfort. Then will come the fights, or not. Probably will. That’s how it happens. It didn’t happen my time? No, that’s right. It did. It happens everywhere. My mother in law, well, I don’t want to be explicit. Let’s just say she wasn’t very happy her baby boy was being taken away from her. Not that he was. Not really. I would know. Still very much devoted to his mother. Woefully. Woefully only in the sense that he doted on his mother at the expense of his wife. But hey, thirty years later, at least we’ve moved past it, right. Grown up. Become more mature. Learned to live and love together.

I wonder what will happen to them? My baby boy who looks so handsome today. His wife. Could have been prettier. But here she is. Here she is now. Can’t change that. Sigh.