Seema stops at the deep end of the pool, near the stage. Scott walks up to her, and she hands him a coconut and a bright yellow garland.
Scott’s bridal party (Jay and two friends) gather around him, then he is officially received by Kamala. She applies a red powder called kumkum to his forehead. I can see her whisper in his ear, “Glad you made it.”
Scott smiles, bows, and leans in to her to whisper, “You and me both—Mom.”
Kamala smiles as he hands her the coconut (a ceremonial gift for the new mother-in-law).
Seema’s parents then escort Scott and his best man, Joe, to the mandap, where they are seated on colorful cushions near the fire pit. Jay and the other man from the bridal party then sit nearby.
Next, Seema walks over, carrying a red garland and escorted by her uncle Ravi. She is seated facing Scott, and the two prepare for the ceremony to begin.
The rest of the crowd have already gathered and take this time to remove their shoes and find seats.
I’m sort of surprised by how chaotic and loud everything is. Children are running around, including in and out of the mandap, while the ceremony goes on. Apparently, this is a good thing, as children are considered a good omen. Everyone in the audience is talking. This is nothing like the weddings I’m used to, usually solemn, almost silent ceremonies in a house of worship.
I lean over to Jay and whisper, “Hasn’t this officially started? When is everyone supposed to quit talking?”
“Indian tradition,” he tells me in a normal voice. “This is a celebration. People are allowed to talk, dance, even drink if they want to.” He looks down at my toes. “Cute nail polish.”
I want to tell him to shush but I also don’t want to be disrespectful. Instead, I whisper, “Thanks.”
The Hindu priest begins to address the crowd, “We have come together to wed Seema, daughter of Kamala and Mohinder, to Scott, son of Thomas and Janet. Today they build together the foundation of their marriage upon the earth, in the presence of the sacred fire and the radiant sun, among their family and friends.”
The smoke from the sacred fire blows into Nic’s and my faces. We cough and shut our eyes tight. Once the smoke smells as if it’s dissipating, we both open our eyes again to refocus on the ceremony.
A small choir group sings what are called slokas. Their voices are melodic as they begin, “Vignesh varaia varadaia…”
I lean in to Jay and whisper, “Which song is this? Whisper back.”
He seems annoyed by my request to lower his voice, but whispers, “They are invoking Lord Ganesha.”
“That’s the elephant, right?”
“He’s not an elephant—he’s a deity. But he does have an elephant head. And a human body.”
Fortunately for Nic and me, Jay talks us through the whole ceremony: the invocation of Saraswati, then the prayer for harmony.
The choir is soon seated, at which time Seema begins the jaimala, which the priest explains to the audience is the exchange of garlands used to symbolize the acceptance of the bride and the groom by one another. She puts her garland around Scott, and he returns the favor. Then they recite vows, pledging to respect one another as partners.
As they do this, my mind wanders to a daydream about my wedding with Jay. I know—it’s stupid, and wayyyyy too fast. But what woman hasn’t had at least a fleeting thought of what a handsome third date would look like in a tuxedo? It’s just a harmless fantasy about placing a red, white, and yellow garland around his neck—I know I’m being silly. But I also dream of what I would do if I won the lottery, and I’ve never bought a ticket. Odds-wise, this dream is almost as realistic.
Next, Seema’s parents ceremonially wash Seema’s and Scott’s feet and give the bride and groom flowers. The priest then says to Kamala and Mohinder, “Do you, Kamala and Mohinder, approve the wedding of your daughter Seema, to Scott?”
“We do,” they say, and take a seat. Scott knows this is his cue to hold Seema’s hand, which he does. Then he declares, “I, Scott, take you, Seema, into my heart as my wife.”
Aw …
She smiles. “I, Seema, take you, Scott, into my heart as my husband.”
The priest once again addresses his audience. “A circle is the symbol of the sun, the earth, and the universe. It represents holiness, perfection, and peace. Do you have the rings?”
Seema and Scott, all smiles, each hold out a ring.
The priest continues, “These rings are a symbol of unity, that your lives are now an unbroken circle, and that wherever you go in the world, you will always return to one another. Please exchange your rings.”
As Scott and Seema wordlessly put the rings on each other’s left hand, I glance over at Jay, who gives me a smile and a friendly wink.
The priest proclaims, “And now, Seema and Scott, you are married.”
And the crowd goes wild.
The couple, who had been sitting facing each other, now move to be side by side. Seema’s father puts Seema’s hand in Scott’s. Her cousin Bindu then sings a mangalashtak, a song she composed just for Seema’s wedding, with the choir.
The priest then continues, “The couple will now give rajaham, which is a sacrifice to the sacred fire.”
Thank goodness someone is explaining all of this to me.
The priest turns to Jay, who stands up as Seema cups her hands and places them in Scott’s cupped hands. Jay takes some rice from a bowl and puts the rice in her hands, which Seema and Scott then throw into the fire. Then they stand up.
As the two walk around the fire pit four times, chanting, their priest explains to us, “This is the mangal phera—or walk around the fire. Seema and Scott pray for happiness, long life, and good health.”
Seema and Scott sit down again. Seema’s quick to sit first. Several members of the audience laugh. The priest chuckles and explains to us Westerners, “It is tradition that whoever sits down first will be the boss of the marriage.” He leans in to Scott and jokes, “Bet she didn’t tell you that part, huh?” The audience laughs again. Then the priest continues, “Now is the time to confirm the marriage with the seven final steps, known as the saptapadi. Seema and Scott, will you please rise?”
As Seema and Scott rise and take the seven steps, the priest asks that the couple be blessed with food, strength, prosperity, happiness, and children, and that they live in harmony and be the best of friends.
Then he eyes the audience, as if they’re all in on a private joke. “Scott, you may sneak a kiss to your bride.”
Their kiss is chaste, but causes the crowd to erupt into joyous applause.
Seema and Scott feed each other sweets four times. Seema’s mother gives Scott a gift. Scott’s mother walks up to the mandap and puts a gold pendant hung on a yellow string, known as a mangalsutra, around her daughter-in-law’s neck.
There’s another reading and song, and we’re done.
Magic.
The guests cheer and throw flower petals on Scott and Seema as the two walk offstage and into their new lives.
And that—as they say in show business—is a wrap. Well, until the next ceremony anyway.
Time to break for lunch!
Jay stands up, puts out his elbow for me to take, and leads me to party number one.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The next hour was spent taking pictures with the bridal party and their families. Jeff showed up with a tray full of Indian hors d’oeuvres for us to nosh on while we waited for the next photo setup, and two waiters took drink orders and got us anything else we needed.
(By the way—isn’t that amazing? Someone who could have just enjoyed being a wedding guest not only thinking about the bride’s needs, but taking the time to make sure she’s taken care of? Why is it always the gay men who do that for us? Maybe wanting sex from us isn’t the big behavioral motivation for men that we are told it is.)
After the pics, Seema and her cousins performed a traditional wedding dance that the bride does for her groom, then they spent time chatting with wedd
ing guests for the next hour.
Then, while guests continued to party downstairs, Seema, Nic, and I began preparing for the craziness of wedding ceremony number two.
But not before Jay and I snuck off for a little private time.
“That was amazing!” I say to Jay, leaping around and practically dancing as he and I walk hand in hand through the hotel hallway toward the room he has reserved for the night. “The fire, the water, all of the color everywhere, the beautiful singing. I have never been so inspired in my life!”
“Indian weddings are pretty great,” Jay agrees. “And the pulao was off the hook.”
We stop at one of the doors, and Jay puts his hand on my cheek and pulls me in to kiss him.
We kiss for a few moments at the doorway, acting like teenagers alone together for the first time.
I break away from the kiss. “I better go. Seema is expecting me. And you’re supposed to be getting ready with Scott and the other boys.”
“One more minute.” Jay leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips. Then he takes my hands, lifts them to his lips, and gives them a gentle kiss. “I want you to see our room before you go.”
Jay pulls a card key out of his pocket and slips it into the door. The green light buzzes on, and he opens the door to reveal his room, a six-hundred-square-foot confection with a white sofa, white chairs, and a king-size bed complete with luxurious white linens.
“Holy crap,” I say as I walk in. There is a floor-to-ceiling window showing us Southern California in all of its summer glory from twenty-five floors up. I walk up to the window to check out the view. The day is so clear, you can see the ocean all the way from downtown. “This view is spectacular.”
“The view is pretty spectacular from here too.”
I turn around to see Jay eyeing me lasciviously. I make a show of rolling my eyes at his compliment. Then I glance over at the front door to see that my black overnight bag has magically appeared in the room. “When did you have time…”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Jay promises. He takes my hand and leads me to the bed.
We begin to make out again, although every time his hand goes under my lehenga, I move it away. “We can’t. Not right now.”
“No one will miss us.”
“The brother of the bride and the maid of honor. I’m going to guess they are.”
“Seema won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late,” he whispers, trying once again to get under my lehenga.
As if on cue, Christina Aguilera, Pink, Mya, and Lil’ Kim begin belting out on his phone, “Hey sista, go sista, soul sista, go sista.”
Seema’s ring.
I give him a look to show I’ve made my point. “What? That could be anyone,” Jay says jokingly.
Jay moves in for another kiss. But before we can get too far, my iPhone beep chimes in. I pull away to get my purse and answer it, “Hello.”
“My mother won’t go back downstairs until my bridal party is here,” Seema whispers. “Where are you? Where’s Nic?”
“I don’t know where Nic is, but I’m—”
“She’s having relations with your brother!” Jay says loudly into the phone as he doughnuts his arm around my waist playfully.
“I am not!” I vehemently deny, pushing him away and quickly getting off the bed. Then I say into the phone, “Seriously, I’m not. I’m coming right up.”
“Good. Because Mom is with me, and it might be considered bad form to keep us waiting.”
Yikes. “Good point, Mrs. James.”
“Mrs. James,” Seema repeats. “That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“It does indeed. I’ll be right up.” I end the call.
Jay stares at the ceiling. “I think it sounds a little”—he makes up a stuffy East Coast accent—“‘Muffy and my great-great-grandparents met on the Mayflower.’ But don’t quote me.”
Jay crawls over to me and puts one arm around my waist, trying to pull me into bed. “You can be a few minutes late.”
I lean in to kiss him again.
“No, she can’t,” I hear Seema say firmly on my phone. “And by the way, I’ll get even with you for that Mayflower quip.”
I stop midpucker, startled, and pick up my phone. “Did I not hang up?”
“You have to press the red end-call button, you dork,” Seema tells me.
“I’m coming up now.” I press the red button. Twice.
And I bolt out of the room.
I open the door to leave, but turn around in the doorway before I leave to ask, “Are you serious about me coming to Paris to see you?”
“Of course.”
“I want to go,” I say, then surprise myself by rephrasing that. “I mean … I’m going to go. I’m going.”
Jay’s smile gets even wider. “Perfect.”
I grin, blow Jay a kiss, then practically levitate up to Seema’s suite.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I race up one floor, tear down the hallway, and see Nic, sitting against the wall, doubled over in pain. “Jesus!” I run over to her and kneel down to her level. “What happened?”
“Braxton Hicks contractions happened,” she says through clenched teeth. She grabs the lower part of her stomach and mutters, “Son of a fucking goddamn bitch motherfucker!”
That’s succinct. “You’re having contractions,” I say, trying to sound calm.
“No.” Nic breathes out a “Hee. Hee. Hee,” as if she were doing yoga. “I’m having Braxton Hicks is all. It’s false labor.” She puts out her hand so I can help her up.
“Are you sure this is false labor?” I ask, as I take her hand with my left hand and put my right under her arm to help lift her up. “It sure looks real to me.”
“I’m not due for another week, and no one delivers their first child early. I’m fine.”
She stands up, inhales a normal breath, then smiles, back to her normal self. “See, I’m good. Just need a few Tylenol, and I’m ready to boogie.”
I eye her suspiciously. “Should I call Jason?”
“Absolutely not. I’m fine.”
“But he’s just downstairs at the midwedding cocktail party with the girls. I could run down—”
“I said I’m fine,” Nic insists, her voice seeming to issue a warning. “We have had enough drama at this wedding today. There’s no reason to send a bridesmaid to the hospital just so she can be told to go home.”
“Okay,” I tell her, but I secretly turn on the stopwatch function on my iPhone.
The next twenty minutes are spent racing to get into our next set of bridesmaid dresses, helping Seema out of her Indian ensemble, helping her into her bridal gown and veil, and walking down to Ballroom B. Also known for the day as the Western Wedding Chapel.
As the three of us stand in the plush hallway outside the ballroom, waiting for guests to take their seats, Seema whispers to me, “How’s he look?”
I peek through the golden double doors to see Scott, Scott’s best man, and Jay standing at the front of the altar, waiting for the bride to make her grand entrance. Jay is gorgeous—the tuxedo makes him look so sexy, it makes me swoon.
“Awesome,” I say, then turn around and announce, “And I’m going to Paris to see him!”
“Okay, I was talking about my groom,” Seema points out, “but good for you.”
“Are we ready for wedding number two?” the wedding planner asks as she hands Seema a massive bouquet of deep red roses interspersed with white lilies.
“We are.” Seema’s voice is confident and relaxed. She turns to me. “How do I look?”
“The most beautiful I’ve ever seen you.”
And she is. She is exquisite in her ivory, floor-length bridal gown. And the V-neck of the gown perfectly frames the large raindrop-shaped ruby brooch surrounded by small white diamonds that she wears around her neck. Her shiny black hair is up in a chignon, and she wears a beautiful veil with a tiny tiara in the front made of small rubies and diamonds.
“Bridesmaid num
ber one!” the wedding planner whispers, putting up her arms like Natalie Wood starting the race in Rebel Without a Cause. Nic takes her bouquet of white orchids from the planner and prepares to make her entrance.
“And … go!” the planner yells/whispers.
Nic doesn’t move. Or I should say, only her upper body moves—forward, then bent over. I left my iPhone upstairs, but it’s obvious: she’s having another contraction.
A pregnant pause, so to speak. Nic gently puts her hand over her belly.
“Nic?” Seema begins.
“I’m fine.” Nic tells her through a strained breath.
“Goooo…,” the wedding planner repeats.
Nic takes a deep cleansing breath, then forces herself down the aisle with her pregnant-woman waddle.
Seema turns to me, “Is she…”
“Nope,” I say confidently.
“And maid of honor,” the planner whispers, putting her arms up again.
I start to go, but Seema grabs my arm and asks nervously, “You would tell me the truth if she was in labor, right?”
“And maid of honor … go!” whispers the wedding planner, throwing her arms down.
“Of course I would,” I lie.
“Because if she needs to be at a hospital…”
“Seema,” I say, putting up the palm of my hand to stop her, “we don’t get a lot of perfect moments in life. Go enjoy this one.”
I then take my all-white peony bouquet from the planner and make my grand appearance in the doorway.
All eyes are on me. Ick. I hate this part. Remembering what the wedding planner instructed, I step forward with my right foot, then bring my left foot together. Right foot out, left foot together. As I take my first steps down the aisle, I slip into a bit of a daydream. One might think I would fantasize about Jay standing at the altar, excited to marry me in front of our dearest friends and family.
But, no. Actually my dream is to be allowed to run up the aisle and get my part of the procession over with. There is something sort of ridiculous about taking two and a half minutes to walk less than fifty feet. Right foot forward, left foot to close, and right foot forward, left foot to close.
Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink Page 15
