Happily ever after - By Nayana Gadkari

I almost didn’t go. I didn’t want to go.

Life has a way of waylaying some of the best-laid plans. But we all know that by now, don’t we? Yet we hope that the Russian roulette that the universe plays with us all somehow misses us. Newsflash, kid, it never does! One moment, you are gearing up for a happy event that was being meticulously planned for months, and the next moment, life throws you a curveball, and the event is the last thing on your mind—or not even…

I won’t get into the details of the curveball, not yet. That is for another day. Suffice it to say that my world was turned on its head, and I was frozen. Too frozen to move, too frozen to think, too frozen to love, too frozen to hate. I needed to get under my blanket and block out the world. I wanted to tent myself inside; the outside was too unfamiliar. It wasn’t my world.

What does one do when their world loses its song? You dance anyway. And so, I did. I got on an airplane and made my way to Napa with the family for a wedding, as wrong as it seemed in every possible way to participate in a celebration. I knew she would want me to.

What is it about weddings that we love so much despite clear evidence of a significant percentage of marriages failing spectacularly, expensively, and painfully? It’s elemental, my dear Watson. We all love to love. Weddings, you see, give us a reason to believe in love. They are the ultimate celebration of it.

We have known love to complicate and drown and to take our minds to dark places where few dare venture. And yet…and yet…it’s the one emotion that quite literally trumps everything else in the world. Kings and Queens have abdicated thrones to love, and men and women have fought wars for love and sacrificed themselves for it. You see, there are no ordinary days in love; you either rise or fall.

Deep in thought, I shook my head at its veritable irrationality as I sipped on a pre-baraat sangria at the winery under a gorgeous blue Napa sky. Despite knowing that the only constant is change, why do we hope for permanence of love, I wondered?

My thoughts were interrupted by the loud and raucous beating of “dhols”; the “baraat” had begun, the groom on his modified horse- a red Lambo, preceded by the boisterous dancing “baraatis” to the tune of “Tenu leke main javanga”. The blushing bride looked gorgeous in her fiery red lehenga, dripping with jewels, waiting for her man at the end of the long driveway with her bridesmaids. The driveway was lined with pretty pink blooming magnolias and plum blossoms, providing a perfect canopy for a perfect day. I brushed my thoughts away as I set down my sangria to join the “baraatis.” The groomsmen hoisted the groom on their shoulders, playfully pretending to make a run from the mandap. The bridesmaids make a similar playful attempt with their bride.

It was a dance of rituals and a whole lot of love. My Wuthering Heights and “Hum Aap ke Hain Kaun” conditioned heart melted, rejoiced, and danced! Love was about to triumph. The groom waited at the altar, and the bride walked under the beautifully decorated “chaddar” cascading with fresh orchids towards him, protected by her brothers. They gave her away to him. He stepped forward, took her hand, and led her to the altar where they sat on beautifully constructed settees decorated with vibrant purple dancing peacocks. The priest explained the rituals, and under the auspices of the creator and all five elements, fire, earth, water, air, and sky, they were pronounced man and wife. Colored rice was showered on the couple as their union was blessed.

Later, as I got on the airplane for the ride back home, I reflected on the two days of magic. Team Love had won. It showed in the emotions of the bride when she danced with her husband for the first time, and no! those emotions were not orchestrated by the meticulous wedding planner, those were real and raw, she didn’t care about the mascara flowing down her cheeks ruining hours of makeup. The whole room had disappeared around her; it was just her and her man. It was magical enough to dust the cobwebs off the most jaded of love cynics.

 “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”, oh Emile Bronte, what you wrote shaped my belief in love, enough to believe in the prince on the white horse, enough to continue to love, love, and enough to believe that they all lived happily ever after.