Deaf in Delhi: A Memoir

36. Marriage

36 Marriage T H R E E Y E A R S E A R L I E R , W H E N I H A D D E C I D E D that I was going to remain a bachelor for all my life, a wise cousin from Delhi told me: “All of us want to avoid getting married, and all of us get married!” He was right. Some of us are more vocal in our refusal; some more submissive. Two of my childhood companions, Vishwa and Madan Gopal, married when they were seventeen years old and had become fathers when they were eighteen. Madan Gopal had four kids, and he was only two years older than me. At twenty-five, I was, in the opinion of the people from my village, past the marriage age. Babuji married for the first time when he was nine years old. His wife died before the marriage was consummated. When he married a second time, he was nineteen and Bhabhi was eleven. She was formally brought to our home when she was fifteen to start her married life, which meant cooking, cleaning, bringing water from the well, and bearing children, not necessarily in that order. The preparations for my marriage started several months in advance. I was not involved in them. Babuji took care of the food and janate, or wedding party, arrangements. The janate was the group of people who would accompany me to Lohara for the wedding ceremony and then bring my bride and me back to Gagret. Bhabhi and both my sisters worked on jewelry and clothes for Nikki and all the relatives who were coming to attend the wedding. Weddings were major events in villages where little else happened. Besides the annual fair, weddings were the only game in town. I remember how all us kids looked forward to a wedding. It meant no school for four or five days and all the cousins gathered in one house for a week. Weddings meant new clothes, plenty of food, and all the sweetmeats you 189 190 deaf in delhi could eat! For children, weddings were the ultimate in fun. They were like going to a theme park for a whole week. Bhai Narain, ever the great planner without money, wanted to do everything in great style. He even had plans to send Nikki and me on a honeymoon, emulating rich people in the West. Babuji had asked him for the money to purchase all the clothes for me and Nikki. This cost several months of our combined salaries. Bhai Narain went into the purchasing frenzy with a vengeance. I wanted to keep everything simple and did not want to borrow even one rupee; however, no one listened to me. Relatives who lived in Delhi visited 21/6 in Kishan Ganj on a weekly basis to examine the purchased cloth materials, give their opinions on them, and have deep discussion about each piece over tea and samosas. While all these preparations were occurring in Gagret and Delhi, I continued to work, leaving home at 7 a.m. and returning home after 10 p.m. I had, however, stopped playing cricket on Sunday mornings. This allowed me to have more time at home, at least on Sundays. Other than that, it was life as usual—busy but full of fun. The invitations were sent out to all the relatives. No one declined, which meant they were all coming. I gave invitations to all my friends, and three of them decided to come; travel to Gagret was expensive. One of my friends, Govind Uppal, my former classmate and later my student, was working as a freelance photographer. He was coming to the wedding as the official photographer. He was paying his own way, and nothing was discussed about payment for his services. The other two—Balraj and Prem—were not exactly my close friends, but they could afford the trip and were very curious about my little village in the foothills of the Himalayas. A week before the wedding, Bhai Narain, his whole family, and I traveled to Gagret. Half of the relatives had already arrived, and the house was full. Wedding ceremonies started with ubtan—the formal bathing of the groom for the wedding. Before the ubtan ceremony, the groom—and the bride in her own home—are not allowed to bathe or change clothes. It was February and still cold in Gagret, therefore, not bathing was no problem...