The [im] Possible Wedding

A short story about family, secrets, and the lies we tell to protect love.

He looked at the picture on the wall.

They had asked a passerby to take it for them. That was ten years ago. Best friends, the three of them, in New York City, during a chilly, wintry December.

Nik, Alexa, and Sam. They called themselves the United Colors of Benetton—brown, black, and white. No one got the joke; most were mildly shocked that they bantered about skin color. But it was what it was, silly, university student, humor.

That was the trip where he fell in love. For years, he had to overcome all odds to be with the one he cherished.

And now, tomorrow, the big day had arrived—he was getting married.

Maybe.

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I have a feeling this wedding is going to be out of the ordinary, explosive even.

Nikhil, my best friend, is tying the knot. He prefers Nik—he thinks slicing out the ‘hil’ sounds cooler—I believe the ‘hil’ has a wise ding about it, like Nikhil the Professor, or Nikhil the Engineer, both of which he’s not.

Well, I lie.

He's an engineer, a sound engineer, not doing computer stuff or fiddling about with parts, but doing magic on a giant board with infinite knobs on them—more like a DJ, minus the crowd.

The wedding is tomorrow. I’ve been here for a week now, just taking in the scenery, getting acclimatized a bit, and seeing what the funk goes down.

I won’t lie. It’s been amazing and terrifying, having people stare at you all the time. I suppose, in a country known for its lustrous black hair, being blonde and white is bound to garner some eyeballs.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, it's an Indian wedding—the South Asian variety, not the North American one—and it’s the first time I’m participating in one. Unlike any of the other matrimonies I’ve attended - and I’ve frequented quite a few (96 but who’s counting), this one attacks your stimuli from all angles. What can I say, I’m American, our weddings are pretty dull.

Even the plane ride from the States was crazy. We opted for cattle class, although Nikhil’s dad graciously offered to pay for first class.

Boy, oh boy.

I mean, we’ve all heard of the stereotypical co-passenger story—the contentious positioning of elbows, the odors, the belching, the flatulence. Now add Indian spices to the mix. It was a flight that our olfactory senses would have loved to miss.

So far, every event leading up to the wedding has been better than the one before.

I'm dreading tomorrow, though.

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So, what have I learned so far?

A lot.

I can categorically say that Indian weddings have a few essentials.

Let’s start with the good and progress to the crazy.

Music, Decorations, Color, Food

Music is a constant, whether it's live musicians, a DJ, or just family getting together to sing and dance. I’ve never seen anything like this. Adults and children dishing out their best moves on the dance floor—no one judging, everyone having a great time.

The cacophony of drums, pipers, subwoofers, and bass speakers, along with the buzzing of people and generators for the usual electricity shortage, can be heard deep into town.

The decorations, the explosion of color, OMG, just gorgeous. And the lights! The brilliance could easily light up a small town in Ecuador.

And, oh, let's not forget the scents; the guests can smell the heady mix of incense and cardamom long before they reach the gates of the house.

The food, supposedly, is from the best caterer in India. I found that hard to believe, considering India is a gigantic country. Also, Nik’s dad is prone to a few tall tales every few hours.

But the food is delicious, consistently, and if my belly’s happy, I’m delighted.

Gold, Relatives, Pride, Jealousy

I’ve heard from Nik that the Indian wedding season can define gold prices across the world. I have no doubt.

Seeing the women (and men) dripping with this metal, you would think that all the gold in the world was present right here, right now. Even the elephants were draped in the shine. Go figure.

And gold was a big deal. All of Nik’s beady relatives were keeping an eye on who wore what and how heavy. It showed the person's current wealth and determined whether the gods had been more generous (than usual) to them recently.

Jealousy is in every corner. If you had an Audi, you wanted that guy's BMW, who wished for her Rolls.

Nik’s dad, being the host, was putting on quite a spectacle. He even had his name embroidered in gold on all his outfits.

And yes, I mean all.

“Look at Kapil. He’s just putting on a show because the bride’s American. We know how he loves to pinch his money.

Do you think if the bride were a local girl, he would have gone to all this trouble?”

Gossip, Drama, Tears, Love

“He tried to kill himself. That’s the only reason the family allowed him to get married to a foreigner.”

Not true. Well, there’s some inkling of truth to it.

Let me explain.

Nik is an only son and an only grandson across ten families. He is the absolute love of his grandmother, Lakshmi, one of those silent, strong types. And she had gorgeous silver-grey hair that no professional hairdresser would be able to recreate. I’ve taken enough photographs of her (and her hair) to see if Kayla would be able to do this to my wild head.

Sorry, I digress.

When Nik told his family that he was in love, in true Bollywood fashion, the family said no. They were adamant the family sperm wasn’t shifting to another country.

The dad was disappointed, the mom sobbed over the phone, and Lakshmi stopped communicating with Nik.

They had Skyped every week until then, but she severed all ties once the news came out. She was the first person Nik broke the news to, so he felt cheated that his grandmother treated him this way.

So it went on for years, this Cold War of sorts, a weird mix of passive aggressiveness and fake anger, till Rahul’s suicide.

Rahul, Nik’s far cousin, had gone to South Korea for his PhD. in Chemistry, and the stress had gotten to him. What followed was a rope, a fan, and a heartbroken family back in India.

The death was enough for Lakshmi to reach out to Nik, reconnect (it was a tearful reunion over Skype), and offer her blessings for him to marry Alexa.

Nik showed her his favorite photo from New York City, taken in a white, snowy evening, right outside the M&M’s store.

“Ah, Alexa, that’s a nice name," Lakshmi said.

"She has beautiful, golden yellow hair. Well, at least she’s not kaali (black).”

And everyone accepted the fact that Nik's children would be lovely multi-racial pieces of art.

Indian relatives and making babies...

---

Lies

So, we’ve been continuing a little lie.

Well, Nik's grandmother misspoke, and we didn’t correct her. Even now, the night before the big day.

I’m blonde (as I’ve said quite a few times already), and Nik’s family calls me Alexa.

But I’m not Alexa, I’m Sam, short for Samantha. Alexa is the other person in our photo.

So why did Lakshmi get confused?

Sigh.

It wasn't confusion. She just assumed that Alexa would have to be me!

But why?

Nik would obviously, his grandmother assumed, marry a woman.

And the only, forgive me for being crude in India, testicle-less person in the photo is yours truly.

Standing next to Nik in the photo is Alexa, short for Alexander, a dashing black man.

Yup.

Nik still hasn’t told them he’s gay.

And that the real Alexa is flying in tomorrow.

Remember, I told you at the beginning that this marriage was going to be out of the ordinary, explosive even.

It will be. If it ever happens.

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