MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING

Dear Shibu,

Please come to Gurudwara at Sector 5 at 12 noon sharp on the 5^th of August. You have to come for sure.

Signed, Sumit

Those were the days of handwritten postcards and the MTNL phone had not reached our doorsteps. Sumit was a childhood friend since school and, if he had invited, there was no way I could miss. But why was he calling me like this instead of coming home and talking to me directly? Got in touch with some other common friends and a few of them had received similar invitation. They were as flummoxed as me. 5^thof August was a Sunday and Sumit was no Sikh to be inviting us for a puja there. It was then that one of the friends said, “ Jyoti is a Sindhi, which means they are getting married that day.”

Sumit was a Jat staying in the government quarters with a large garden in front, allotted only to senior officials which his father was. He also had an elder brother and a sister. I used to frequent their house almost on all days- on weekends and holidays I would land up early morning and on other days in the evenings to play with him and others near his place. Jyoti was staying in a smaller quarter diagonally opposite Sumit’s place with her parents and two younger sisters. We knew about the two of them and often teased him. They started off by looking at each other through their windows with books in their hands. From books to smiles and smiles to talking took long and had to be done outside the colony area. Soon they started meeting often and everything seemed just wonderful.

The problem with gaining the ‘perfect couple made for each other’ tag, however, lay elsewhere; it was at Sumit’s home. He came from a strict and highly educated family where all the children had studied in the best public schools and reputed colleges of the city.It was, therefore, quite a blasphemy for them to even imagine their son in a relationship with someone from Kendriya Vidyalaya who had later gone to some vague College to do her graduation in Arts. Added to this was the fact that Sumit’s father was a senior government functionary while Jyoti’s dad was an Upper Divisional Clerk in another government department. This was a complete mismatch for Sumit’s family. By the time Sumit graduated from an engineering college and landed himself in a reasonable job, he mustered the courage to speak to his mother and sister first who threw a fit and said a firm No.

The synonym of Jat in casual lingo is someone who is adamant and sees little rationale. He does what he thinks is right and that is what my friend Sumit was…a blue blooded Jat from Haryana. With the girl’s family more than willing and urging the two to take the final step together, it was just a matter of time before Prince Salim rebelled against the fatwa of Emperor Akbar and diktat of Jodha Bai.

Early morning on the 5^th of August, I packed my bag with my football kit to go to Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium to play an important match in the Delhi Football League. While our team played for fun,we hated to lose. So almost all the college team members playing, ours was not the strongest team around but this tournament helped us get good match practice for the college competition against the best that Delhi had to offer. That morning, we played Delhi Tigers, a team from Old Delhi. The match was a real tough one, more so playing in the sweltering Delhi summer and we lost it as well. For once,I was more interested in getting over with the game and played quite badly.  As soon as the referee blew the final whistle, I rushed home, took a bath and changed into a set of fresh clothes- nothing fanciful.

I went to the Gurudwara well in time and saw a couple of other friends hanging outside. Inside, of course, there was a flurry of activity with a lot of ladies decked up in bright clothes and men in safari suits with pink pagris on their heads. After a while we heard a motor bike coming and saw Sumit sitting on the back seat wearing a nice grey coloured suit. Prithviraj Chauhan had arrived for the swayamvar in 100 cc horse power….it was quite a sight. Together we went inside the Gurudwara and, after tying handkerchiefs on our heads, sat down in one corner of the hall. At the centre was the sacred Guru Granth Sahib and the granthi was reading out parts from the text which we understood little. Sumit and Jyoti were seated together near the sacred book and all others inside the Gurudwara were family members and friends of Jyoti. There was none from Sumit’s family except eight of his friends.

No sooner had the granthi finished the path than he raised his voice to say, Wahe Guruji  da Khalsa and all in the hall in unison said, Wahe  Guruji di Fatheh. This was repeated a couple of times. We now knew the ceremony was getting close to being over and food would be served. Having eaten little since morning, I was looking forward to a dawat with lots of puri, halwa and other vegetables cooked in pure ghee. It was then that the priest asked someone from the bride’s side to come and sit next to her. The father being the head of the family stepped forward and sat down with his head bowed in obeisance. Next the priest asked Sumit to call an elder from his family….Sumit turned, looked at me and made a hand gesture inviting me.

Paagal  hai kya….I protested but the Jat was not one to be put down. He smiled and again insisted that I come forward and sit by his side. What came over me, I obeyed and went ahead to be seated as the priest asked the couple now to stand up and exchange garlands to solemnize the marriage. I was quite oblivious of what was happening by my side as my mind started racing…I am supposed to be the father of the groom….I am taking the place reserved for Sumit’s father, a man whom I respected and loved so much. We then walked out of the hall and were offered prashaad of halwa with boiled kalachana. There was so much ghee added to the halwa that there was a common towel hanging nearby which looked dirty. On normal days I wouldn’t have touched that piece of cloth on which, no one knows, how many had cleaned their hands but today was different. I followed the crowd and despite rubbing hard the ghee just wouldn’t go off.

Just as I thought the ordeal was over, Jyoti’s father came towards me with folded hands and said, “Aap ko meri beti de raha hoon, uska khyal rakhna! (I am handing over my daughter to you, do take care of her). He then put his right hand inside his shirt pocket and pulled out some currency notes and put them in my hands saying, “Please take all the friends for a good meal somewhere.” “Why me?” I protested but the old man again folded his hands as if praying and I could actually see his eyes water. I accepted the money and said, “All right. Don’t worry. She will be well taken care of by our Sumit.” Wow! What a dialogue! Even Salim-Javed would have been proud of me.

We hired an Ambassador taxi. Sumit and Jyoti sat in the rear seat and I sat next to the driver. Other friends had their bikes and drove off, I was left along with the newly-weds waving to the bride’s family, many of whom including the mother and sisters were crying. As soon as we moved, I turned around to Sumit and asked, “What have you made me do? How will I ever face your parents? They love me so much and now when they come to know how I took the place meant for Uncle, they will feel completely betrayed and let down.” Sumit just smiled and said, soon everything will be normal. Don’t worry.

We reached Kanishka Hotel at Connaught Place where Sumit had booked a room for the two of them. When all the other friends arrived, we had a sumptuous lunch at the restaurant there. Of course, I paid the bill from the money Jyoti’s dad had given. The remaining cash I dutifully handed over to Sumit and walked out. I lost touch with the couple as they moved out of the country to Vietnam and Laos. Later came to now from some common friends that the family had reconciled with the son and the daughter-in-law and they were living happily together after a couple of years.

I never stepped into Sumit’s house again even when he had returned to India. Just didn’t have the heart to face his parents ever. Now after nearly thirty years the time is not long before I shall have to reverse my role from the father of the groom to the father of the bride but hope the man sitting next to the groom is slightly more mature.

Child marriages in India are not uncommon but suddenly finding yourself to be a father to a boy your age makes you hum the immortal song from the movie Sagina in parody…

Aye Saala Main Toh Baap Ban Gaya.


SS