of matrimony (and manure)

While rIAm was off meditating, Hari’s niece was in the midst of getting married. It was decided to bring me along, so I could experience some of an Indian wedding. Talk about making rIAm jealous!

Since we’d had some misunderstandings in the past about when certain plans were going to happen, I was careful to inquire in advance about what time I should be ready. I figured out 6pm.

Later, it was made clear that I was going by rickshaw with the three boys at 6pm. Hari and Vanita would come by motorbikeat 8 or 9pm. I didn’t really understand, but I knew it was better to go along with their plans.

When the time came, I was ready, and as the rickshaw pulled up, I realized there was a giant thing on the back of it. Then I realized that in addition to the mattress they were giving Barti (the bride), they must have also arranged a bed. So now it made sense, we were going with the bed and mattress and Hari and Vanita were coming later.

Now, this rickshaw was the type that has what looks like a motorcycle in front with a pickup bed in back. The bed didn’t fit inside, so it was up on top, sitting high above the driver. The mattress went into the bed, and then the boys and I went on top of the mattress. Off we went, like some great Maharajas, drawing the attention of locals all along the bumpy roads.

Everything was going along just fine, albeit very bumpy on the terrible roads made worse by the monsoons, and we were enjoying the scenery and seasonal rivers. Until, of course, we heard a very loud crack. The bed had broken. One of the two main support beams on the bottom was very much cracked. After talking to Hari we figured out we were headed back to the farm.

So about 90 minutes after we left the farm, we returned. Hari and Vanita were off with Jayesh to Mandvi to visit another of Hari’s sisters, who also had a child getting married. The rest of us waited on the farm.

But first, I had some washing to do.

Yes, washing. Because, you see, on the way back to the farm we couldn’t sit up in the bed anymore. Dharmendra sat under the bed, but the rest of us sat on the back with our legs hanging down off the rear end. Perfectly normal in India. I even took off my sandals so I wouldn’t lose one on one of the bumps.

As it turns out, that wasn’t such a good idea. As we rolled over an apparently fresh cow pie, it splattered like slime on Nickelodeon’s old show Double Dare. My right foot, mostly on the bottom, was covered. I had splatters on both pants legs. And my youngest traveling companion couldn’t stop yelling “Mendhi! Natural!” The rest couldn’t help but laugh, which was also Vanita and Hari’s response when they found out. And Vijay wasn’t much different. He at least understood why I wanted to wash myself.

And so, quite a bit after anybody planned, we found ourselves piling into Vijay’s car and leaving the farm at 10pm. My feet were clean, my pants clean enough and I couldn’t help but think two things. We might not be coming back that night (and I wasn’t really prepared for that) and that this would be the first – and like probably only – wedding I ever attended with manure on my pants.

By 11pm we arrived and found plenty of people milling about the village street in front of Barti’s house, with plenty more people in and just outside of the house. It was a mostly segregated affair, with the women inside socializing and doing mendhi while the men sat around outside.

I found it to be much like a big backyard barbeque back home. But without the meat. Or any food, for that matter. And without the barbeque. And none of the beer. Although the chai was pretty much free flowing. There was also no grass, but none of these things stopped people from enjoying themselves.

And the women came in their traditional finest, with sarees of seeimingly every color and design. The men, on the other hand, came in whatever happened to be at the top of the pile, often times this was even a clean set of clothes. And since India, while often fashion-minded, is stuck in a fashion that fits the 1980s, the men looked like they came out of the 1980s. Of course, the women looked like they came out of the 1780s.

Slowly I realized that this wasn’t actually the wedding. This was the final celebration before the actual wedding, which would take place the next night. I also found out I had been right, we were spending the night. If I had known that in advance I may have brought a toothbrush, more safe drinking water or contact lens solution and glasses. I was very glad to have packed rewetting drops. I also figured out that this party wasn’t going to stop.

After a while a guy with a drum started banging away while women and children starting dancing around him. This went on for a while, an interesting and impressive display. Then some guys came and would lift up small rupee notes and drop them down, in some sort of traditional offering. Then Barti was brought out and sat in a chair in the middle of the circle. Her brother squatted next to her and collected the fallen bills. More and more people came up to wave money over Barti’s head and let it fall to the ground. This went on and on.

Eventually the drumming stopped and the dancers dispersed and around they came with more tea for us. A little bit later, the drumming started again. Now anybody who wanted to could dance around in a circle. And this cycle was repeated all night, although not typically with the money. At some point I was given a cot and I fell asleep. A few others had done the same. Plenty never even closed their eyes.

But before I slept I really need to pee. I had scouted around the house thinking they may have a spot for this sort of thing, but I had only found a washing area (of course, as I walked back around the house from this discovery, I came across two squatting toddlers). I figured I’d ask Hari where I might find a toilet. I figured it would be very basic, but that there must be a spot for this sort of business. He told me to get water. I explained I didn’t need that much toilet. He figured out “only urinal.” I smiled and said yes, always surprised at which words Hari knows. I was directed around the house. There was a covered area, completely pitch black. I held my breath, stepped in as far as I dared, took aim and hoped for the best. I have no idea what I hit, but I was glad to be done. A few hours of sleep were waiting.

Hari woke me about 6 and we were on the road by 6:30. Vanita and Chetan stayed behind. Hari explained that “India… open toilet” and offered me the chance to use the river and its water. I declined. Later that day Hari and Dharmendra took off, I discovered, for Barti’s actual wedding. Jayesh and I were left behind. For the next day as well.

So, feeling bad that Jayesh was left behind only to take care of me, I made sure we got a special treat of ice cream and a mango drink in the village. Ice cream is his favorite treat (and I sure don’t mind it either!), and mango is both of our favorites. This put a smile on both our faces, as we were both rather disappointed to not be at the wedding, and it was an awfully quiet and rainy day on the farm, leaving us not much to do.

Heavy rains came in the afternoon (it was light all morning), and that brought the family home early, soaked, and we all enjoyed a late dinner. Perhaps secretly Jayesh and I were amused by the completely soaked and premature return of the family.

All this was the start, though, of a great friendship between Jayesh and me. Vijay and I were heading to the Vipassana meditation center to be there for rIAm’s final day – the one where she can talk to people – and then take her home the next day. I was also going to help with some trimming, and it was decided to send Jayesh along for the two nights.

Jayesh makes for a great friend, but let me tell you, he also makes for an excellent roommate. Since there was only one single bed, I got that and Jayesh got a mattress on the floor. He had this arranged nicely, but I pointed out that there were two more thin mattresses he could put under his to make an even more comfortable bed. Maybe this had occured to him, maybe not, but he was very happy I was so insistent, and you could tell he thought the bed got much better. Similarly, he was insistent I take the fairly heavy blanket, but quite happy to be able to use it for himself when I made it clear that even if I took the blanket I wouldn’t use it – I’m hot even with the fan, I said, but he’d be cold. He agreed and was happy to be curled up under the blanket at night.

In any case, from about 4pm on the 2nd until 8am on the 4th Jayesh and I were practically inseprable. We drew the attention of a number of Indians at the center, who were quite impressed. I couldn’t tell what was more impressive to them, though. That I had such a good Indian friend or that an Indian had such a good westerner as a friend. Or, perhaps, that we could easily talk to each other. Everybody agreed that Jayesh needs to come to the U.S. or Canada one day to visit.

Trough all of this, we all had a great time on the farm and in Kutch. We each found something we were looking for, and some other things we weren’t. We look forward to the day we can return to the farm, perhaps with our children, but we also look forward to bringing some elements of Kutch to Canada.

Cooking over a fire, eating with our hands, eating on the ground and making kitcheree all come to mind as occasional excellent reminders of life in India. Not to mention wearing Kutchee handicrafts and sleeping under our beautiful new quilt. We have much to take with us back home, both in materials, memories, photographs and ideas. We are excited!

(Too bad date trees don’t grow in Toronto, though!)