Punjabi Wedding in Great Punjab

People always tell us how to do things or how life works. With all due respect I don't give a rat's ass what they think. There's only one way to really know something, it's through experience. And I like to believe that's why we are born (apart from the obvious lack of contraception), that's why we're given this beautiful, clay-like life. To mold, sculpt, create experiences. 

To me a true wedding experience is when I have to travel somewhere else. All the weddings I've attended in Delhi have been (barring exceptions) excruciating. I get so uncomfortable that I wish to be chloroformed only to wake in my bed a day later & have no memory of the wedding whatsoever.

So, clearly I was apprehensive when I set foot in the train to Firozpur. Apart from my ridiculous fear of being shot on the border because of Firozpur's proximity to Lahore, I didn't know if I will get any space or get stuck in conversations with people that are so boring or being constantly asked ‘when are you getting married, beta’ making me wish to rather be in prison in Afghanistan.

The thing about me is I get scared at times, but I don't run away. Because it is unforgivably stupid to. When we run from life, we miss out on the unknown. And there's nothing more exhilarating than the unknown.

After being about 2 hours off-schedule for the most part, the train magically reached Firozpur on time. I got picked & dropped at my new home within 10 minutes. And within five minutes my footwear went missing from the room. Well, I did the honorable thing & nicked someone else’s shoes.

I was asked if I want to take rest, to which I politely replied "fuck no". After eating lunch we launched our mission 'Firozpur on two wheels'. In the next two hours we visited all the places of significance in the town.

There's only one set of traffic lights in Firozpur. It’s bit of a landmark & an excellent selfie-spot. Rest of Firozpur feels like old Delhi without the murderous vehicles or psychopath dogs.

Later in the evening I found myself on the roof with mosquitos-&-marijuana and lotsa lads. Conversation fluctuated from Patiala pegs to gutter water-like Indian wine to how the bloke from Bombay had only scene Firozpur-like place in bollywood films. At some point a dense dark-haired lad joined in. No one recognised him. He explained he’s the same guy whom everyone had met downstairs, but "with the turban". This led to shock-&-awe. In particular & quite dramatically from Shiraz :)

Eventually the joint ran out & machchar bites became too much to handle. We got back to our rooms & started to get ready. I got ready before most boys, wearing a grey suit jacket, jeans & a T. As I was waiting for others to get ready, I was asked by someone “why aren't you getting ready?” When I said I already was, he gave me a confused look. The deal is unless one is wearing something blindingly jhataak for a wedding function, it isn’t considered being dressed.

But who cares, all weddings are about the girls. Nobody comes to look at the boys. Not even the gay boys.

Maintaining the Punjabi tradition of being incorrigibly-fashionably late by hours, we eventually left for the cocktails.

And there they were, the girls, looking like royal princesses. After being back in India for almost a decade now & being old & shit, I don’t complement unknown girls for the fear of being misconstrued as being interested in them romantically. So, when I liked the tattoo on someone's back, I kept it to myself.

We started drinking. Drinking is a great way to survive desi weddings. Then the boys wanted to smoke. We had to sneak out & find an incandescent corner outside so no elder can see us. Now this is another absurdity of Punjabi culture. Drinking is acceptable & lauded; smoking on the other hand is looked down upon & hidden from parents even by lads who are married with kids.

Then there was dancing to some spectacularly rubbish music. My favorite was a song that went something like ‘You’re my girlfriend, I’m your boyfriend’. Best Song Ever.

Adi passed out towards the end. He had promised to pass out earlier in the evening. It showed that he was a man of his word. Respect.

Alex/Aman pahji also passed out but not before announcing that he’s getting married next (only to recant next day). He then left for Patiala wearing my shoes. Now I had lost two pairs of shoes within a day. A new record.

The highlight of the night was a conversation with one of the younger boys. How he was discovering things about life & himself. How he wanted to write a book about being good for no reason. How he wanted to play golf professionally & appear on the PGA tour. How he wanted to do something no one in his family has ventured into before. Only time will tell what becomes of him. Good luck, bro.

Party continued when we were back in the house. I was more of a spectator as I don’t smoke-up. What a shame. I hit the bed at about 6am. Most of the boys stayed up for another couple of hours smoking-up in the washroom.

I woke at 2pm & all I wanted to do was hop on a bike & go eat Ramu’s legendary puri. It wasn’t to be. Damn.

Today was the day my friend of about 10 years was going down. Today was the day he’ll always remember as the day he made the greatest mistake of his life. Within hours he will be married.

Anyway, what surprised me was Adi's capacity of smoking-up & his unmatched dexterity at crushing-&-rolling the joints. This man was the real deal. To state the obvious another round of weed ensued in the evening. I stuck to Whiskey.

Before we knew it, it was time to start moving out to the wedding venue. I’ve always maintained all other functions in a wedding are much better than the actual wedding day. This holds even truer for the couple. I always fear the bride-&-groom may lose their eyesight from all the shutterbugs clicking them incessantly like they were Brangelina.

On the wedding day I really wanted to drink more to survive it superbly. But I couldn’t drink much as I’m totally over Vodka & that Antiquity whiskey simply refused to go down my throat. I tried & I failed. Am I getting bit elitist who drinks single malts? I so hope not. I’d hate that. I think my system is too old to digest desi malts anymore.

I didn’t feel it on the dance floor on the wedding night. Being low on alcohol wasn’t helping.

Later that night I stayed at the old house of my other decade-old friend. I slept like a baby & woke at 3pm. Again I missed out on Ramu’s puri. Just my luck.

After drinking imported-&-illegally shipped to Firozpur beer & delectable mutton curry we went to the house of the newly wed man & wife.

After the unwanted & totally expected distractions of Harley-Davidson bike & the neighbor uncle’s caution “ball mere ghar ke andar nahi aani chahiye” we finally played our first love: Cricket. I got out on the first delivery; my bowling saved my day. Miraz expectedly played with Lara-like natural flair & also smashed a shot into a young lad’s face. But, it was Nimisha who surprised me, middling the ball consistently & hitting a six on her way to a glorious innings.

Then it was time to depart. Everyone bid goodbyes. We had bit more to drink before we hit the road for the station. In the car, sitting in the passenger seat, I recalled all the moments from the last two & a half days. And it made me happy. I met so many people, some new, some old. Cricket was the reason Miraz first spoke to me on that sunny afternoon in Melbourne 10 years ago & today we were still sitting together all these years later because of that. No wonder cricket was our first love.

After eating dinner in the train cabin, we the younger lot left the parents to sleep. Then we talked & talked till about 3am. We tried to sleep for the next couple of hours. I couldn’t, perhaps I didn’t want to. I can’t write about what we spoke in those 5 hours but I really loved it. One reason I decided to talk instead of sleep is because I know real well, I can sleep another day but this time once passed, will not return.

That’s how I try live life. Living in the moment & swimming in it. I believe this moment is the only reality, everything else is fictional.

P.S. I couldn't include each moment I felt & perhaps missed out writing about some spectacular moments & people. Either because of my bad memory or to avoid making this letter become too massive. 

I hope, I wrote truly, without being sentimental & cheesy. Without viewing old friendships with rose-tinted glasses. Because as much as the old, it is the new ones that we meet, we must truly cherish. Because friendships, like marriages are also made in heaven.

Good luck, Gunny & Ritika :)