Married Alive

A few years back,Rebecca Mead wrote a book called One Perfect Day: The Selling of the American Wedding about the wedding-industrial complex in the US,and the absurd amounts of money spent on that one event. She investigated the cultural phenomenon of the Bridezilla,a creature of monstrous appetite,who will buy more,spend more,want more.

It goes to prove that if there was no concept of the big blowout wedding,you’d have to invent one. While in 1939,a survey showed that 16 per cent of brides were married in clothes they already owned,a third married without an engagement ring,and roughly a third didn’t go on a honeymoon. Now it seems unimaginable that you could dispense with any of those hoary “traditions”. In India,our weddings have a way of incorporating everything — so now bachelorette parties are as culturally mandated as sangeets.

Once you’re past the proposal,you proceed in lockstep through each stage. The conventions are so firmly in place that you feel your own responses are off-key and weird if you don’t act appropriately giddy. Honestly,I think many people are first a little bewildered by the idea,the word “fiancée” flaps loosely around you for a while,as you try and assimilate the change.

But the wedding juggernaut has no time for introspection,as it jollies you along for the big production. It’s not about you at all,and a whole set of emotional and commercial imperatives come together nicely to make sure there’s something for everyone in your private commitment.

The blandishments of the wedding-industrial complex are hard to resist,even if you’re an “anti-bride” — one of those emotionally misshapen creatures whose life hasn’t been spent in anticipation of this one perfect day.

Just look at those fat,gleaming magazines about “that special occasion” —the women in encrusted saris,the men in regulation achkans with the spangled Karan Johar dupattas (there’s no resisting the slow creep of the Bollywood aesthetic,replacing traditional attires across this diverse country).

They appeal to infantile fantasies of being a princess or a movie star for a day,with helpful glimpses into how Shilpa Shetty and Aishwarya Rai carried it off. There’s a way in which you,the bride,are required to be the spectacle,the visual focus of the event. There’s a strict timeline for bridal booty,primping and planning. You are instructed to get facials the minute you get engaged — fix the blemishes,correct and better yourself.

But for all the narcissism they encourage,flipping through the magazines leaves you in no doubt about the real point of this whole wedding project. There’s a lot of flashing yellow metal and icy white mineral. Entire industries hinge on this occasion,from expos,designers,invitations,flowers,videos,venues,catering and transport,to gifts,jewellery,honeymoon travel,luggage and household fittings. In short,it is consecrated to accumulation and consumption — you’re just the catalyst who happened to have set off forces far greater than you.

What might have earlier been an intimate bustle (an uncle taking pictures,your mother passing down a sari,a few friends pitching in) is now broken up into small processes and handed over to the experts and the planners. Who ensure that you’re so busy preparing for the wedding that you have no time to prepare for the marriage.

Maybe once upon a time,the occasion was meant to distract you and soften a sharp transition in the days when getting married was really the all-important hinge-point in your life. For our grandmothers,it was the beginning of adulthood – you left your family to get used to another one,you placed yourself in the care of a man you barely knew. Now marriage is no biggie,it doesn’t materially change much for many self-sufficient couples who have known each other for a while. Which is why,Rebecca Mead says,this “invented trauma” of the wedding is a stand-in for the genuine drama experienced by earlier generations.

Or maybe it’s just that it’s a lot of fun for most people,it’s irresponsible escape for the bride and groom,and parents want to set aside all prudence for this one tremendous event. I don’t mean to sneer at other people’s good times – I only wish this bombardment of mass-produced fantasy would leave some room to celebrate the individual connection at the heart of it.