It is only after the third time S has galloped up and down the mandapam(1) stairs that she realizes how unfit this activity is for the wearing of a sari(2). Six yards of silk had been coaxed into folds and drapes by hands far more skilled than hers. And now they are all coming undone. Clearly, this garment was designed to simply allow the wearer to stand around and look pretty, neither of which she feels remotely capable of accomplishing. Finally spotting a handy alcove, S dashes into it to do some major repair work involving the pleats -

“There you are!” says a voice which mingles grim satisfaction and determined jollity. Wedging various articles of clothing in place, S spins (or rather, revolves slowly, to prevent any further sartorial disasters) to face her mother.

Next to her stands a grandma whose face comprises more wrinkles than actual skin, grinning at her. “This,” says S’s mother delightedly, “is your older cousin’s mother-in-law’s great-aunt!” At least, this is what S gathers from the convoluted description.

“You must speak to her for a few minutes, she’s been wanting to meet you.” And then S’s mother is swept up again the social and administrative whirl of the ceremony, leaving her alone with a comparative stranger. Although, S thinks, by Indian standards this counts as “close relation”.

“And how are you, my dear? G’s daughter! It’s so lovely to see you. Surely you remember me!” S shakes her head and lets loose her impeccable Tamil and her sweetest smile. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t even conceived when you were getting your youngest son married off”, she stops herself from saying.

Five minutes of inane babbling ensues, wherein S tries, and fails, to establish how the granny is related to her. The granny interrogates her about university courses and proves completely ignorant of the existence of double degrees. S eventually executes a deft escape by pleading that her mother needs her, and then goes to hide near her cousin.

Many months of preparations, numerous consultations of astrologers, and inordinate amounts of time spent choosing saris in at least three different stores, have all culminated in this ceremony that would eventually make a man out of her thirteen year old brother. He is currently sweating magnificently on a dais, wrapped in several layers of itchy silk. Just to make things more fun, he’s also three inches from a ceremonial fire issuing copious amounts of smoke. S can’t decide if she admires his adorable adolescent fortitude, or sympathizes with his plight. Whatever being a Hindu Brahmin(3) man entails, he is clearly earning it.

But at least he won’t be asked to babysit unknown children. It is practically a proven fact that at any given Indian ceremony, about twenty percent of those present will be under the age of five. It is also a given that they will have a combined lung capacity twice that of all the adults in the vicinity put together. Looming behind every child is a mother in a sambar(4)-stained sari, intent on stuffing it with all the free food in the vicinity.

S likes children, but not in such large quantities. There is, she thinks darkly, no better direct proof that the Indian population was growing at the rate it was.

As the day wears on, S realizes that each elderly person’s brain seems to have been reduced to a few basic concepts. She is thus forced to have extremely similar conversations with various senior citizens, along the lines of the first granny, apparently the vanguard sent to test her responses.

“Do you know me? Oh of course you do, I’m quite close to your father’s side, aren’t I?”
“Wh - ”
“And who are you, dear?”
“S - ”
“Eh?”
“Er, G’s daughter.”
“Oh yes the one studying in America! And what are you studying?”
“Engineering and - ”
“Good, good! And tell me, how old are you?”
“Twent - ”
“Oh excellent, I suppose they’re going to start looking for a nice boy-”
“My mum’s calling me, sorry, I have to go, wonderful meeting you, um, again!”

It is only the next morning that S wonders if she hadn’t seemed a bit too enthusiastic to pack up and leave. Her family, including her slightly traumatized brother, has gathered on the train platform to say last goodbyes.

“By the way,” grins her aunt, as the train gives a shriek and prepares to pull out of the station, “a lot of people were interested in the fact that you’re twenty now.”

“What?”

“Oh yes, they all liked you very much you know. And they said that if your family was ever looking for a nice b-”

Mercifully, the train leaves the rest of the words far behind.

Note: Any resemblance to characters real or fictitious is entirely the fault of the reader’s imagination. The writer wishes it to be known also that her memory is notoriously unreliable.

Footnotes:
1. mandapam: large hall where South Asian religious ceremonies often take place.
2. sari: four to six metres of cloth, worn by South Asian women
3. Brahmin: scholarly and priestly caste in the Hindu caste hierarchy
4. sambar: a vegetable stew, generally eaten in South India

Photo Courtesy: Cleiph