Wedding Crashers

Before I go into an elaborate description of my wedding crashing escapadeS, I want to give one quick image of India for you to try to wrap your mind around, something I've seen everyday at the exact same time since I've arrived in Jaisalmer: a little boy walks outside, wearing a wool turtle neck sweater and no pants, and takes a shit in the gutter, which is constantly running milky grey water. Across from the boy is a small calf, tied up in a cage with about 3 feet of rope, with two shrines inside for people to pray to. India man, India.
OK, now onto wedding crashing. It all started about a week ago, in the capital of Rajistan, Jaipur. I met a guy who told me it was wedding season in Rajistan, and that he had attended a wedding in some small village. Wedding season! I was excited. So the next day, I walked down to the lobby of our hostel which was attached to a massive hotel, and sure enough, in the large garden, were about 100 Indian men, women and children, sitting around, celebrating a wedding. I was curious and intrigued, and decided to walk into the garden and see what was going on. We had to catch a bus for Pushkar in an hour, so I knew I had to be quick. Basically, I wanted to see if it was possible to penetrate the cultural, language, and racial barriers, and get accepted into the ceremony
So I walked in with a camera in hand, a big smile on my face, and a total get-after-it mentality in my head. Within seconds, no exaggeration, seconds, of setting myself up for a good camera shot, several men grabbed me and jolted me into the middle of the white blanket that the immediate family was sitting on. People starting yelling, and all eyes were on me. Another grabbed the woman who was applying some red dye and seeds to the BRIDE's forehead, and put her in front of me to perform the ceremonial ritual. Wedding crashing was a definite possibility, I decided.
Fast forward a couple days later (by me only focusing on wedding crashing in this blog post, I am completely ignoring the entire week we spent in what has been one of my favorite cities so far, Pushkar. Basically all we did there was hang out, so I guess there's not much to write about). Anyways, we're walking from our favorite laffa stand (an Israeli food), where we had just eaten dinner, to our friends' hotel. On the way, I see a large, large, building, which from the outside (and I later found out the inside) could pass as a prison or insane asylum in the US. I hear loud music, and see lots of people gathered outside, and decide it's probably a wedding, and I should probably go inside. So inside I went, alone, because none of the 4 friends I was with were adventurous enough to venture into these unchartered waters.
I was greeted with a mixed reception. Several people sitting by the entrance explicitly told me to leave, but I figured since they were sitting by the entrance rather than actively participating in the ceremony, they weren't that important, and thus, it didn't really matter what they thought. And besides, this is wedding crashing. If it was easy, then they'd call it wedding attending. I wasn't going to give up that easily.
I walked upstairs and spotted a large room, about the size of a basketball court, with a DJ, a dance floor, and lots of people. In one corner was the bride and groom, seated on a bench, and in front of them were about 150 women and children, the men standing outside the room on a balcony which overlooked the large outdoor center of the building. Several young people approached me, asking about where I was from, what I did, etc.. The conversation was flowing; several minutes later I found myself surrounded by 10 college aged guys who were all studying to be accountants, none of whose names I could remember. Soon, a man approached me and grabbed me out of the crowd. His name was Arun, and he was the groom's older brother. Mission accomplished. He befriended me, and explained to me that this was just the first of three nights of wedding celebrations for the bride and groom. He told me that the groom, his brother, was a multi millionaire (in dollars? rupees?) manufacturing window panes, and that he was a lawyer, a judge, and a politician. He also said his family owned a hotel, gave me a card, and told me I should meet him for lunch tomorrow. And most importantly, he insisted that I come back tomorrow night, for the wedding, and that I should bring my friends.
I left soon after my work was complete, as I was uninterested in the speeches in Hindi, especially since there was no food in sight. I explained to Sam and my other friends what had happened, and informed them of the wedding we had to attend the next night.
The next day passed quickly. We realized it was only the second time in the last two months that we had an actual commitment to a certain time (not including buses, trains, or planes to catch). And still, we were late. We arrived at the wedding hall around 615. While Sam and the two Brits we were with appeared a bit trepidatious, their disposition quickly disappeared after I was greeted by name within thirty seconds of walking in, by four different groups of people. We learned that a parade was about to begin, which went through town and to the bride's house to escort her back to the wedding. So we left with some of our friends, and set out with the parade. The parade was a procession of about 300 people, not including the 45 piece band. Running along each side of the procession were young teenagers spaced about 10 feet apart from each other, each holding a 3 foot tall lamp with several fluorescent bulbs exuding a bright blue light. In the back were two carts holding generators for the lamps, each being pushed by several men. And just in front of the generators was the groom, dressed head to toe in a white suit covered with jewels, riding a white horse which also was covered in jewels. The parade lasted nearly an hour and a half, and on several occasions we were brought to the front to dance with my old friends the accountants.
We got tired after a while, and decided to leave the parade and grab some chai. We sipped our chai for a while, talking again to the crazy cake baker from last post, and decided by now the procession would probably be back at the wedding. So we returned to the wedding, this time walking to the other entrance. This side of the building had an outdoor terrace which was about 300 by 300 feet. The entire area was lined with crazy light displays. Surrounding each wall was no less than 30 stands, which were all now serving food. In the center were several large beautiful sculpture type things, made out of something that resembled plastic. And in front was a massive stage, with a beautiful jeweled bench resting in the middle in front of large red curtains. The food had started to be served, and knowing how aggressive Indian people can be, and fearing a short supply, I jumped in. I started eating, and realized that I was not receiving the same type of positive attention I had received earlier. I looked around, and saw that all eyes within a 30 foot radius were now on me, shoving vegetable noodles in my face. I wasn't worried- by this time I knew I was more than welcome at the wedding, so I simply looked around for one of the 50 people I had already met and exchanged names with (none of which I could remember). However, I couldn't seem to recognize anyone. So I looked at my friends, and their expressions of perplexity seemed to convey to me the exact same thing as I was thinking- is this the same wedding? People started approaching me, and asking various questions in Hindi and broken English. I kept replying "Arun, I am friends with Arun," but it didn't seem to hold any credibility with the new audience. So, I decided I wasn't yet welcome with this crowd, and that I would have to begin the same schmoozing and bullshitting skills I had done so successfully the night before. So schmooz and bullshit we did, and soon enough, we had a crowd of fifty people surrounding us, taking pictures, asking questions, and shoving food in our faces. As the crowd grew, so did the status of those surrounding us. The bride's father began shooting a fifteen minute movie of us simply standing in one place. He walked us around, introducing us to his relatives and friends. Turns out, the entire groom's family and friends had left on the parade, and the bride's family arrived soon after their departure to begin the party, which explains why we thought we were in a completely different wedding when we first arrived. Mission double accomplished, we were now guests of both sides of the wedding.
The procession was about to arrive back at the wedding. The bride's father and several other men grabbed us and brought us to the entrance. They placed baskets of flowers into our hands, and instructed us to hand them out as people entered. Before the procession arrived, the three photographers and two videographers took several minutes of pictures of us with the entire bride's family. "You are now part of the family" we were told. Holy shit.
The procession entered, and like everything else in India, it became madness. The band's noise was ear drum-shattering. People trampled through each other like a wild stampede. Tables and chairs were crushed, and it was a mad rush to enter through the gates. The videographers, as if their pay was contingent on having a continuous video feed of the groom, jumped from place to person to chair, violently knocking anyone who stood, or who had been pushed on the ground, in his path. Everyone remained completely peaceful and celebratory however, and both the bride and groom's immediate family appeared unharmed in the entire skirmish.
People managed to file in and take their places on the grass. The attention level around us (on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest) had increased from a 13 to a 20. It was near overwhelming, yet really, really funny. We were now being grabbed and brought in front of the stage to dance with a group of very overly excited young men. Having rocked many Camp Horseshoe socials, I had no difficulty dancing with the dudes. For an hour and a half, we (were forced) to dance to the upbeat Bollywood trance techno music. Like in Vietnam, I brought out the going fishing, the shopping cart, the C walk, the harlem shake, and some other crazy dance moves I've picked up over the years. The Indians could not get enough of all this. They especially loved the lawn mower, the disco walk, and by far the best, the flamingo (I'm not sure what it's called, but it's a Shoe trademark and a signal with my friends back home). By this time, I had worked up a full sweat, and was feeling exhausted. It didn't help that every 30 seconds another small Indian kid would grab me and forcefeed me one of the many Indian sweets or dishes. I snuck out of the dancing circle, and settled around the wedding ceremony in the other corner for some rest.
I was immediately spotted, however, by a young man with a blue scarf, who wrapped it around me and dragged me back to dance. "No!" I jokingly pleaded, but I had no choice. So I danced for several more minutes until my physical demeanor conveyed to those around me that I would have no more dancing. The wedding ceremony took place in a corner, and then the bride and groom were brought on stage to put flower necklaces around each other. They then were seated on the bench, and we were the first ones brought up for pictures. We thanked the bride and groom, and gave them our gift of 200 rupees (4 dollars) as well as some American flag pins. They enjoyed it, but were nowhere near excited of our presence as the rest of the wedding was, possibly because it was their wedding. We said our farewells around 11, as we heard that the wedding would go on until 1, and were at this point very tired. Walking out, we hardly spoke. We just laughed and smiled, and giddily returned to the hotel, knowing that we had just crashed a wedding!
We're taking an 18 hour train tomorrow to Mumbai, and fly to Prague the 17th. The train will probably be our last experience of real hardcore India of this trip, something that I will surely miss. So next time we speak; I'll be in cold weather, hanging out with my brother, eating food that doesn't make sick, showering in showers that don't make me dirtier, shitting on toilets rather than squatting, and back to the Western world and out of the madness of India. I'm excited for some things, but I'll definitely miss the zoo!

The Zoo or the Circus?

Since I arrived here, I've been trying to think of a metaphor which captures my experience in India. I thought I had it, but after last night, I think I've changed my mind. Originally, I liked to think of India as a very large zoo, with no cages and no zookeepers. I mean, literally, there are animals everywhere. Dogs roam the street, sometimes chasing tourists, and sometimes laying down with total disregard of everything else that's happening. Yesterday, Sam stepped on a dog which incited a loud squeal. Two days ago, we saw a dog laying in a hole in the middle of a motorcycle's path. The motorcycle slowed down, assuming the dog would move, and then proceeded to just run the dog over (it was a mess trying to dislodge the dog's leg from under the bike). There are chickens and goats who run around, usually sticking to their own business. There are monkeys who sit on top of buildings, in their own established societies, and descend to the streets for the occasional stolen snack from a vegetable merchant. And then there are cows; who can walk wherever they want, shit wherever they want, and eat whatever they want. However, none of these literal animals are the reason I think India is like a zoo. It's more the chaos and noise, the pollution and garbage, and the interactions that make me feel this way. I see things in the culture that are so polar opposite to everything that I am used to in the western world, and simply fall into a state of jaw-dropping utter disbelief. This should not be taken at all as an insult to Indian or Hindu culture. I do not actually think Indians are like animals, it's just the way the entire culture fuses together, in a crazy way, that makes me feel like I'm in a zoo.
And then, after last night, I decided that India might be a circus, because sometimes the most bizaar, most hilarious, most improbable events happen that no matter what, will always put a smile on your face, or in our case last night, will incite a case of hysterical laughter.
Rather than spending the whole post telling you about what I've done for the entire last week; how I nearly cried when I saw the Taj Mahal, how it was harder to get alcohol in Jaipur (the capital of the state of Rajastan) than it was in high school, how we went on a camel safari, or how we found a small pink log cabin restaurant with one stove called Joney's that makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the world, I'm just going to tell you about a 2 hour segment of my night last night, because it reminded me of a circus.
It started when we left one of the all-too-similar Israeli restaurants and headed back to one of our friend's guest houses. Walking down the street, we saw the stand that sells brownies and cakes, and special brownies and special cakes. Several of our friends had a terrible experience several nights ago with the special brownies (special everythings are sold everywhere in Pushkar), and so we decided to inquire to the cake baker into what these cakes were all about.
"Have you ever had one of these cakes?"
"Ahh, yes, I had one at 4 o'clock."
"Is it really only jarras (form of marijuana) that is in these cakes?"
"Yes, only jarras. Full power jarras." Bullshit. This guy was walking proof that there had to be more than jarras in these cakes. I've seen really, really high people before, but this guy was on another planet. His eyes were focused on completely different sides of me, his colorful brimmed hat was halfway off his head, his hands were moving in uncontrollable directions, his tongue was hanging out of his mouth like a dog, and his shoulder was twitching in ways it shouldn't.
"Umm, OK."
So we've seen this cake baker every night, and he always seems to have the same amount of cake, but never has any customers. So, we decided to inquire about his business model.
"How often do you bake a new cake?"
"Whenever it runs out."
"How old are these cakes."
"15 days, 1 month, 2 months, hahahaha."
Hahaha. We'll get back to him later.
So we walked some more, and several hundred meters before the guest house, I spotted a Hindu wedding. Knowing how welcoming and hospitable Hindu people are, and having seen the movie "Wedding Crashers" over 30 times, I decided to go inside and check it out. It turns out it was just the pre-wedding night party, but after an hour of a combination of smiling, bowing my head, and bullshiting, I made friends with the groom's brother, and got an invitation to the wedding tonight. Wedding crashing will be the topic of my next blog post.
I arrived at the guest house after about an hour, and chilled with our friends there for a while. We watched some Israeli do some crazy fire numb-chuck show with trance music. It was all fun, until the owner of the hotel came down to the garden, half naked with a blanket wrapped around his neck (why it wasn't around his entire body is beyond me), and told us it was time to leave. So Sam and I, as well as the 2 Australian girls we were with starting walking back to our guest house. It was around 11, so most of the shops were closed. However, one small food/drink/general store was open, and there were two Indians sitting outside with the owner, so we decided to join them for a chat. The owner sat relatively quiet at his desk, perched over the others like a bird guarding his nest. One Indian sat on his motorbike, slurping an ice cream cone, with a face full of chocolate and laughs. And the other Indian sat on a step, his head buried in between his legs, unable to bear his surroundings while keeping a straight face. This is going to be fun, we thought. We sat down, and started listening to their conversation, which happened to be entirely in Hindi. However, we understood every bit of the conversation because nothing was actually said; they just laughed the entire time. It was an amazing sight, two full grown Indian men laughing like little school children, nearly in tears, eating ice cream. Then, the more coherent one, the one on the bike eating ice cream, started to explain to us what was going on.
"My friend is a Bollywood movie star."
"Haha, cool."
"Yes. My friend has many man friends who will pull down their pants for him."
"Haha, not so cool."
Laughter ensued for another 3 minutes. Then, the one sitting on the step pulled out an air vaporizer or something that was still in its box, and the laughter between the two rapidly increased. It would have been hopeless to figure out why this air vaporizer sparked so much laughter had another man, who appeared completely sober, not decided to join in on our get-together.
"The man says that he purchased the air vaporizer from the shop owner for 150 rupees (3 dollars), but he has absolutely no idea what it is or what it is used for. His friend just told him to buy it because it looked cool."
OK, it's funny for several high school freshmen, stoned out of their minds, to buy something completely useless for 3 dollars. But when 3 dollars could be half your day's salary, and your over the age of 50, it's frickin' hilarious. The laughter continued for another 5 minutes. All the while, the men were attempting to build up the strength and focus to tell us something in English. Finally, the man eating the ice cream was ready to speak.
"My friend says that if he could pull down the pants of anyone here, full power, it would be him (pointing to me)."
The place erupted in laughter. I jumped up and ran. The man sitting on the steps starting yelling "joke, joke!" and began slapping the man on the bike. This put the man on the bike over the top- he was now on the floor, rolling around, saying "full power, full power," laughing at his friend's inability to explain himself. They were probably joking, but it was also probably our cue to leave. So we left, and thanked our friends for some good laughs.
We approached the main street of Pushkar, which several hours ago was bustling with tourists eating laffas, and merchants trying to sell whatever kitschy items they possessed. It was now relatively empty and easy to walk through, the vegetable and fruit merchants had gathered their goods off the street, the chai shops along the street had pulled their chairs and benches in and locked up. The dogs, goats, and cows had settled into their respective corners and ledges for the night. However, there was a group of people gathered around several awake cows, as well as our friend from earlier, the cake baker. We scrambled to an angle from which we could see what was going on, and watched as the cake baker fed cakes to the cows. Uh oh, I thought.
"What kind of cake did you give the cow?"
There was no response, as the cake baker was fully involved in a conversation with the two cows.
"I give cow apple cake and special cake because he pays me 100 rupees, the other cow pays me nothing so I give him nothing, you pay 100 rupees I give full power cake to cow."
No thanks, I thought. I'm not going to encourage anymore of this, I decided, especially after the cow which was being fed special cakes began coughing and sneezing, and sliding his front hooves in a rapidly aggressive manner. Another cue to leave, we decided.
It was now midnight, and the streets were empty. The streets were nearly quiet, as the wedding music had died down. However, as we turned into our guest house's alley, we began to hear a very loud, yet indiscernible noise which faintly sounded like a type of music. We walked through the alley, and approached a small cul de sak, with two massive amps stacked on top of one another, under a tree, blaring this obnoxiously loud music, with a crowd one no one sitting around listening. We searched the area nearby, and ceased to find any sign of the music. We finally came across a group of about 5 people playing instruments, singing, and clapping. Why the elaborate sound system with no audience, and why the ear-splitting volume at such an hour? It's possible there is an answer to this question, but most likely, there isn't. Because like most other things in India, some of the most bizaar things occur, with absolutely no plausible explanation behind them. But I've learned that it's just the way things are here, and there's no real point in questioning them or trying to change them. It's better to just enjoy the show, or the circus, or the zoo, or whatever it is that India is.
I'm having a hard time finishing this blog post because outside there is a 30 piece marching band which has created a huge traffic jam. In the middle of the whole jam is a woman sitting on a cart with two pieces of luggage being pushed by a rickshaw driver. Around her are a group of 30 women dressed in traditional and colorful saris, as well as several small children, all stuck in a bottleneck trying to squeeze into the entrance of a small temple. Several motorbikes are laying on their horns, and obviously, there are several cows in the pack, and one dog. No one is moving, and no one seems to be doing anything to fix the jam. But like everything else in India, something will happen, possibly on accident, and the situation will be solved.