Lying awake with jet lag at three this morning, I felt like an accordion that had been expanded and then suddenly compressed in a rushing wheeze of discordant notes. The trip happened so quickly that I barely had time to truly experience any of it, and as I stared up at the darkened ceiling and counted the minutes until dawn, a disordered and extravagant river of images, sounds, and smells washed back over me.
More than anything else from the last few weeks, the wedding itself still seems like a mirage. The process started on Friday night, with a puja at Kunal's parents' flat that filled the apartment with smoke, chanting, and the insistent call of a conch shell. The next day began at 4:15am, when Kunal's aunt woke me up to spoon-fed me sugary gruel on the floor of her hotel room. I then had several hours to wait before being dressed in a bright yellow sari for a lengthy ritual focusing on our fathers asking for permission from their ancestors for the marriage. The ceremony culminated with family members and friends smearing both of us with a paste made from turmeric and mustard oil.
The main event occurred in the early evening, starting at the astrologically auspicious time of 4:52pm. Kunal arrived in a horse-drawn chariot while I remained inside on a throne, weighed down by silk and gold, hiding my eyes behind two large leaves. I can only imagine the fear and anticipation that a woman would feel waiting to see her husband for the first time. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had already met Kunal once or twice, so I knew what to expect. Once my parents had paid Kunal Rs. 1000 ($26.32) to seal the deal, he was lifted from the chariot and my Mom led him inside. Four lucky friends then carried me above their heads and circled around him seven times. They set me down and I was finally able to remove my blindfold, and Kunal and I exchanged thick garlands of jasmine. During the final ritual, Harmony participated as my moral support as Kunal and I cast various symbolic plants into a fire. At last, we walked around the fire together seven times, dazed from the smoke and from exhaustion, and emerged into the cool night married, again.
The intensely ritualized wedding in Kolkata felt like the perfect counterpoint to our celebration in Oregon last summer. Very often I had no idea what was going on, but it was reassuring to think of the millions of people who had performed the exact same ceremonies over the centuries. The wedding not only involved our family and friends, but unnamed and uncounted gods and ancestors who were asked to give their blessings. And although I'm only now starting to understand the experience, I'm grateful for the opportunity to participate in such a beautiful testament to the force of the past in the elaboration of an emblematic present.
In my next post, I promise to get back to the point, i.e. Guatemala. In the meantime, my photos from the trip are here.
