Zack barely knew Sita. He didn’t know her groom at all. When Rachel sent him directions to the wedding hall, he assumed someone would be around to show him what to do and what not to do. Because if growing up rich had taught him anything, it was that saving face was the most important thing. Particularly in front of cultures that could be considered world economic powers. They need steel in India, right? When Zack turned down his father’s invitation for a small family dinner and told him why, he was shocked that Isaiah didn’t suggest he use the wedding as an excuse to network on behalf of Feldman Steel.
He received a text from Rachel swearing that she would be there in a few minutes. Zack hung outside the venue, wondering why Rachel hadn’t responded to the selfies he sent in this comfortable kurta. Did he get to keep it? He might offer to buy it by the end of the night.
The drumming grew louder. Security had cleared the street in front of the venue for the groom’s party to round the corner, the illustrious groom whom Zack did not know riding atop a chariot pulled by two of his whining groomsmen. They were flanked by a small posse of men banging the drums.
People on the sidewalk and inside the venue erupted in applause and shouted encouragements in Hindi. Or Zack assumed it was encouragement, since there were smiles and claps aplenty. He joined in on clapping and hoped he wasn’t committing some terrible faux pas.
Just before the groom’s party arrived, Rachel appeared at Zack’s side, dressed for an Indian wedding.
That scheming Sita and her little sister Parvati had undoubtedly conspired to dress Zack and Rachel in complementing outfits. Zack’s deep green and gold-lined kurta went well against Rachel’s sapphire blue saree and the golden jewelry generously hanging on her body. Bangles, chains, and large hoop earrings embellished her hair and skin in ways that almost took Zack’s attention off the intricate designs covering her hands and arms.
“About time you showed up,” Zack said with a fake sigh. “The party’s starting and I thought I would have to enjoy it alone.”
“Sorry. I was at the mendhi ceremony all afternoon.” She showed off the spirals, flowers, and dotted lines on her skin. “It was girls only. Sorry.”
Zack looked over her outfit once more, taking in the way her subtle curves filled out the blue saree clinging graciously to her body. “You’re stunning in that. I hope you know it.”
Rachel blushed and turned her head away. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Surprised you figured out how to put it on.”
“Excuse me? It’s a shirt.” What Zack wouldn’t tell her was that he looked up instructions online to be on the safe side. Suuuure it looked like just a shirt, but with his luck he’d pull it over his head and discover some pocket, some strap that he never knew was there – and subsequently ripped. Best to err on the side of caution and have an embarrassing search string in his Google history. “Besides, you…”
The groom and his party arrived to the crashing of drums and the cheering of everyone behind them. People parted to give the groom in his red and gold outfit passage to the opening of the reception hall. Rachel frantically patted Zack’s shoulder to get him out of the way the moment Sita and her immediate family appeared in the hall.
The happy bride’s smile was as ruby red as the rest of her, the translucent saree swiping shades of pink and light red in the overhead lights. Gold hung from her ears, wrists, and nostrils. Beside her, Parvati wore a neon orange saree bedecked in gold sequins. Their mother likewise wore a bright amber that bridged the colors between her daughters. Tears fell from her cheeks as her daughter approached her groom with a garland of flowers in her hand.
“It means that they consent to marriage,” Rachel whispered into Zack’s ear. “Although if you ask my allergies they would have to be fake flowers.”
Zack could barely take his eyes off the exchange of extravagant flower garlands. “Where’s your hay fever now?”
“Hiding behind fifteen pills.”
She escorted him into the separate hall already filled with half a thousand people gathered to watch the nuptials take place. Rachel made sure to astutely point out that Sita and Parvati’s family had rented out the whole event hall, meaning they could have a separate ceremony in one room and the after-party in another. The way she said it made it sound like most Indian families didn’t have that much forethought, but Zack was already imagining his mother’s own parties taking place in a building like this. In fact, he knew that he had been here for galas and award ceremonies that drove him to the open bar.
Rachel warned him that the ceremony could take a while. It didn’t help that signs written in at least three languages asked guests to please use the restroom before the ceremony started, for the doors would be locked and nobody allowed to leave.
“What exactly are we signed up for here?”
Rachel hustled him into a folding chair in the middle of the hall. “With few interruptions, they might get it down to an hour. I hope you’ve brushed up on your Hindi and Sanskrit while we’re at it.”
Indeed, the nuptial ceremony was not translated into English. A plethora of aunties and uncles nodded along, while younger people twitched from cell phone withdrawal after the first twenty minutes.
Zack didn’t get what the problem was. Perhaps it was because he had never been to an Indian wedding before, so everything was new and interesting. He may not have understood what was said beneath the elaborate arch, nor did he know the couple very well, but he did know that this was already the best wedding he had been to since his best friend Seth got into a fist fight with Miguel a year ago.
(He had been to two other weddings since then.)
“So what do you think?” Rachel whispered forty-five minutes in. “Lost your mind yet?”
Zack hadn’t wanted to say anything, but everyone else around him muttered about whatever ailed them even though the ceremony looked like it was wrapping up. “No. It’s quite nice, actually.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
An elderly man stood up to stretch his legs. A woman let out an exasperated sigh and turned to someone else to chat – in English – about how much she practiced for the dance number. A child, asked to sit still for way too long, broke out in silent tears.
“I don’t think everyone shares our sentiments, though.”
Rachel grabbed his hand. “Fuck them. Who cares? It’s one of the nicest weddings you’re ever going to see.”
“Trust me when I say that I’ve been to plenty of ‘nice’ weddings in my life. This tops them all. Although…” He knew exactly what he was doing when he said it. “I like to think my wedding one day will be pretty loose and casual. Definitely don’t want a wedding ceremony that lasts longer than a few minutes.”
More blush. Rachel tried to yank her hand away, but Zack held the power now. There was no way he was letting her warm hand go. You dragged me into this wedding, Rachel. I’m not going to let your hand go until the couple rides off in their carriage or in their limo or whatever. He was going to hold true to that, too.
The groom placed red powder on his bride’s forehead and fastened black beads around her neck. The hall erupted into applause. Rachel announced that it meant Sita was now a married woman – oh, and it was time to follow the couple to the reception hall. That was the real party! Rachel told him that he better know how to bhangra.
Zack was mostly ecstatic to stretch his legs and join the throngs of happy people praising the decorations, the DJ, and the food set out at four different stations. Rachel insisted that he try out the Indian ice cream before the party really got underway.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC announced from the middle of the squared off dancefloor, “allow me to introduce to you the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Patel!”
A loud, boisterous song erupted from the stereos. Clapping commenced above everyone’s heads. Cheering, yelling, and shouts in Hindi bounced off the walls as the newly married couple bounded out from a side door wearing their change of clothes: matching Western attire of a white tuxedo and a creampuff-looking cocktail dress that twinkled beneath the twirling disco lights.
“Oh my God,” Rachel said. “This is going to be amazing. Everyone’s been practicing their choreography for months.”
Zack had half a piece of flatbread in his mouth when the couple busted out their practiced dance moves to the tune of a familiar song. “Wasn’t this song playing in that movie we went to see in the park?”
“Yup! It’s the big dance song!”
“This is awesome.” Zack had to hand it to Sita and her groom. They didn’t have dancing bones in their bodies, but the amount of practice they put into their elaborate Bollywood routine shined through the four minutes they were on the floor. Their smiles were bright enough to blind the crowd. But not bright enough to scare off their immediate families, who stepped onto the dancefloor at the end of the first song and joined them for the second. “I need to come to more Indian weddings!”
Later, Zack would discover that these carefully choreographed performances were a highlight of most weddings, not something that only happened when people felt like it. There were entire dance studios – including right there in America! – that did nothing but prepare Indian brides and grooms for their first dance together. This is the kind of shit I want at my wedding. For the past two hours, like a stereotypical young woman with nothing else to dream about, Zack had been imagining a quiet ceremony on the beach with the sand between his feet and cool linen against his skin. Now he wondered how he could swing a private ceremony with a big party like this at the reception.