Saanji Night Fever

The week before an Indian wedding is all about build-up to the main event -- nights of singing and laughing and chanting and eating that seems to whir faster and faster, each night adding to the thrum of anticipation. The momentum reaches a screaming peak on Saturday night with the Big One -- the largest Saanji of the wedding week.
The Visavadia family had secured a school auditorium/cafeteria for the FOUR HUNDRED guests who were expected to join them for the night's festivities -- a mixture of emotional family rituals, musical performances, feasting and traditional Indian dancing.
But before Saturday night could commence, we had a morning of wedding preparations at the bride's home. We rose early and dressed in our new punjabis feeling every inch the overage (overweight) Cinderellas that we yearned to be! (Quite by accident, we realized that we had bought punjabi that represented our university colors -- purple for K-State and green and gold for the University of Oregon.) We arrived at the family home to find the Hindu priest busily preparing an altar on the sunlit floor -- unwrapping and arranging everything whilst blessing things along the way. The ceremony was all about honoring Lord Ganesh, the remover of obstacles who is also known for making people feel welcome. His image is found throughout the Visavadia home -- no surprise, we felt enormously, warmly welcomed -- including an intriguing depiction of a happy gathering of Ganeshes playing, what else, cricket!
In time, Kanchan (mother of the bride) joined in the work, walking through the home with purifying incense and later, a bowl of fire. Dipak and Kanchan knelt with the priest and went through the gentle rituals while close friends and family sat back and quietly observed, coming and going for a steaming mug of Indian tea and light breakfast. Priya looked like a princess in a sparkling pink sari, beaming serenely throughout the priest's soft murmurings. Later, she would change into a soft, floral sari. The women clustered about her for yet another ritual -- each woman would approach her, dab a finger in this or that powder and dot her arm, then rub a bit of turmeric into her arm, tossing a bit of rice over her head, then bestowing a blessing -- reaching out to touch each side of her head, then placing your hands against the side of your own head, knuckles down, and pushing in, sharp and hard. The idea, we later learned, was to make your knuckles crack loudly -- the louder the knuckle crack, the more you loved her!
Things wound up about 2 p.m. with -- surprise! -- more food! Lunch was wonderful -- a curry of potatoes and green beans, homemade chapati, basmati rice, raw carrot salad, cheese-stuffed petite sweet peppers, and several kinds of sweets. Every meal offered fruit juice and Coca-cola and, often, hot Indian tea (chai). All the food was both homemade and fresh as can be. You could truly taste that freshness, as well as the thoughtful care and love that went into each preparation.
We retreated to Massi's house, thinking that we might stretch out for a few hours after an early and busy morning, but it quickly became Grand Central Station, with people rushing in and out in preparation for the Big Dance. While sitting in our room, we were joined by a precocious 11-year-old, who wanted to chat with us about school and cameras and football (soccer!), as the US- game was that night. Sarah had boldly predicted a US win, prompting a good-natured bet with Crazy Uncle Bobo (okay, just our silly name for him, as we could only remember that his real name began with an N -- we could never seem to remember any name over two syllables.)
The deal: If the U.S. won, the uncles would have to sing God Bless America at the evening saanji. If England won, we would sing God Save the Queen. If it was a draw, we would all sing The Indian National Anthem. (Thank Ganesh -- it was a draw!)
Finally, we changed clothes yet again (bit dressier) and were heading for the venue. Let's just say we took the scenic route. :-}
As we arrived, we found another ceremonial altar in the center of the dance floor. Priya came out (another costume change) and solemnly lit candles surrounding the alter. Then she joined her family sitting in a row of chairs in front of us all -- this marked a ritual of gift giving. A highlight: Kanchan's mother had died when she was 15 days old. She was the only girl in a large  family of boys. Her oldest brother was 18 and married quickly in order to create a ready-made family and care for Kanchan and her young brothers. This night, Priya was presented with a gorgeous necklace set that had belonged to Kanchan's birth mother -- a moving surprise to us all -- as well as her grandmother's wedding sari. Suffice it to say,  there were some moist eyes in the crowd...
After a buffet, some young girls spirited us away to give us a quick dance tutorial in the lobby. Now, don't envision a wild Bollywood dance party. This was an evening of traditional Indian dance, led by a terrific musical ensemble that Dipak performs with, specializing in -- drumroll please -- traditional Indian music. They took the stage and the dancing commenced. Typically, it was a circle dance based on simple, repetitive steps. But as the musical troupe played faster, the dancers had to keep up, the fastest, best dancers moving to the center. Priya, her sisters, cousins and closest friends formed the gorgeous core, dancing with beautiful and swooping abandon. It was as if we all were dancing around a crowd of lovely birds in flight. Once you got into the swing of it, the experience was transcendental, the steps coming without thought and the group moving as one. The women alone danced the first few songs -- young, old, everyone jumped into the fray. The music was infectious and the steps came faster and faster. Hindu jazzercise! In time, men joined in -- filling the floor with equally magnificent dancers who moved with joy and confidence.
The mood was fun, lively. How wonderful that no one had to seek out a dance partner. We were partnered with the entire crowd. Everyone told us that we should return in October for Diwali, a religious celebration held in the autumn that honors Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth or the goddess Kali. Traditionally, the festival marks the start of a new year, we are told and is marked by NINE DAYS of this dancing. (The women joked that this was a great way to lose weight). We vowed to mark our calendars and spilled out of the school welcoming the cold night air, collapsing into bed for a well-deserved rest, but feeling the tingling excitement of Christmas Eve. Tomorrow is Priya's Wedding Day!