After we were dressed, we went into this giant hall that had a stage at one end. It might have been the size of a basketball court, but I'm not sure. Chairs were in rows with an aisle down the center. On the stage was a mandap (I think that's what it was called) which is a covering under which the families sat. On either side were 20 or so family members who sat in rows of chairs. The altar was in the front center where the priest knelt for much of the ceremony.
The center aisle ended about 10 feet from the stage and in that area were the wedding photographers and anyone else who wanted to take photos. The photographers stood on step ladders so they could get the perfect picture.
The wedding was to start at 10:00 a.m. and around that time there was some excitement in the back of the hall. We were told to head back there because the groom was arriving. We went outside and met his car. When I say "we", I mean about 150 people. The car was surrounded and people were clapping and yelling.
We went back in and about 10 minutes or so later these drums started pounding. The groom was trying to come into the hall but Priya's sisters and other young women (so, NOT Kimber and I) were preventing him from entering. There was much yelling, laughter and dancing at the back door. We were told that Priya's mother would greet the groom at the door, but I didn't see if that happened.
The groom, who looked like Aladdin when he was a prince (if you don't know what I mean, go rent the animated version from 20 years ago...), started down the aisle and the girls continued to make it hard for him to move. I believe some members of his family were with him. Finally, he made it to the stage, and the craziness hit a peak - one of several. Here's why: the tradition is that the bride's friends are to try to steal the groom's shoes. This has something to do with who will be the dominate person in the marriage. (Don't you think it would just be easier to explain that a happy wife equals a happy life be done with it?) When Chet (the groom) took off his shoes to walk to the altar, there was a virtual rugby scrum of women trying to snatch the shoes away from Chet's poor best man who was trying to protect them.
There were beautifully dressed girls diving, that's right DIVING, into the fray trying to get those silly shoes. It went on for about a minute then the best man was able to slither out with shoes in hand. The girls were not to be deterred. They just waited for their next opportunity.
When Chet sat down, his parents and sister held a decorated shawl up in front of him so he and Priya could not see each other until they were sitting side by side. Talk about anticipation!
In a bit, Priya came down the aisle escorted by her 7 uncles. Each uncle walked her a short ways towards the stage and the oldest uncle walked her up the steps and onto the altar. The shawl was lowered and Priya and Chet saw each other for the first time in a week.
The ceremony started, done mostly in sanskrit which no one other than the priest understands. What was interesting to the westerners there is that there is a complete disconnect between what was happening on the stage and what was going on in the rest of the hall. People were wandering around chatting, lining up for the meal, walking to the front and taking photos. It was indeed "organized chaos".
At every important point in the service, the parties would pose for the photographers.
Things that made us laugh: when the fire was lit on stage as part of the ceremony, the smoke alarms went off; another rugby scrum at one side of the stage starring Neya (Priya's sister) who was going to get those shoes if it killed her.
We got loads of pictures which will be posted soon.
After the wedding, there were many, many photos taken of various guests with the couple and their families up on stage under the mandap. Kimber, Diane and I were lucky enough to be summoned for a picture, so I got to meet Chet and his mother. That was the only time we had a chance to talk to Priya and Chet.
We hung around talking to all our new friends/family then decided to head on to Oxford. Kimber and I changed and said brief goodbyes then went in search of our luggage. On Friday, Dipak said that he wanted our bags ready to be loaded into a rented van to be delivered to the wedding venue Saturday afternoon. With all the people and things needing to be transported to the venue, having our bags out of the way would be very helpful.
No one wanted to tell us where our bags were so we could stay longer - which was a nice feeling. We did, however, find them got them loaded in Diane's car and went to the kitchen to plead for take away food. Kimber worked her magic because she came to the car with 3 plates of wonderful Indian food. She balanced them on her lap until we arrived at Diane's house in Woodstock then we tucked in.
After a cup of tea and dragging our suitcases upstairs, we went for a tootle round the Cotswolds. I took my turn in the back seat of the car since I have tootled in the Cotswolds before and Kimber has not.
The activities of the last 2 days caught up with me and I fell asleep in the backseat. This is important because I had my camera in my hand.
Kimber will write about everything she saw and photographed. I guess she made her "happy noise" during most of tootle. Her happy noise is a sort of hummmmmm along with her eyes rolling or closing. It's quite a thing to see.
When we got back to Diane's, we all jumped out of the car and went inside to put the kettle on.
The next morning, Diane had to return the car (it was a rental). While she was gone, I was looking for my camera and couldn't find it. Yep, I left it in the rental car. When we finally determined that that's where it was and called the rental place, we were told that the car had been rented out. Diane was told that they would look for it, but we didn't hear anything from the company. So, my camera with its 300+ photos is lost. If whoever has it somehow finds this blog, I have the battery charger and cables to download the photos to a computer with me, so email me and I'll send them to you. No sense having a camera you can't recharge!
Fortunately, Kimber took a lot of pictures and will send them to me.
It stayed so light for so long in Oxford. Even at 10 p.m. it was still light outside. It didn't seem late when it really was.
Kimber and I both went to sleep listening to the wonderful sounds (or lack thereof) that is Campsfield Farm.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
We're home, but keep reading....
Just so you know, Kimber and I both arrived home yesterday (Wednesday, June 16) but there is much yet to tell about the trip. Pretend we aren't really home, but still abroad writing about all of our experiences.
Sunday, June 13, was Priya's wedding day. Kimber has promised to write about it because she uses words like a painter uses colors and that's exactly what is needed. But, here is a brief overview.
Priya's dad told us yesterday that a Hindu wedding was "organized chaos". I didn't understand what he meant, but I do now! There were people going in every direction and doing a million different things, but somehow it all worked together. Everywhere you looked something was happening.
We both wore western clothes to the wedding venue, There I was dressed in my sari. It was a beautiful blue color and I felt very pretty and Cinderella like. Kimber wore a satin suit which consisted of a long skirt with beautiful embroidery and a long satin jacket. We are so grateful to the aunties and sisters in law who loaned clothes for us to wear during the week.
While I was being dressed (and putting on a sari is NOT a one woman job. It takes several sets of hands and many, many safety pins!), Diane arrived with sari in hand. One of the aunties kindly dressed her as well. We got to sit on the second or third row right on the aisle so we had a good view of the stage.
Kimber took a lot of pictures which she has posted on facebook and which I will have her post here.
Because I want to get this up and I'm about to fall asleep, I'm going to go ahead and post this incomplete wedding description. More tomorrow.....
Sunday, June 13, was Priya's wedding day. Kimber has promised to write about it because she uses words like a painter uses colors and that's exactly what is needed. But, here is a brief overview.
Priya's dad told us yesterday that a Hindu wedding was "organized chaos". I didn't understand what he meant, but I do now! There were people going in every direction and doing a million different things, but somehow it all worked together. Everywhere you looked something was happening.
We both wore western clothes to the wedding venue, There I was dressed in my sari. It was a beautiful blue color and I felt very pretty and Cinderella like. Kimber wore a satin suit which consisted of a long skirt with beautiful embroidery and a long satin jacket. We are so grateful to the aunties and sisters in law who loaned clothes for us to wear during the week.
While I was being dressed (and putting on a sari is NOT a one woman job. It takes several sets of hands and many, many safety pins!), Diane arrived with sari in hand. One of the aunties kindly dressed her as well. We got to sit on the second or third row right on the aisle so we had a good view of the stage.
Kimber took a lot of pictures which she has posted on facebook and which I will have her post here.
Because I want to get this up and I'm about to fall asleep, I'm going to go ahead and post this incomplete wedding description. More tomorrow.....
Monday, June 14, 2010
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!
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!
Incidentially.....
The expectation we had before arriving in England was that we would be able to blog every night certainly, and a couple of times a day hopefully. As you can tell, that was not the case. Although the Visavadia family had wireless internet, it was hard to find time to grab a computer and sit down to write a blog entry. Frankly, I didn't want to miss anything happening downstairs. When things were slow downstairs, everyone was upstairs getting ready, which meant that the room with the computer was wall to wall women. Women changing clothes, putting on make up, dressing in sarees (which is time consuming and takes a lot of room - and a lot of hands - and a whole lot of safety pins!), looking for lost items, etc.
So, when we've had a minute with a computer, we've tried to play catch up. Last night, our first night in Oxford at Diane's, I quickly wrote about Thursday and Friday, not doing either day justice. Kimber has promised that she would write today about Thursday and Friday and Saturday night. Oh, Saturday night. Now, describing Saturday night will require the skills of a talented, professional writer; fortunately, I am travelling with one.
About Diane: years ago when my brother, Don, lived and worked in Oxford, he stayed with Diane. She became a member of our family and a wonderful friend. I have stayed with her 4 times, and Campsfield Farm now feels like home. Diane took good care of Don for several years and now watches over me. In 2002, we left some of Dad's ashes in the Bladon Churchyard close to where Winston Churchill is buried, so Diane watches over Dad as well. She occasionally drops a flower or two next to "our" bench and thinks good thoughts....
So, when we've had a minute with a computer, we've tried to play catch up. Last night, our first night in Oxford at Diane's, I quickly wrote about Thursday and Friday, not doing either day justice. Kimber has promised that she would write today about Thursday and Friday and Saturday night. Oh, Saturday night. Now, describing Saturday night will require the skills of a talented, professional writer; fortunately, I am travelling with one.
About Diane: years ago when my brother, Don, lived and worked in Oxford, he stayed with Diane. She became a member of our family and a wonderful friend. I have stayed with her 4 times, and Campsfield Farm now feels like home. Diane took good care of Don for several years and now watches over me. In 2002, we left some of Dad's ashes in the Bladon Churchyard close to where Winston Churchill is buried, so Diane watches over Dad as well. She occasionally drops a flower or two next to "our" bench and thinks good thoughts....
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Being American Gets Us Free Stuff
On Friday, we went to Wembley Street, affectionately known as "Little India" by our new family. At the mendhi party, everyone had an opinion about where we should talk and that we should NOT under any circumstances accept the first price quoted to us. Fortunately, we had Kavita with us. Kavita, the young woman who has never paid full price for anything.
We walked along the street, looking at sidewalk displays of shirts, sarees, sandals, etc. A couple of silk shirts caught my eye and pretty soon we were inside and the fun was on. Once we determined what size I wear (VERY, VERY VERY LARGE) the woman working at the store brought out everything in my size. There was a blue suit that the store owner wanted me to buy but which didn't fit and, frankly, I didn't like all that much. He kept lowering the price and I kept saying no. At the end of the day, he reduced my final price by $30 PLUS threw in a free shawl PLUS threw in the blue suit for free.
I needed a petticoat for the saree that I am wearing to the wedding so we asked if this store had any. Of course they had some....unfortunately, none of them were my size. How did I know there were none my size? Because the woman helping us insisted that I try one on over my head and I got stuck in the frickin' thing. Yes, we have pictures. Yes, it was hysterical. I thought the shop owner was going to have a stroke! It was shortly thereafter that he started giving us free stuff.
(Kimber here) Wembley Street stretches in the shadow of the famed Wembley Stadium, but it feels like another continent. Parking is hard to come by, so everyone seems to be on foot, which makes it easier to soak in the colors, sights and smells. This is the home of everything Indian. Sari shops. Groceries. Restaurants. Indian funeral homes. Even an Indian "gospel" storefront church. So wonderful to stroll past the open air markets, with boxes and shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables and things that we've never laid eyes on before. Bargains abound, though Kavita was absolutely right -- haggling and standing firm is the name of the game. When it came to clothes, we were finding things 50% (or more) less than what you could find in the states. I snatched up a silk Kurti blouse for mother, sweet white cotton eyelet punjabis for the girls, sparkling bracelets (bangles) for the Saturday night saanji and wedding day, stick-on mendhi designs for the girls, a pretty sari (miles of fabric) for my mother-in-law -- you name it, you could probably find it here on Wembley -- which is honestly about as close as either of us are likely to get to India.
Many of the girls we met acknowledge that they prefer to fly over to India for their clothes shopping. The prices are even cheaper than what you will find on Wembley and the selection is magnificent. In fact, Priya and her mother had already been to India to select wedding clothes for all the women of the family. We can hardly wait for THAT red carpet moment!
Tonight I will attend the saanji in Priya's home wearing a terrific punjabi borrowed from our darling Kavita -- a deep coral-pink shade with a bright marigold-colored trim. Can hardly wait!
(Sarah back) Friday night was a low key saanji (son-gee), or singing, and didn't last too long which was good because Saturday is an early, early morning and a long, long day.
We walked along the street, looking at sidewalk displays of shirts, sarees, sandals, etc. A couple of silk shirts caught my eye and pretty soon we were inside and the fun was on. Once we determined what size I wear (VERY, VERY VERY LARGE) the woman working at the store brought out everything in my size. There was a blue suit that the store owner wanted me to buy but which didn't fit and, frankly, I didn't like all that much. He kept lowering the price and I kept saying no. At the end of the day, he reduced my final price by $30 PLUS threw in a free shawl PLUS threw in the blue suit for free.
I needed a petticoat for the saree that I am wearing to the wedding so we asked if this store had any. Of course they had some....unfortunately, none of them were my size. How did I know there were none my size? Because the woman helping us insisted that I try one on over my head and I got stuck in the frickin' thing. Yes, we have pictures. Yes, it was hysterical. I thought the shop owner was going to have a stroke! It was shortly thereafter that he started giving us free stuff.
(Kimber here) Wembley Street stretches in the shadow of the famed Wembley Stadium, but it feels like another continent. Parking is hard to come by, so everyone seems to be on foot, which makes it easier to soak in the colors, sights and smells. This is the home of everything Indian. Sari shops. Groceries. Restaurants. Indian funeral homes. Even an Indian "gospel" storefront church. So wonderful to stroll past the open air markets, with boxes and shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables and things that we've never laid eyes on before. Bargains abound, though Kavita was absolutely right -- haggling and standing firm is the name of the game. When it came to clothes, we were finding things 50% (or more) less than what you could find in the states. I snatched up a silk Kurti blouse for mother, sweet white cotton eyelet punjabis for the girls, sparkling bracelets (bangles) for the Saturday night saanji and wedding day, stick-on mendhi designs for the girls, a pretty sari (miles of fabric) for my mother-in-law -- you name it, you could probably find it here on Wembley -- which is honestly about as close as either of us are likely to get to India.
Many of the girls we met acknowledge that they prefer to fly over to India for their clothes shopping. The prices are even cheaper than what you will find on Wembley and the selection is magnificent. In fact, Priya and her mother had already been to India to select wedding clothes for all the women of the family. We can hardly wait for THAT red carpet moment!
Tonight I will attend the saanji in Priya's home wearing a terrific punjabi borrowed from our darling Kavita -- a deep coral-pink shade with a bright marigold-colored trim. Can hardly wait!
(Sarah back) Friday night was a low key saanji (son-gee), or singing, and didn't last too long which was good because Saturday is an early, early morning and a long, long day.
How Many Laughing, Singing, Colorful Women Can You Fit In Your House?
Thursday was the best morning of our trip so far....we got to sleep until 10! Kavita got to catch up a bit on her sleep as well, which she really needed. Don't tell her parents that she had a bit of a lie in - there was work to be done!
We started the day with an old-fashioned sewing circle. Well, sort of. Kavita and Kimber did the stitching -- Kavita was altering a sari top and Kimber was hemming sleeves in shirts that she brought over. Sarah was not, as Massi suggested, "the lazy one." Rather, she was -- or so she informed us -- the story teller.
The amazing thing about Indian garments is that they are constructed with very, very generous seams with the intention of permitting alterations. K and K sat on the bed stitching away while Sarah kept us - rimshot, please -- in STITCHES with tales both silly and ribald. It was a wonderful, relaxing way to ease into the day.
As expected, the highlight of this day was the mendhi party. This is the Hindu tradition of decorating the hands and feet of the bride with lacy, intricate henna designs. The henna is the consistency thick glue and is in clear tubes sort of like toothpaste but with a fine point and smelling of eucalyptus and clove oil. (Some of the Indians girls admitted that they hate the smell, but we found it to be pleasant.) You squeeze the tube, the henna comes out (the thicker the better), and you basically draw whatever design you want. It's sort of like doodling on a canvas of epidermis. The henna dries, is rubbed off and the temporary (about 3 weeks) tattoo remains. (In our case, it gradually faded to create a reasonable facsimile of liver spots!)
id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Priya's mendhi took about 2 hours to do. The woman who did it did not use a pattern, but drew freestyle on Priya's hands and feet. Traditionally, the mendhi artist puts the grooms initials somewhere in the design. On their wedding night, the groom tries to find his intitials and if he does, they say that he will be the dominate person in the marriage; if he can't, then Priya will be. Many of the ladies at the mendhi party tried to find Chet's initials and were not able to. (His name was on Priya's left ring finger, for those of you wondering.)
Priya was unable to use her hands at all after her mendhi was done so her sisters and friends had to feed her and help her do anything she wanted/needed to do. As we were sitting around singing and laughing, it was poignant to watch young women taking care of one of their own in such an intimate way.
Priya made sure that Kimber and I had our mendhi done. It was hard to sit still while someone inked up the top of your hands. Naturally, as soon as mine was done two things happened: I had to go to the bathroom and my nose itched! I was able to wait until the henna dried to address both.
There were probably 80 women there but it was hard to tell because they were coming in and out. The mendhi night is always fun because of the henna. I think the Aunties and the Grannies grew weary of all the giggling and carrying on!
When we got back to Masee's, Kavita told us to rub Ben-Gay on to our mendhi to make it dark. The more body heat a person has, the darker the color of the henna and you want the henna to be as dark as possible. You could have smelled us coming about 8 miles away!
Because it had become routine, when Kavita got to Masee's we stayed up and talked and laughed and unwound from the day.
By the way, we thought the name of the woman we were staying with was "Masee", but we learned that "masee" means "mother's sister". So, instead of saying someone is an aunt, they are called "masee", which tells the listener exactly who the person is. By now, Kimber and I are picking up Hindu words and phrases - mostly names and blessings.
We had a chance to talk to Priya's dad during the meal. He was explaining different things about the wedding ceremony and mentioned that the car that Priya and Chet will leave in will run over a coconut. The coconut symbolizes the ego of man and how it has to be broken to get to the sweet goodness inside. There is no place for ego in a marriage. He has these wonderful nuggets of wisdom and we love talking to him and learning from him.
We are going to Wimbley tomorrow to shop for traditional Indian clothes. I want a punjabi to take home. A punjabi is a long tunic with slacks under it. Kavita gets to go with us so she gets a day off. Well, not off exactly, she has to babysit for the Yanks!
We have taken literally a thousand pictures, but we can't get them from the cameras to the varioius computers we've been using. When we get home, we'll load a bunch at once.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Paris vs. Kimba and Sayra
Sitting in Wamego, Kansas, two weeks ago, taking a day trip to Paris sounded like a great idea. Getting to St. Pancras station by 6:45 a.m. didn't seem like a big deal. How hard could it be?
Then, we found out that Priya is not driving during the week before her wedding, the nightly singing parties last until after 10, the early morning tube at Hendon Central (our local tube stop) is mixed up in the early morning hours so getting the St. Pancras was going to be a headache and we were beat from the day long tour of London.
But, we are committed world travelers so Priya booked a cab to come for us at 5:00. Oh yes, you read that right, FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. We woke at 4:30 and waited for the cab. We arrived at the station with plenty of time to spare so we had a cup of tea and a muffin.
I had booked first class tickets on the Eurostar and we were glad that I did. The service was great. We had breakfast - I had ham and cheese, yogurt, croissant and a roll, Kimba had an omelet with salmon, along with a croissant and yogurt. She also had hot chocolate which was unreal. It was basically melted chocolate, very thick and rich, which could be sweetened with sugar and lightened with milk. If you like dark chocolate (Mom!) you would love this.
The train ride was about 2.5 hours long. We were in the Chunnel for only 20 minutes. KIMBA TAKES OVER: Upon arrival, we emerged in Garde du nor (sp?), the big metropolitan Paris train station around 10 a.m. and joined the Golden Tour, which included an all-day, jump-on-jump-off bus tour around all the big sights. It's hard to describe the moment of impact when you find yourself squarely in the heart of Paris. The towering, old buildings dripping with black ironwork, the majestic statuary, even the artistry of street lights and planters is breathtaking.
Although the skies were ominous, we enjoined an open air ride along the Champs Elysses (sp?), sauntering along in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, skimming over bridges that spanned the Seine River, buzzing past palaces that are centuries older than America, and hearing that jeering, distinctive sound of the gendarme cars as they sped past -- very, very French. Sarah couldn't help but imagine her dad as a young American G.I. strolling these very streets in wonder.
When the anticipated rains finally hit, we were forced to take shelter in The Louvre. THE LOUVRE. Tough gig, eh? Apparently, all of Paris had the same great idea. Nevertheless, we quickly sought out The Louvre top hits -- the enigmatic Mona Lisa, the headless Venus de Milo (who may or may not have been meant to represent Aphrodite, or maybe a local Sea Goddess, no one really knows), the Wingless Victory, some Big Ass oil paintings of old dead people, and lots of statues of men without pants on -- which made us all snicker and point like the 13-year-old girls we are at heart. (Husbands were remembered fondly...)
Unfortunately, thousands of rain-dampened visitors turned that venerated attraction into a 12-Euro sauna. Half-naked marble people and steamy humans. Not a good combination. We exited into the cool mist. We left it all behind to lunch with Quasimodo. (Husbands were fondly remembered...)
The rains were picking up as we dodged into the Quasimodo Bistro, about a block away from the |Notre Dame Cathedral. It was a warm, welcome refuge. Sarah chose a Croque Monsieur sandwich (Kansas translation: toasted ham and cheese topped with melted cheese and (gasp) her first warm chocolate crepe. Kimber fell into a steaming bowl of French onion soup. Did we HAVE to slip back out in the rain? Yes. Notre Dame was only a block away.
What an enchanting refuge. Sliding into that soft darkness, with miles of flickering candles and the haunting tones of occasional organ chords and spontaneous religious observations. The cathedral seems 8 miles long, studded with brilliant stained glass and rich religious icons. But it's hard to sit on those straight-backed, straw-seated chairs and not be struck by the strange juxtaposition of solemn house of worship and flat-out tourist attraction. Somehow, they make it work. Sarah was moved to steal a candle for Curtis' mother, but cooler heads prevailed and she deposited the required euros... Another soul saved!
We wandered about and saw the massive and impressive Justice Building, strolled by St. Chapelle Cathedral (which was under a big renovation) and hopped over to the Left Bank to get a taste of the winding, narrow Latin Quarter. More rain? Just an excuse to pop into another Bistro for hot chocolate and (can you guess?) another chocolate crepe! We ordered one, but our rather attractive waiter took pity on us and brought us two! (Husbands. were fondly remembered...) Sarah very thoughtfully told him "Gracias"....
More rain encouraged an early departure. We unraveled the mysteries of The Metro and took a steamy, rush-hour ride back to the train station.
SAYRA BACK: We had to wait a little bit for the Eurostar, but once we boarded, we agreed that it had been a great, grand, glorious day in Paris. Funny story - for our meal, we had chicken curry. And, after eating Indian food all week, it was bland! BLAND! We had champagne on the train which encouraged the naps that we each took.
We made our way back to Hendon Central on the tube, arriving about 10 p.m. Priya's dad picked us up from the station and delivered us back to the house. The singing was done and we greeted guests on the sidewalk. We were both so tired and were looking forward to taking a shower and heading to bed. But, Kavita had other ideas....
When we got to Mahsee's (that means "mother's sister") - which is where we are staying - Kavita brought out all the clothes for us to try on for the sanji (party on Saturday night) and the wedding. It was brilliant. We laughed and ooohed and aaahed. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, we went to sleep.
Kimber wanted me to make sure that the alarm was NOT set.
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