Whose wedding is it?

Have you noticed, the wedding season is now never ending? Be it summers, rains or winters, weddings are happening every day. Which translates into - 

• all you can eat buffets, 
• dusting off and wearing all the expensive clothes and shoes that you bought but never quite found the right occasion to wear,
• looking at and passing judgement on others who deep dived  into the depths of their wardrobes or pockets for expensive clothes and shoes, and
• getting dolled up (unisex statement. Playing dress up is now common to both men and women) by waxing, scrubbing, polishing and painting various parts of the body

But the weddings are not about us. They are about the bride. Although in most cases, she is the one who least enjoys her own wedding. What with wearing 40 kilos of wedding finery, 10 kilos of gajra, jewellery and heavily embroidered dupattas hanging from the back of her head (that neck ache takes time to go away!) and the pressure of a thousand faces staring at her from all angles noticing her every movement, and the video cameras thrust in her face ensuring she can't get a decent morsel of food in her mouth, and forget about having a sip of water without straw because she can't risk ruining her lipstick. But yeah, weddings are still about the bride. It is her long time dream coming true. It is her day to feel like a princess, even though she can't feel her face with all the layers of make - up on her.

Yes, the weddings are about the bride. And the bride wants everything to be perfect, every hair in place, no lipstick on teeth and the smile she spent hours mastering in front of the mirror. Even if she does not look or feel herself, it is fine, because everything has to be perfect. But is it really fine?

With close friends getting married, I have been subjected to the torture of giving my opinion on a thousand pictures of brides. I have seen ugly ducklings transform into shy fairies on their weddings. My jaw has dropped tens of time and my mind has refused to believe that a woman who looks like any regular girl can become goddess like - with only traces of similarity left with her original self.But do they forget that they will have to wash off that make-up in a few hours. I am sure her to-be husband and his family would have seen the girl in her original form. Would they not wonder - who this woman is, we saw someone else? When after a few years, the bride's kids will watch the pictures and videos from their mother's wedding - would they believe that their mother is the same woman their father married - because she would look nothing like her!

How fair is it to become so superficial on your D-Day that the most honest compliment you get is - "Wow! You look nothing like yourself. Totally changed!". Is it satisfying to know that you looked extraordinarily beautiful on your wedding - but nothing like yourself? Or is it the pressure of the society that makes them want to give in to their expectations of looking utterly and unbelievable gorgeous and lose her own identity. How does it feel to look into the mirror and find a stranger looking back at you - knowing - that your groom would be marrying this stranger and not the woman he met and liked/ fell in love with.

Here are some examples of transformation:

I have nothing against make-up and wanting to look pretty. All I am suggesting is that there should be a limit to a make-over. Especially on the day which will be immortalised in albums, videos, posters and fridge magnets for years to come! 

Oh, and I am not showing off, but just to prove my point and highlight that I am not hypocrite, here goes:

So ladies, you are beautiful the way you are and that is what your new family believes too! Just to fulfill your dream of looking ravishing on your special day, don't let someone else take the center stage at your own wedding. 

Taxi Tales

The fact that I have not written in a long time highlights the non-existence of any adventures in my life. But over the years I have come to realize that boring is good. Boring is smooth. But then, boring leaves me with a pen hanging in mid air wondering about what to write. Especially, when writing about your friends can cause too much trouble - and I talk from experience! So, what I needed was an anonymous subject - unrelated to me. And then, a cab ride later, I found my next subject. 

So because of work, I end up taking quite a few cabs to meetings. Some recent untoward incidents that have happened in cabs make me keep my guard up at all the time. So I have come up with this strategy to chat up with the cab driver, when alone. Engage him in conversation, ask him about his hometown, his journey, his family etc. etc. so that the cabbie feels a kinship with me and doesn't attempt anything which he shouldn't. Although this strategy has worked for me so far, I wouldn't advise it to others. You see, there are a lot of attached disadvantages. The cabbies can turn out to be too chatty and leave you with a headache. Or might answer only in monosyllables, leaving you with that chilly feeling that he has something else on his mind and you end up making fake phone calls to people just to ensure that the driver knows that a LOT of people know where you are, who you are with, when you are expected home, make of car etc.! Yeah, true story!

So this strategy means I am left with quite some interesting stories. Here go a couple of them:

1. Hindi bhashi Nepali: Subebahadur is Nepali, which I could never have guessed despite the crinkly small eyes, considering his impeccable Hindi - which he said he learned in 5 months when he came to India at the age of 14. When I pointed out that he did not look anything like the picture on Ola, he told me he was driving his friend's car. You see, he had met his targets. His friend was unwell and he was helping his friend meet targets by driving his cab. Subebahadur ran away from his home and family in Nepal at the age of 12 with a tourist family who told him stories about how luck changed for better in Delhi. And, the family kept it's promise. They taught him Hindi, sent him to school, paid for his driving lessons when he showed interest, helped him buy his first car and got him married to a nice Indian girl. That was 15 years back. Although the family has now shifted to the US, Subebahadur is forever in their debt and always ready at their service whenever they visit. While Subebahadur misses his home in Nepal, but his family will now never accept him because he married against their wishes in another community. He is glad that his two brothers are taking good care of his parents. Throughout the 1.5 hour journey, Subebahadur shared anecdotes from his life, told him how the Ola system worked, how he loved driving, how he met his targets well in time to earn extra incentives. He was happy and satisfied. Something in his smile, cheerful demeanour and his story, made me feel superficial and insignificant. But I am glad I took his cab.

 2. The Tag Heuer: After a long, fruitless meeting at a Ministry, I booked a shared Ola. The car that came to pick me up was a Chevrolet Enjoy. It is quite like Chevrolet's version of Maruti Eeco - you know the sort where rapes happen. Controlling a shudder that chilled my spine, I got into the cab and hoped that I will get a fellow passenger in the shared cab. The driver was young - which often adds up to my worry. So, I turned on my strategy full swing on him. Unfortunately, Ranbir Singh turned out to be a quiet guy. He answered my prying questions in monosyllables and clearly begrudged me when he had to answer in two words instead of one. After resorting to two fake phone calls (yes, I can be very paranoid), I noticed a glittering watch on his hand as he shifted gears. The big dialled golden watch sat proud on Ranbir Singh's wrist glinting in the afternoon sun. I casually complimented the driver on the watch and voila! Those were the magic words. Ranbir Singh instantly warmed up to and told me the story behind his Tag Heuer. Ranbir Singh used to be a chauffeur for hotels. He liked his job, even though the hours were tough. He drove a BMW, and a Mercedes at times. His clients were usually foreigners because he spoke a little English. This one time, a Russian businessman travelled in Ranbir Singh's car. The loyal driver, swatted away the street urchins who gathered around the big, red Russian. Ranbir Singh helped the Russian buy presents for his family back home. Ranbir Singh sang him Hindi songs in his not in tune voice and also learned a Russian song from him. After 15 days, when it was time for the Russian to leave, Ranbir Singh brought him home cooked paranthas for the flight - because as Ranbir Singh recalled - the Russian did not like plane food. The teary eyes Russian hugged Ranbir Singh, slipped his expensive and beautiful Tag Heuer off his wrist and gave it to Ranbir Singh. Ranbir Singh wears the watch every day. While his family made him quit his job because of odd hours and little pay, he misses the hotel run. The Tag Heuer is a reminder of his glamour days.

I have so many more cab stories - some half forgotten, some names without faces and some faces without names. But almost every cab ride that I have taken alone is a small adventure - a window in someone else's life. Try my strategy someday, maybe you will get to hear some great stories too.