Dolly Koghar muses on why we Indians last lifetimes as a couple.

Back in my childhood days, parties were a rarity; but we Punjabis knew – and presumably still do – how to celebrate with gusto, even without frivolities. Since life was centered around Phahurat and the Gurudwara, all the festivities and milestones, even for folks living in Sukhumvit or in Fang Thon (on Thonburi side), meant dressing up just to go mattha-taek Babaji and maybe do a langar, which always turned into a come-one-come-all party for anyone at the premises.

Actual parties were rare and far between, but a wedding definitely warranted a celebration, although back then, they were still more or less at-home affairs with the neighbours and relatives pitching both in the preparatory stages, and as part and parcel of the celebrations. The ‘event planner’ would be one of the community’s know-it-all masi-jis, not mum’s real sis, but a preferred Punjabi moniker to “Aunty-ji.” The dos and don’ts of our weddings are more than aplenty, and impossible for one head to wrap around; so, joining her to give wanted and unwanted, conflicting, hit-and miss advice, was the matchmaker masi-ji, and also the bloodline aunts, the bhua-jis, actual masi-jis and of course, the mas of the pair; not to mention the “been-there, done that” nani-jis and dadi-jis of both sides.

A wedding is a huge deal in any culture, but we Indians take it to another level; ours is multi-layered and super complicated. It’s hardly about the boy and the girl, they’re more or less just pawns in a supposedly made-in-heaven match. In reality, it’s to unite two households, which extends to half a town on either side; the sambandhis. Amongst them there’ll inevitably be those that thrive on adding much ado and fuss to an already crazy line-up of functions. Subsequently, there’s no wedding that doesn’t have its fair share of bruised egos and ruffled feathers.

But weddings were and are impossible without the multiple perspectives to bring about a semblance of control during the many traditional rituals. There’s also advice needed on the finances: the dowry negotiations; the appropriate ornaments; and the stuff to be gifted to the dulha and his immediate family, with preference to his ma, and then in descending order to her ma and her sassu-ma. There’s also the Gurudwara formalities and the wedding itself to be planned out.

But central to us ‘Punjus,’ whether in joy or bereavement, is food. So, of utmost importance is threshing out the menus for the many functions to satisfy our unsatiable palates and yet not be repetitive. Although, of course, pakoras, the unfussy- looking gram flour fritters, are a compulsory staple, whether in the fun-filled henna or mehendi pre-wedding function, enjoyed separately by the couple and their sambandhis, or on the wedding eve at the dulha’s place to adorn him with a flower veil or sehra-bandhi. The pakora might even appear in the following day’s spread in the Gurudwara after the laavas, the four rounds the two take around the Guru Granth Sahib Ji, uniting them in holy matrimony.

After which, the dulhan heads home, followed closely by the dulha and his siblings and friends, where they’re welcomed and fed, but also have pranks played on them, while she gets out of her morning outfit and waits for the groom’s male relatives to bring her jewellery and a shimmering new regalia, in a different shade of red from her wedding outfit. Then it’s doli time, a tearful sendoff of their beloved daughter to her new home where his family and relatives await to welcome her at the doorway. But to cross the threshold into her new identity and new life, there’s a procedure she’ll have to enact with her sassu-ma, the boss! But wait, there are additional rituals awaiting her inside the house; fun-filled games between her and the man she barely knows, and will now spend a lifetime with.

All of the above isn’t even a tip of the iceberg of our wedding formalities, and I’m talking about the ones without the frills of present-day marriage. So, it should come as no surprise why we last as couples over a lifetime – it’s not because we get along like a house on fire, but because going through the incomprehensible rigmarole once is already once too much!