Weddings in Goa and Goan Weddings

          Good Goan Hindus get married in temples (or five-star hotels) and good Goan Catholics get married in their village churches. At Goan weddings priests are VIPs. Neighbours, relatives – even cousins four times removed – are considered family. As are acquaintances of parents, colleagues from work, classmates from school, the grocer who has supplied your home with food items since the day you were born, friends old and new. Invitations are standard, unless a member of the family is into ‘designing’ (in which case the bride’s blouse/ gown is also thoda hatke). The decorations are variations of Chinese fairy-light strings, thermacole cut-outs of the bride and groom’s names sprinkled lavishly with shiny powder and garnished with angels or diyas as the case may be. Flowers: marigold with mango-leaves for Hindus, tube-roses (or lilies) for Christians, orchids and ferns for the nouveau-rich. A bunch of gangly youngsters in loose-fitting formal-wear welcomes invitees at an obvious ‘entrance’ with a red ‘carpet’ leading to and from it. The menu includes traditional items like moonga-shaak, alsande tonnak or sorpotel and roast tongue even if chow-mien, bhel and pizzas sometimes get pride of place.

Saris show fold-creases indicating non-use over a long period of time. Breaths are held in so the abdomens won’t burst suit-buttons… well, at least until dinner is served.

          The ceremony is followed by a reception, usually a dinner, in a nearby hall. Friends, local bands (or cds) sing and entertain. Guests stand in queues to meet the couple, have photos clicked, hand over an envelope or wrapped packet, sit with familiar faces on comfortable plastic chairs and gossip a bit before calling it a night. Subsequently, they may see the photographs on Facebook/ Flickr. Traditional, predictable and (in spite of the lagnacho-bowaall), smooth.

“I love Goan traditional weddings,” I said to Sri Husband. “They have an elegant, gentle charm.”

          Weddings in Goa (WiGs), on the other hand, are organized from Bombay/ Delhi/ wherever, via emails/ Skype/ telephones/ agents. E-invites and sms-es help record dates, times, venues. Meticulous homework is done regarding flight timings, pick-ups and drops, room-reservations, diabetic breakfasts, tipping taxi-drivers, mehndi-appliers, matching bangles and ideas to blend European and ethnic tastes, to be different. Creativity reigns; blended with confusion, they are vibrant events, great tourism-brochure material.

          At one WiG, I met people I hadn’t been in touch with for over twenty-five years. Whilst the bride kept baraat and Brahmin waiting for an hour, I discovered whose husband had retired, whose children had chosen which career and exchanged contact details. After the long wait (gods these days pardon non-observance of muhurta), the puja happened. The mangalashtaka began without the bride. The chorus-chant of ‘Shubha-muhurta-saavadhaan’ was repeated a couple of times. Conditioned, my hand kept going up at that cue, to throw rice. Those around me were amused, because I didn’t have any grains in my palm and was raising fist and fingers in a comic robotic movement… for fifteen minutes, before the bride was dramatically escorted in by her brother/ cousins/ friends. (At another wedding some years ago, a bride I know was late because she decided to visit her gynaec for an IUD insertion after the beautician had dolled her up. Talk of priorities! And the nerve to share this ‘secret’.)

          Back to the aforesaid WiG: instead of listening to shehnais and some happy raag, young and old shook limbs energetically to more modern sounds and simple beats. I ate Greek and French food, exotic mushrooms and cheeses and wore comfortable casuals instead of formal silks. Enjoyed it, too. A far cry from traditional Goa.

“I love WiGs,” I said to Sri Husband, explaining the term. “All that novelty.” Later adding: “Goa has unnoticeably become a wedding-destination. I don’t have statistics, but wedding-tourism must be a big deal. We’ve just attended one WiG, and one pukka Goan wedding and another WiG is going to happen in a couple of months.”

Going through memories of our own wedding, I said: “We had a tea-party, twenty-five people from each side including the two of us. Was a bit too simple, you think?”

“Each wedding is unique and enjoyable in its own way,” said Sri Husband with a wise expression and tone.

“True.”

We were both in a rare agreeable mood. Quite abnormal; I needed to change that.

“I’m going to learn the Punjabi ‘gidda’ for S’s wedding,” I said. “I’m doing homework on sarson-ka-saag and makke-ki-rotis.”

“Control the drooling,” Sri Husband said. “Or carry enough hankies.”

“Will paper-napkins do?” I asked mischievously.

He walked out grumpily. Normalcy reigns once more.

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