In doubts

I remember some time ago I was discussing student life vs. work with someone. The person told me that while it is tricky with the studies as they take over all your time it’s great with work as you just leave it in the office when the working day is over and just head to some nice activities later. Hm…what a though, I am thinking now.

It’s not like I am having work at the office and life outside. Somehow I live in the office and I work outside. Because according to me the definition of work as something that prevents you from living is false. It enables your living – meaningful and happy one. After all, I wonder if I work now or I simply do what I like and enjoy it. What is the criterion of work, anyways?

Writing paper on work safety and seeking to figure out all the turns on the plot in it, trying to fit the reading material I’ve got and justify the time spent on the reading stuff that does not fit, feeling the burden of the loads of pics and notes from the wedding and so much more other material for the blog – pending, recalling the short novel I started in Russian some months ago and feeling like getting back to it now, sketching ideas of the research to pursue while in India and after, ideas about the ultimate job and tentative business plan for this undertaking, ideas on a bridge-blog on Russian women… on women in India…. on masculinity in cross-cultural context… Why am I so resourceful???? This triple trade-off – between part, present and future: reflecting on the past, embracing your present or picturing future. And then life – life itself that grabs me…. and tells me… you-live-me-girl… and it would not leave me alone until it makes sure I live…. and I do with all my heart, I do.


I am running after this guy with a worn through bag with some extra time in it – I am desperate to catch him, but never manage and the longer it takes the more of the extra time just flows out of the holes on his bag. No hope…

Last days in my current house – all of a sudden everyone seems so sweet and the need to move out goes away as such. We’ve got a new flatmate – Dutch guy, quick learner (already mastered the essentials of Russian - “You’ve got a nice but” , he says in Russian) and a match for our restless Columbian Juan-MI. Sweetheart Misha (Polish Michal) is throwing a farewell party tonight.

Last night Anya shared her idea about the movie she wants to shoot here. Simply terrific – people with golden ideas just walk in the streets and you’d never know unless they share. Wow, wow, wow!

Bas – lunchtime.

Monday reflections

I live in a male world. If you think of a matrix with male names being on one grid and various activities being on the other then my life now is pretty much about putting ticks in the cells of the matrix. Dinner with one, coffee with another, conversation with someone else, sms flirting with whoever else. Not even mentioning my male-dominated apartment where this male dominance grows day by day. Different kinds of guys - from convinced friends to please-do-not-be-so-explicit. Let me never become cynical about the amount of all this attention, neither too naïve about its nature.

AND still no single one to share all those activities with....

As for girls....Anya is the only female my life here, however ambiguous it sounds, he-he… But it’s with her we discuss weird (and nice too) men around, hugging each other, murmuring (yes, about guys again) and holding each other before falling asleep (we share a huge bed in this curtain room), taking busses and bargaining.

Moving into a seemingly girls’ flat (with 2-4 other girls) – would it be quite a change. This week...

Playing: football and tabla

I consciously devoted this Sunday to observing people who are really good at and enthusiastic about what they are doing.

Football I

After a sweet-sweet breakfast with the dearest flatmates (viva fruit salad and caramel yoghurt) I rushed to the National Stadium where a friend of mine, Hannes, works. Essentially a student of political economy in Berlin Technical University, he came to India to work as a football coach. He deals with kinds – unprivileged kinds, street kinds, kinds from rich families...any kind of kinds, to put it short. From the way he was taking about his job it appeared he is really excited. So I wondered if I could come once… Not to spy, just to visit ;o)

I come in the middle of the training. There is a whole team of coaches and different groups of children: so, they would divide and go for various activities at various parts of the field. They would line up for warming up, or would split for actual playing, or would practice in a chaotic and playful manner .

Hannes does everything seemingly effortlessly. He’s tired and not particularly energetic today (they started early this morning), but how can you make kids’ eyes sparkle if your own ones do not?!



They would tease him, he would pretend to be mad and would start kinda like fighting (more like conquering for him, surrendering for them: no chances against 2-m long Hannes). The ritual is known to all anyways, and it seems a great fun for kinds to be “killed” by their German coach….



Kids just get so happy .. if only you could see with what kind of admiration they look at him. Communication goes smoothly despite language barrier and Hannes seems to have developed ways of communication with kinds.

Just four girls I found there – two older ones and two really junior – as dedicated and as good as the guys are.



There are some guys who are not part of the programme, but they would come and watch the training and kick ball off-site.



The smallest one gets so happy when Hannes while getting around the field finds some time to devote to this kid too. What starts then! All the zeal and wish to appear great show up in the kid!



Children appear to be amazingly self-sufficient and barely pay any attention to me when playing so I just could shot them as much as I want (I am telling you, people, I am dreaming of 10-15x zoom for such occasions). But once they have a break it’s started – what’s my name and just one picture and conspiratorial smiles and winking.



Football II

Later on I am going to Kanak’s just to find him with shaved head (amazing change) – in the Liverpool T-shirt excited about the football match Liverpool vs. Manchester city. This is thanks to (thanks or due.. I do not know yet) him that I get involved in the game: and even though the major criterion for me is the number of the hot guys in the team, I am getting some clue about the rules and techniques. But Kanak is right – It’s fun to watch people who are ready good in what they are doing. Even you’ve got just a rough idea about what actually they are doing. I recall this line from “Master and Margarita” by Bulgakov about Margo “and she’s got passion about all the people who do something first-class”. У нее была страсть ко всем людям, которые делают что-либо первоклассно.

Tabla

The next landmark of the Sunday agenda was tabla concert at Nehru park (Music in the park project). It was Zakir Hussain http://www.momentrecords.com/zakir.html performing. However little the name means too me I got to know that this musician is very big and admired. Noteworthy, he was voted Indian sexiest men in India once. And I can understand Indian women here: tabla playing requires really magic hands. What else but hands, ha?

Large open air it was: Chanakyapuri (this governmental residential area with major embassies) was packed with cars, people were sitting on the grass, standing and just roaming around. Tender wind swished the dark. Sound of the music gradually fills anything in the park – the air, the space, the minds. It spreads, but does not dissolve. Playing tabla is very sensual. I am thinking of piano: however exciting the performance might be the system is pretty explicit: finite number of keys to press – finite amount of sounds to come out… Now think of tabla – the small round is an infinite arena for experimenting – different parts of the surface to be touched with varying strengths with varying number of fingers with rhythm up to you. Just improvising.

I feel, therefore I am - Q.E.D.

I could sense it has been coming for some time already. This feeling that is tricky to word. You can roughly compare it with ...

…..with getting out of breath in the oppressive summer heat right before the relieving shower rain pours on you.
…..with a long exhausting hike in the mountains when with your pushed to the limit body and stamina, with batterflying stomach and dizzy head you know that just a couple of steps left before you reach the top.
…...with the tension that tears you into pieces and makes you give a frenzied scream just before you climax.

A feeling akin to that takes over you and you just live it not even being able to spell it out. It does not want to be spelt out as if being scared to lose its mystery and its power over you. And then it comes - as a shower rain, as a mountain summit, as a climax. Wanna run away? Give it a try and you'll be looking as pathetic and miserable as those escaping from the 50 m high tsunami wave in a hopeless American movie. I remain still and just watch it approaching and coming over me...

Done - the fat baby boy with the bow and arrows rubs his plump hands with pleasure - his shots always reach the target.

Indian men: biased note of a White girl

It seems that for 1,5 months in India I’ve learnt so much more about how it feels to be a woman than I did in my first year in Norway. India really teaches you something about femininity and you should make sure you experience the best part of it too (u’ll face the worst part for sure, that is why some compensation is needed ;o)

These are Indian men who would make you truly feel as a woman. In Russia we’ve got this expression “feel female”. IMHO it implies that you feel protected, adored, given credit to look beautiful and appreciated when looking beautiful.

Ok, my further elaborations concern those Indian men I’ve got to know (going out, joint socializing, family friends etc) mainly from middle and upper class. I do not mention those who do nothing but make me feel uncomfortable as a woman: those amount for huge numbers indeed – but let leave them out of scope.

I fall in love with literally any man I got to know here. It’s just so easy. You really sense this bursting masculinity and there is nothing more attractive about men than that. This masculinity comes in many forms varying from at times funny show off and bravado of younger guys to a sense of great responsibility over their families, women as such and friends, shown by more mature men.

Every time being with one I feel so protected, so taken care of: my wishes are anticipated and fulfilled (may take time, but women are doomed to be patient in India ;o). All this coupled with the admiration looks I catch really cherishes the feeling of being a woman rather than an a-sexual human being which u’r mainly considered when hanging out with a mixed-sex crowd in Europe. In latter, I guess, unless you really like a girl you do not show such behaviour (some manage not to behave like that even with the girls they like). Here (just like in Russia) every woman is beautiful, if you know what I mean ;o)

Examples that made some western eye-brows rise:

· My female friend and me go our with male friends of hers. They take us to a really nice night club and no worries are needed about entry, drinks or any issues emerging. We’ll be safe, having lots of fun, dancing, protected from extra attention from other men, walked to the bathroom and picked on the way back ;o) and safely delivered to our house at the end.

· I tell my male friend that I need eye-drops: we drive to the chemist, he explains what the symptoms are and gets the drops for me.


· Me and my friend are departing on a train and notice a stall with nuts and dried fruits: we decide to go for dates. The male friend who sees us off gets two packs – one for each. He also runs to get some mineral water for us as the train is departing and we nearly forgot to get drinking water.

I already can see some sceptical smiles on some Western faces ;o) I am not naïve, people, ok?! But it’s stupid to explain it all as a form of sexual advances. I believe that on the first place, people really know something about friendship regardless the gender here: they really go for miles for each other. And only then… ok… I am a blond girl, of course I would enjoy al those small privileges: men are just men in this country.

Moreover, please, mind that my work makes me aware of various issues that do not really encourage idealistic perspective on Indian masculinity. Harassed women, raped girls, beaten wives – it’s all part and parcel of this bursting masculinity. I also keep observing what happens around. I can see that women keep quite and respectful when men is busy, e.g., talking to someone. I can see how highly educate and working women still bear the full burden of the home duties. I can see that women are recognized only when married.

Bu then…. there is a small issue .. Follows as nicely articulated by one of my male Indian friends.

His Western female friend commented on his amazing hospitality and nice reception she gets at his house. She jokes he would be a perfect partner to live with.
- Oh now,- he smiles. If we live together it’s all gonna be yours too. And then it would be you doing things…

The moral is being friends with India males is not the same as being their girlfriends (wives). In the first case you’re equal parts, in the second you are put in his balance sheet (and you cannot be sure to be entered as an asset or a liability). Goes for every culture to some extent, I believe.

So, Indian males are terrific friends. And it’s up to you how far you want to go in your friendship relations. But be sure and be safe - no marital consequences. As a rule of thumb here, guys before the marriage can hang out with any girls. They do not marry the ones they hang out with, though. On the first place, girls who are easy going when it comes to hanging out have already failed their exams for good Indian wives. Found this Turkish saying “{sexual liaison} is a stain (dishonour/shame) on her face and henna (sign of celebration and festivity) on his hand”. Applies here too. And then arranged marriages still prevails. And you, an easy-going Western girl, would not be even included in the list of the least preferred candidates. So, carry on with the friendship as Indian males are terrific friends ;o)

Dreaming of peace

Life does not want to give me a single break. It comes up, grabs me and says, “You, girl, live me”. With 800 Mbs of unsorted pictures and pages of only-started wedding blog; with major ear infection that makes even chewing painful (he-he, maybe a good reason to stop eating so much) I rush into the new working week – catching up with work, friends, changed weather in Delhi (no freezing in the night) and the normal life. How normal the latter is one may argue, but there is no other option than to live it.

Getting back is never easy

I wonder if I ever get back to the Western Europe without trouble... Western people here piss me off ;o) Indian experience really puts my stay in Norway Europe into perspective… and it seems I truly start appreciate my home country – Russia – for its position in-between. Someone pointed out: “West is West, East is East ands they never come together”.… well, seems they strangely do in Russia.


Got home around 11 pm and found our house full of people. Great I got to speak to Kanak before so he told me about the party my room-mates are making. At least was mentally prepared. Tender hugs with Anya (who had been missing me for way too long ;o), Michal (whom Anya blandly calls “Misha” on a Russian manner), Hannes and Kanak. The rest – beloved flat-mates and the whole new crowd to meet. I cannot believe I am here among foreigners after 7 days being the only non-Indian for miles around. Mind-blowing change. Anya suggested we play some Russian songs and we really kicked off the dancing … No shower for 2 days on the train, major sleeping and resting plans…. Instead – talks with friends and new people, cold shower with soap borrowed from someone, ultimate mess in the room with a change of residents, accommodating all those drunk and tired ones who came back after outing, coping with cleaning lady who came at 8 am… No decent sleep – I cannot believe it is all happening… Complete surrealism – you can just laugh and I did so much. With Anya. How great it is to speak Russian and tease people without them knowing and make great-great fun of all this happening that is nothing else but a joke.

Indian wedding: Reception

Getting ready

Got back to the hotel right on time - to get dressed for the reception. Reception is a formal function (held by the groom’s side this time) when guests come, greet the couple, five the gifts, dance, socialize and have food. This is the most secular function out of all as almost no religious rituals are carried out.



Yesterday I was offered to borrow a lehenga to wear for this function. I am truly grateful to Aphu and her mother who generously gave me the chance to wear this amazing piece of traditional Indian clothes. Most probably, I’d never get such a great one myself. The concept of lehenga is as follows. The blouse is similar to that you would wear with saree. The skirt is a self-sufficient piece. In my case it was a very heavy one with rich decorations and wide embroidered stripe on the bottom. Equally heavy decorated dupatta goes on top in palu-like manner. I also borrowed a great golden chain with a nice pendent. My look would not have been complete without matching ear-rings for 35 Rs (Lajpat Nagar market, New Delhi) ;o) and a set of bangles in Indian style for 59 NOK (Assessorize, Bergen, Norway) or 50 Rs elsewhere in India ;o) A matching bindi was put on. Not forgetting mehindi that was still on my hand.





All in all, I thought that my saree-look last night was such a blast that the impression I would make today cannot be any stronger, but still – compliments were coming. While yesterday it was sort of surprise, today it was a celebration of fully Indianized me ;o)

On the way

We are driving to the Park Hotel in Vizag. I am enjoying a thrilling feeling of anticipation. This is the final function and out last night at this place – I am wondering how it turns. Already mentally saying bye to the generous and cheerful people of Andhra and to the great carefree time we had here.

It's a long drive we are taking, so abundance of time allows for reflections. The city appears to be wow-developed: the major all-India retail chains are there (I never give up my major assessment criteria ;o) along with many decent looking local shopping and dining facilities, mostly great roads with fresh light-reflecting marking.

I feel almost as a princess in this lehenga, next to the elegant Vishnu who is driving, and four gorgeously dressed ladies on the back seat – ultimate anticipation.



My pathetic thoughts get interrupted by a girl who approaches the car on a busy crossing, she stretches the window asking for money. I guess, however high you might be these accidents really bring you back to earth. Beggars approach you on the street if you walk, they would continuously follow you and touch you at the train stations if you travel and they would come up at the busy traffic lights if you drive. Any time I would feel so disturbed and insecure... in the sense.. I’ve been told many times that I should not give any money even to kids because kids themselves do not benefit from those. Then… how much could I give anyway? Would 5-10 Rs make a huge difference? Then.. I would never have enough to give out for anyone asking. Basically, I feel very awkward, embarrassed and ashamed that such episodes exist – that people beg for money and I cannot help (or, can I?). I was saying before coming to India that I cannot devote my life to branding of chocolate while so many people on the planet are starving from hunger. What am I doing now? Yes, I came down here to contribute to the empowerment of women. Yet, I am having somewhat eclectic lifestyle that combines travelling to work by busses and socializing with middle and upper-class locals. This triggers my thinking and makes me share my thoughts. Still, what is my contribution? And poverty, illiteracy and illegality are still there? How much difference can one make and what it takes to make difference?

Function

Arriving to the 5 star Park Hotel - very cosy and smart settings without the pathetic touch so typical for huge hotels.



The function is held on the outside area.









We start dancing after a short while and here the blust comes. Nivanthee is an amazing dancer and it’s a great pleasure to watch her dancing. She is also one of those who would not hesitate to be the first one on the dance floor.



Guys and men are unspeakably good too. I’ve been trying to catch up with the traditional steps and I hope looked fine (not too desperate ;o) in my heavy long lehenga doing all this anyways. All the lights and cameras were pointing at the dance floor – so much at stake ;o) Was dancing with mamajies, cousins and many more. Special dance was planed on with the granddad. At Pradana an old man approached us and asked who is Nivanthee and who is the girl from Russia. He got to know about our dance on mehindi night and he wanted to dance with us both on the reception night: disco with me and break-dance with Nivanthee. So we go: granddad is here and we are already dancing. All the attention, amazed looks, cameras and lights are there. Once, you are put at the spot – you are to perform! Chalo! What a blast!!!

After the dancing session I was walking around and catching spell-bound looks of men, compliments from many (“good dance”) and praise from women from the family on my “perfect look” (thank you dear all, this is not without our advices, care and attention I’ve managed to accomplish it!!!). I hope Aphu and her mother did not mind my crazy dancing in the amazing lehenga ;o)

This all is a pleasant kind of attention you’d like to receive - once in a while I enjoyed being noticed. This is not like on the streets where I stand out of the crowd by the virtue of being blond and westernly dressed. This is being appreciated for the respect you showed to the local traditions – wearing traditional clothes, trying Indian-style dancing, eating spicy food with my fingers… You are given credit fir that . People wonder about you not only because you look differently, but also because while looking differently you obey their norms and traditions. However many jokes there has been made in the meanwhile: oh, I believe they really make fun of foreigners, these Indians ;o) But they also give you a credit once you take an effort.

Indian wedding: Beach

That’s been three days in Vizag and we still haven’t been to the city itself – neither around: all the time has been devoted to sleeping, eating, getting dressed, attending the ceremonies, exposing yourself, discussing the other. But the day has come – today the main function (reception) is meant to be in the evening, so the mamajies took us for a drive around. Early morning we had to get up, though.



Young crowd has loaded into 3 cars and the trip kicked off. Driving around this southern city generously hugged by the sun evokes really great idle feeling. With a/c and high-beat Hindi music on we are heading to the beach. Nice small talks – people wonder what I am doing in India, I wonder what life in India is like. We are somewhere at the outskirts of the Vizag , but the roads are very good and the place seems pretty much developed. I think it’s the first time I saw a women riding motorbike in India (later on I got told it’s quite common in Southern India).. and for some reason – lots of schoolgirls around. Lively illustrations to what they write about women in the South – more liberated ones.

After a while we reach the beach


and I am getting ultimately hilarious as I can hardly believe it is all happening to me: endless green, warm and salty see (Bay of Bengal, in fact) I’ve never experienced before. And the beach is so huge with a proper motorway and fancy residential houses along it.








Guys start playing with waves





and after a short hesitation I join them. Surprisingly, people do not swim here (well, waves are big and strong enough to scare away and on the way back I notice a sign “Swimming prohibited”). Later on, I got to know from Indian people themselves that not many of them can swim at all. Somewhat shocking information for me, a girl from the Volga river who never learnt to swim herself. I realize that putting on bikini would be quite a step considering the settings – there is already a crowd of gapers around and we do not need to grow it. So, the guys would rush into the waves with their cloths on – so do I. We would go as pairs or trios and holding each other would try to guess how the coming wave would behave. It’s tricky not no fall when a wave comes and funny to let yourself float when a wave comes back from the shore. It takes less than 2 minutes to get soaking wet and messy in this wave game, but playing is fun.

Time to leave though and to rush for some more destinations. Already less, but still – wet we get into cars: with changing crew and pilots every time - so amazing that people are just taking over and drive – ultimate freedom and fun (the cars belong to the family, so everything is nicely provided)

We drive along the beachside and it’s awesome views that we get exposed to, soon we reach some hill from where we get a view over the port.





All the area is marked with “prohibited area” signs. So a policeman comes to make sure we cannot even take pics, but needless to say we’ve already made plenty



– so we’re heading further on.

Just last night at the wedding itself I got to speak to a couple who told me about some landmarks in Vizag, one of them being Kailash Hill… and…what a wonder!!!! We are heading exactly there this time. On the top of the hill (do not you think we walked?... in this country you only drive) there is a nice park with neatly arranged paths, plants, figures of animals









and statue of Shiva.


But moreover it’s from here where you get a splendid panoramic view of the whole city,



the Bay of Bengal and not at least – the Dolphin nose.





Oh, wow – I’ve never been so south, so I just stay at this observation spot and watch the green sea, read soils and green sponge-like hills. Group pictures come in abundance and after a short while we are relaxing with lassi (yogurt…) and almond milk – yummiest thing ever – I got two and finished both off … in small glass bottles whereas lassi and butter milk comes in 200 ml small rectangular plastic bags for those a bit of its edge and it is served this a straw – funny thing!



The whole bunch of us singing and dancing all the time – in the car, while walking… and the best part it’s not only girls who are so musical and plastic, but also guys are. At times, I feel as a part of a Bollywood movie – being in this young crowd hanging around, singing, dancing and playing – hei, this is not just movies. This is what reality here is like.

…. Truly – traveling in India is about meeting people on the first place and only then – about going to places where actually the people you’ve met would bring you to.

Indian wedding: Time to get home

Leaving, getting undressed. This life here has become such a natural reality for me that I cannot imagine having any different one from now on. This life of a large family, warm relations, being guided and introduced to stuff, dressing up - lots of rituals at place, festivities, food… I got used to the people so much.. Morning when we leave – the carnival is over, the masks are put aside, the gorgeous dressed are sprinkled with naphthalene and put deep in the cupboard. People and memories would stay with me as vibrant images, personalities and events – and would never go.

Train back… same train, same conductor, same food – this train seems such a natural place to be. Getting back with camera full of pics, eyes full of tears (not watering this time), head overloaded with impressions and couple of kgs put on (due to the extensive indulging in eating).

Indian wedding: Wedding ceremony

I am back to life after a nap as there is a major rush going on around: a beautician came to prepare Neelima for tonight and many women have started helping out and getting dressed themselves too. It’s somewhat interesting that even though all the aunts, their children and many more were all staying in different rooms, most of them would get to ours (where Neelima, the bride) was staying - to get ready. And then all there mass preparations would turn an ultimate female rule. Meters of sarees and kilos of lehengas are stretched out, women are running around in blouses and petticoats (I recalled “Gone with the Wind”, scene with the gathering in “12 oaks” when during the nap ladies were roaming around in the underwear – blouses and long skirts). Some kids who got dressed first are running around too.



Huge boxes with numerous amount of bangles making up for long-long tubes: collecting bangle-sets for particular dresses has started. Golden wristlets, chains, rings: intricate ornaments with peacocks - precious and semi-precious stones – all that is put on as a rich seasoning on a summer salad by a generous hand. Elegant make-up with almost obligatory eye-underline and plain hairstyle are also at place. This is the ultimate women’s habitat where they indulge the mysterious rituals to celebrate their beauty. The outcome is astonishing.





I am over-excited as I’m wearing sari tonight – my first time in life! With the help of some women it’s on as it should be – pleats in front, palu folding on the left shoulder. Matching jewellery, make up, bindi, no glasses and a bit sleek hair (as strongly recommended by the women).





I know it’s a bit (ok, just a bit?) selfish to describe how you yourself looked while there were hundreds of other amazingly dressed women not mentioning the bride who just seemed to be made of gold and gems – so amazingly much of those there were on her dress. But still … it was my first time in saree… .. Gazes started in the hotel itself when we were getting in the car.



Milli and Asheen were looking at me with a great interest, busily checked out how my mehindi came out and Asheen concluded that I looked just like an Indian girl.

We are arriving to the place and getting into the hall where the wedding ceremony takes place. Hundreds of people are there,



the groom is already awaiting on the stage, the bride is accompanied by an impressive crowd of close relatives. Neelima’s mamajies pass over their beloved niece to the groom. And mamajies were truly a highlight that night – kings of Vizag as they called themselves - looking really awesome in their costumes.

Neelima’s mother asks Nivanthee and me to take care of the reception.



So, we stay at the entrance to greet the guests with roses.





Mamajies and 2 Neelima’s brothers are right here too - they would put their hands in front of the chest and bow a bit to the coming guests. Namaste!



Needless to say some of the guests were captivated by mamajies’ looks that they did not even notice us handing in roses.

However, the comments on my look have started arriving and here the male logics comes ;o) I remember one of those Cosmo-experiments in Russian Cosmopolitan when men were to choose a girl they looked most from the given pairs. The outcome of the experiment proved that men are very insensitive when it comes to upscale designer clothing and amount of effort put into looking great – men have got some other consideration to pick out a girl. My point here is however plain my saree was in comparison with other really luxurious, outstanding and proper weeding sarees I bet I’ve got much more compliments and admiring looks that any other women (but the bride of course, I’ve got some delusion of grandeur, but not to that extent). On the first place, it appeared that people did not really expect me to wear saree for the wedding. When on the first day Neelima, Nivanthee and me were discussing that my blouse for saree was too tightly stitched and I brought it to show… all the women in the family raised their brows and the grandmother personally made sure that tailor would fix it and bring it back on time. So, the effect of unexpected came into play. Men kept telling me about my gorgeous, beautiful, amazing look - those who knew me - otherwise I could read pretty much the same messages from the eyes of the other guest without much translation needed. Many women praised me on the look too.

After receiving the guests we got to stand on the stage right behind the bride and the groom- right at the spot.





So, we’ll show up at all the pictures – official and unofficial ones, I also took a chance to take some more of mine.







Some interesting observations regarding wedding ceremony that was conducted according to Hindu traditions in Andhra Pradesh.





Guests (married couples) come up to greet the bride and the bridegroom with the presents along with turmeric, rice, kumkum. They get coconut and bananas on beetle leaves back: men accepts them and women takes it with palu of her saree.

Bride’s parents put bichua (toe ring) on the toes of the groom and one ring on his fingers. Extremely heavy flower garlands are put on both bride and groom. And it is not just one of those that is to be put on.



Among the rest, the newly married couple plays some games. Say, each of them gives a ring – silver and golden - which are put in the jar with water. However catches the golden one would be the ruling party in the house. The game is repeated several times and then bride plays the same with the sister-in-law. The game might be meant for reducing the tension related to the long monotonous procedures which are plenty during the wedding. With the same prize at stake (dominance in the family) they play with a huge round plate full of raw rice. In turns they take handfuls of rice and pour it over each other’s heads. The one who takes the last handful wins.



Neelima, a smart girl, tries to seize the plate itself with the remaining of rice, so that to be the last for sure. Chandu catches the plate, so the rice ends up on Neelima’s head. Not only idea, but also implementation counts.

Later on another interesting ritual is carried out: brother of the bride washes foot of the groom and he can request any amount of money for that. He will keep washing until he gets the money. This is somewhat akin to Russian weddings as there is also a number of activities called ransom when groom is to perform various tricky tasks before he even gets to see the bride on the wedding day itself.

Swamiji blesses the couple and a number of rituals is performed under his direct guidance.

Rituals are followed by a serious of family pictures: as far as the family is big it seems never ending for the poor couple.



While mane of the guest have already enjoyed the food and left they are still there scattered by tons of turmeric rice, bowing to the coming guests inclined by the heavy garlands and then sitting on the thrones smiling for the pictures… Probably, all this is meant for them not to think that one can get married just like that: the decision brings far stretching and not always rosy and pinky consequences. Implications he!