Marriages are made in heaven. Weddings, sometimes, are made in a slightly more absurd world — where the bride blooms out of a lotus and guests disappear in the glow of radium light. A few over the-top-tales from India’s wedding season. Meher Fatma in The Indian Express.
An Indian wedding without histrionics is like butter chicken without the chicken, a Karan Johar film without the tears-you know, not the real thing. So you have the uncle with the paunch who wants to dress like Hrithik Roshan and dance badly with abandon, the neighbourhood auntyji in a Swarovski-studded sari who weeps with more gusto than the bride’s parents and the father of the bride who wants nothing less than an aerodrome for a shamiana. Weddings can make Manmohan Desai seem like a master of realism.
Cut to a farmhouse in Chhatarpur, Delhi, a week ago. It’s a cold night. The guests are just beginning to get high on white wine when eight hefty men in silk kaftans arrive holding a 10-foot-high lotus bud. The groom looks wary and the guests are curious.
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