A wedding story

After thirteen years I attended a wedding in my maternal village. My aunt, mum and cousins had already made the necessary arrangements for travel and gifts. I was a last minute entry in the group and I insisted on going with the sole purpose of tasting a rural wedding. This winter, weddings have not featured in my list of social events which is very surprising in itself.

We left for North Sikkim sharp at noon. The thing about coordinating such a trip with my extended family is that they never show up on time. While I leisurely showered, blow dried my hair, applied some make-up and put on my khochen kho, my youngest aunt (Amchung) and cousin had to rush through the whole process in ten minutes flat. Once in the car we then waited for my tycoon cousin who arrived fifteen minutes late in his freshly painted Accent. By the time we caught up with my aunt and mum at a pre-decided spot, they were a bundle of nerves. Mum quickly got into the front seat of our car while Amchung dutifully slid into the second seat of the other one. I was a little worried for the latter because she has a not-so-glorious history of car sickness. Even before we stepped out of the house, she commented about feeling pukish. No one wants to have a puke stain on their expensive khochen, neither would anyone be in a mood to celebrate after such a session. So I requested Mum to travel with her elder sister (Ambom) while Amchung could have the front seat of our Bolero. 

The shabda

When we made it to the gateway to North Sikkim i.e. Tashi viewpoint, we spotted the white bolero parked on the side with my Ambom sipping what we assumed was tea but found out was coffee later. We hadn’t even been on the road for a good fifteen minutes and there she was calmly seated, holding a hot drink between her hands! Once the exchange took place, we reached the venue in an hour and a half. Earlier, I asked Mum if the wedding house was by the roadside to which she replied with a confident yes. While my knee high boots helped ward the cold off, the heels were a challenge in the muddy fields. However, I managed to keep my confidence and posture intact. The entry was such that all eyes were on us the moment we entered through the gate. Fast forwarding through the offering of khadas and lunch, the three sisters then danced the shabda for a brief while. This is precisely the reason why I love rural weddings, so much so that I want one for myself too:

1. You get all the space in the world.
2. The villagers are an enthusiastic bunch ever ready to play a part in the celebrations.
3. A rural setting has its own charms in the greenery and openness which no three or five star concrete can replicate.
4. Most importantly, you get to experience Sikkimese-Bhutia customs and traditions in its purest form. The shabda, the food, the company, the rituals. There are absolutely no pretensions.

So when we finally emerged from the dense fog and reached Tashi view point again, I mentally applauded Amchung for having done well for herself but to my utter dismay, as soon as we crossed the junction, she asked my cousin to stop the car and there she left a reminiscent of her meal at the wedding. I had spoken too soon! All in all it was a good experience, such a wonderful feeling to have an opportunity like this. While we sleep with a content smile on our faces tonight, Amchung sleeps with her record intact.