Sealed with a kiss

I have spent all morning waiting to see Wills and Kate kiss. What happened to, “you may now kiss the bride”? Something about decorum, I guess. Oh well. At least there were two quick snogs dignified kisses on the balcony after the ceremony. It was a great moment, watching the future King and Queen in a lip-lock, for the entire world to bask in their Royal glory. Just lovely.

It’s not just the Royal family that are keen on some kissing decorum at weddings. Indian weddings are much the same. Lip-on-lip-action is definitely a no-go. When me and my Prince get married in August – and the registrar, I’m sure, will say “you may now kiss the bride” – there will inevitably be an awkward brush of the lips, as an acknowledgement of our new marital status. Not so much sealed with a kiss – more like sealed with an embarrassing peck on the cheek, with an “accidental” touch of the lips. Wills and Kate may have sealed their Royal Wedding with a Royal Kiss, but we will be sealing our Indian Wedding with some good old-fashioned Indian Kissing (i.e. no kissing at all/kissing behind an umbrella – honestly, that’s what they do in Bollywood movies, the true guides to Indian daily life).

I don’t feel hard done by, though, so don’t worry. I have been saying since I was a child that kissing on the lips is beyond gross. Thank god I won’t be doing any of that. 

The "crying bit"

Despite all the vibrant colours, glamorous clothes and stacks of presents involved in Indian weddings, I have to admit that there is one part that I am really dreading. While the official name of this dreaded aspect is "vidaai", I often refer to it as the "crying bit". 

Have you ever had to cry on demand? Because this is basically what it entails. While this post-wedding ritual/extremely odd tradition allows the bride's family to openly express their sadness at "losing" a daughter, it also gives the bride a chance to smudge her make-up and snot all over her expensive clothes. 

At my sister's wedding (four years ago), when the "crying bit" came, I was worried that if I didn't cry, I would look like the evil sister who couldn't wait to see her go. 

*MASSIVE STAGE FRIGHT*

However, when the moment came, I was a big ball of snot and tears. I, too, shamelessly jumped on the crying bandwagon, and - in a frighteningly honest public display of affection - cried hysterically at the thought of "losing" my sister. 

Of course, I didn't really lose her. And of course, my parents won't really lose me. This is all very dramatic and belongs - ultimately - to the realms of overly-emotional Bollywood movies. (The kind your parents watch on a Sunday afternoon, while sipping tea and tearfully reminiscing about days gone by). 

But do you know what the worst part is? Not the melodrama, not the scary make-up effects, and not even the uncontrollable snot (because, let's face it, the Groom-to-be has already married you - be as snotty as you like, it's simply too late). The worst part is (for me anyway) the "stress rash" I get when I cry too much. That's right: big, angry, red blotches that cover my entire body like a patchwork (or cruel joke) of nature. 

In Juliet's words (well, Shakespeare's), "parting is such sweet sorrow". She obviously didn't need an antihistamine. 

The Numbers Game

What often surprises people most about Indian weddings is the (insanely large) amount of people that get invited. My sister got married a few years ago, and there were eight hundred people at her wedding reception (honestly, I'm not joking). 


"The Numbers Game", then, is the battle between the bride - who only wants to invite close family and friends - and her parents, who want to invite everybody they know. And their neighbours. And the uncle of the guy who invited them to his daughter's wedding back in 1980 (you get the picture).


Our wedding will, by Indian standards anyway, be notably smaller. If you are wondering why, I must be honest and tell you that I did not win The Numbers Game - not at all. However, the Groom-to-be has a rather small family. His guests (including friends, family - close and distant - and friends of family) total 50 people; my immediate family and closest friends total way more than 50 people. 


It seems that the best way to avoid The Numbers Game altogether is to:

1. Give in
2. Elope
3. Marry a non-Indian (my personal favourite)

Oh well, at least that's one less game to play.

And so the journey begins...

Well, actually, it began back in October when the Groom-to-be popped the question (in the most romantic way ever, might I add). When is the big day, I hear you ask? This coming August. That's right: less than a year between saying "I will" and "I do". Good job I have enthusiastic parents who were already well in to the wedding planning process. No, that's not weird. That's Indian. 

Anyway, given that this is an introductory post, I might as well stop rambling and set the scene. Me and my other half met in Paris (cliche? no... massively romantic? perhaps) more than three years ago. Since then, we have been on a roller-coaster journey - you know, the ups, the downs, the oh-my-god-this-is-so-scary-yet-exciting-all-at-the-same-time - and made our way back to London. (Isn't it ironic that I went to Paris for an ERASMUS exchange and came back with a German man?) 

Since last October, we have been thrown in to the deep end of wedding planning, but - thanks to my parents - we did have a great deal of help getting it off the ground. Given that it is going to be an Indian wedding, there is literally twice as much work to do (and about four times as much fun to be had). We will, in effect, be having two weddings and two parties. Does this mean more presents than usual? I certainly hope so. And does this mean more clothes than usual? Absolutely. 


Over the next few months, I will be sharing what I hope will be a series of fun/dramatic/heart-felt/comedy pre-wedding stories...