CHAPTER FIVE
An Indian groom is called a dulha and an English bride is called a dulhan.
My second wedding day had arrived! It was August and winter was on its final countdown as the days were getting slowly warmer. It was a Friday, a day taken off work for me, Kishore, and all of our guests. We were all due back at work as usual on Monday morning.
My childhood dream of having one white, traditional English wedding, with all the trimmings, now seemed almost a joke, because here I was about to get married for the second time within a year. Two weddings in two different countries, with two different families, in two utterly diverse ceremonies – it was pretty unbelievable. It was something that I would have never, ever have thought possible. Thankfully, and probably most importantly, the one thing that was consistent was the man I was getting married to.
Early that morning we were in the lounge room, Kishore had his suit carefully laying over one arm, his other arm was wrapped around my waist.
"Well, Mrs Patel, the next time I see you, you will be moments away from becoming… Mrs Patel."
"Ha, ha," I said giving him a peck on the cheek and pushing him towards the front door. "Mr Patel, I will see you at the registry office, I am sure you will recognise me, I will be your wife, waiting to be your wife."
He was off to spend the morning with his Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal, and looking forward to having a traditional Indian breakfast with them (he missed his Mum's cooking and occasionally went to their house to have a taste of home). The night before he had rung his Aunt and sheepishly asked her what was for breakfast.
She laughed as she told him as a special treat, she would cook for his wedding day his favourite food - eggplant or as it is pronounced in Hindi – baigan (bay-guin). She would prepare it just the way he liked it with the flesh of the eggplant removed and fried with onions, ginger, garlic, and spices. When it was cooked, it would be eaten with warm rotis drizzled with butter.
Later, he would drive his Aunt and Uncle in his car to the registry office in time for our eleven o’clock wedding.
* * * *
Mum knocked and entered my bedroom just as I slipped into the dress that Sarah and I had bought. She was the first person other than Sarah to see it. She looked me up and down, "Ummm… you look lovely Julie, it's not quite what I expected, but it's lovely. Listen, I know it's probably too late, but are you really sure this is the way you want to get married?"
Admiring my dress in the mirror, I replied "It’s okay Mum, I am sure. I know you think I will regret not having my white wedding, but really, it's fine."
Mum looked at my reflection in the mirror, my dress was definitely not any shade of white, it was far from it. It was a shimmering, gorgeous shade of emerald green! Magazines and friends were always telling me redheads suited green. I had worn the exact same colour bhindi at my Indian wedding and that was one of the main reasons why I wanted this dress as soon as I saw it in the shop. Although Sarah did not disapprove of me buying the dress, I was able to convince her that I wouldn’t regret wearing it even though it was the farthest from a wedding dress that any dress could be. It was not even simple and elegant; it had a real '80's style to it, puffy sleeves, a collared neckline and gathered at the waist with the skirt reaching down to my calves. I loved the colour but, as for the style, I suppose I had decided, if I could not wear a white wedding dress the next best thing was one that made me feel spunky yet glamorous, which is just what this dress did. I looked at Mum in the mirror, she was not yet dressed for the wedding. She still had on her old grey knitted cardigan, track pants, her favourite well-worn, fluffy sheepskin slippers, and her hair lay flat on one side from where she had slept on it. How I loved my Mum.
A long forgotten memory of my childhood appeared in my mind: I was five and had just started school. At that time, whenever I was with Mum, I loved to clutch her hand, I would take her palm, put it against my cheek and hold it there, feeling its softness and welcoming its comfort. Feeling somewhat sad one morning about having to leave her and go to school, I remember asking if there was a way of keeping her hand with me as I missed it when I was in the classroom. Without answering Mum just smiled, gave me a hug and hurried me on my way. It was when I was older that I realised that there were only two ways of being able to keep Mum's hand with me at all times. The first was to keep Mum with me, which would mean dragging her behind me around school all day long, which was unrealistic and impossible. On the other hand, excuse the pun, the other way was even more unrealistic and impossible, this being the rather bloody and gruesome option of chopping it off and carting it about with me! Somehow, I don’t think her hand would give me the same sort of warm, motherly comfort if it wasn’t attached to the rest of her.
My thoughts changed from one Mother to another. I don't know why, but I began to think of my favourite TV Mum, Claire Huxtable from The Cosby Show. She was so modern, I liked her great fashion sense, and she was a professional career woman, a lawyer - such class, such finesse, with five kids to boot! For some reason, I now saw her in my mind and I wanted her approval in my choice of dress. I hoped she would be proud of me.
My attention was drawn to my neckline where I still wore the silver and gold necklaces that had both been given to me at my Indian wedding. The gold chain was from my in-laws and the silver one was from Mrs Roberts, a Christian-Indian lady who lived in the same block of flats but a floor below from Kishore's family in India. Mrs Roberts had presented me with the chain and exquisite dangling cross on my wedding day at a time when I had felt very vulnerable and afraid. Even though I am not religious I gained strength from her gift; it had given me courage when I needed it the most.
Mum fussed making sure the necklaces lay neatly on top of my collared neckline. I could tell she was still not convinced about the whole registry office wedding thing. Taking her hand in mine, the hand that had given me such comfort and security in my childhood, I looked into her eyes, "Mum, I’m fine, really," I told her.
She put on a smile but I could see her bottom lip trembling slightly as she pulled her hand from mine and reached into her cardigan pocket. Withdrawing it and opening her palm, I saw her own pair of pearl earrings.
"Here you go Julie, your 'something borrowed' as promised. I thought they could be your 'something old' as well."
My heart overflowed with emotion. I felt privileged to wear the same timeless earrings she had worn on her wedding day. Taking them from her hand I put them on, then looked at my reflection in the mirror at the earrings, and I gasped. They were the exact same colour as my shoes.
My shoes! Reaching under my bed I pulled out the box I had hidden there, yanking off the lid I took out the ivory shoes. With a teeny heel (as with my Indian wedding, I didn't want to be taller than my husband) an enclosed toe and a dainty bow attached to the tip, I placed them on my feet - they were perfect.
"Oh Julie, your dress and your shoes are 'something new' now all you need is 'something blue'," exclaimed Mum.
Louise, my one and only bridesmaid, arrived at the door of my bedroom. Dad must have let her in or the front door was open. We had earlier decided she would wear a dress of her choosing. Like me, she had picked something she could wear again on another special occasion. So as not to steal my thunder, she had chosen a simple slip dress with shoestring shoulder straps, it was silver, the colour of the moon on a clear, cloudless night. As the weather was still a bit fresh, we both had little black jackets in case we got chilled.
She looked me up and down, without judgement she said "Your dress looks great?"
"Thanks Louise so does yours."
"When are you putting on your make-up?"
I scoffed and waved my hand in a dismissive gesture, "Make-up? Louise, you know I am not really a make-up wearing person, I wore enough of that stuff at my Indian wedding, I am not going to bother wearing it this time."
"Well, Julie it seems I have known you long enough to have come well prepared," she declared as she pulled open her handbag and took out her make-up kit.
My mouth dropped open a little but I couldn't help but grin at her.
"Julie, we haven’t been best friends since primary school without me knowing you were going to say that, you are getting married today! I am not going to let you get married without wearing make-up."
I relented and nodded but before her artistic makeover could begin she reached into her handbag one more time and pulled out a music cassette. I instinctively knew what it was. She turned the cassette so I could see - we looked at each other and squealed with delight, "Eeeeeeeee!"
Snapping open the case, she slid the tape into my cassette player, turned up the volume and pushed play. She had previously set the tape to just the song she wanted us to hear right at this moment.
In an instant Louise and I were returned to 1983 as the unmistakable sound of the song, Beat it, by Michael Jackson filled the room with those first few bars always making me think of rubbish bin lids being banged together.
Our voices got louder every time we heard the chorus:
'It doesn't matter who's wrong or right
just beat it, beat it
just beat it, beat it
just beat it, beat it
just beat it, beat it.'
We just managed to resist the urge to pick up a hairbrush to use as a microphone, but I am ashamed to say we did get up and try a few Michael Jackson dance moves.
The next song began and after composing ourselves enough to be serious, I sat down while Louise draped a towel around my shoulders. I looked around for Mum but she had disappeared, when did she leave the room?
Louise, with her artistic flair, applied foundation, eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. With a long drawn out sigh she looked at my hair and without a word redid the sad attempt I’d made at setting it into a style.
Sarah was next to arrive. Her husband, Brett had dropped her off before carrying on to Andrew's house where he would help set up the lunch we were all to have there afterwards. Sarah was wearing a pale lemon maternity dress, charmingly showing off her growing belly. In one hand she was carrying a cardboard box and in the other her camera. What was in the box, what was coming next? Everyone, it seemed, had a plan in-store for me; my best friend and now my sister - what was this, an ambush? She placed her camera on my bed, turned down the music, while announcing sarcastically, “Just how old are you two? And you Julie, I am not going to let my little sister get married, even if it is in a registry office without holding… this."
She opened the box and pulled out a posy of pink carnations dotted with tiny blue forget-me-nots, "Ohhhh," I said, as a sob caught in my throat, "My something blue.” I bet nobody’s requested that combination of bouquet before!
A tear rolled down my cheek as I looked at Sarah, she knew Kishore’s and my relationship began with him giving me a pink carnation.
Louise grabbed a tissue and dabbed my face, "Oi! No tears allowed, you will mess up your makeup!"
I stood and hugged Sarah then Louise. I noticed Mum standing in the doorway and wrapped my arms around her as well. She had showered and had put on a graceful, flattering dress in an apricot colour. My support crew had been plotting all of this behind my back, the girls I had missed the most at my wedding in India.
Taking a step back, I smiled at the three of them, and with a quivering bottom lip whispered, "Thanks you guys."
Sarah grabbed her camera and began taking snaps.
Once we had all announced ourselves ready, we climbed into my bridal car, Dad’s blue Ford Cortina. He was waiting in the driver seat, looking so smart in his best suit and tie. Mum was in the passenger side, while Louise, Sarah and I arranged ourselves the best we could in the back. We were in plenty of time to reach the district court where the registry office was held. Linda, Brett, Andrew, his wife Tanya, and of course little Christopher were also coming to witness the small service, and from Kishore's side of the family were his Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal, who was to be Kishore’s best man.
As Dad pulled into the parking area next to the district court I held the posy of flowers tighter in my hands and took a deep breath. Here we go again I thought, as one of those movie clapper blackboard thingy’s snapped in my head: Julie and Kishore - take-two!
Kishore’s car hadn’t arrived so we decided to head inside. The foyer displayed an array of people of all different shapes and sizes milling around. Registry office marriages were just one of the services the district court provided. I felt really odd and out of place in my wedding dress as we observed the people waiting to be seen for their minor various convictions: car thefts, drink driving, or drug charges.
We found the display board and saw the office for registered marriages was on the third floor; in all of our finery we waltzed past the petty criminals and into the lift. The elevator rose and a few seconds later, as the doors opened, the first thing I saw was a booth with a window, manned by a sour faced receptionist who peered at us over her glasses. Her expression did not bring joy to our occasion. Her nametag said Gail. She desperately looked as though she needed a long tropical holiday or possibly someone to give her a hug.
I stepped forward.
In a wooden voice she said, "Name… "
Was that a question?
"Julie, Julie Patel," I replied. She checked her list, flicking the pages up and down, "No, no Julie Patel here, what is your partner’s name…"
Again a monotone statement, disguised as a question.
Sighing I said, "My husband is Kishore Patel and my maiden name is Harrison."
Flicking through the pages again, this time she must have found our names.
Mr Kishore and Mrs Julie Patel, or Harrison, I didn’t ask, nor could I see which name she ticked. Gail pointed down the hallway and told us to stand in the waiting area. Mum, Dad, Louise, and Sarah with Linda, who had just stepped out of the elevator, and I, headed to where we had been instructed. Linda kissed me, she knew just how special she was to Kishore and I. Every time I saw her I felt the need to thank her for her intervention in us getting together.
We reached the end of the hallway where a few chairs had been placed next to the walls, but none of us felt like sitting. Instead, we stood, paced, picked lint from our clothes, and made small talk. The elevator tinged as it arrived on our floor; we simultaneously turned our heads and stared anxiously at the doors as they slid open. I had hoped to see Kishore’s face but I was a little bit disappointed to see it was Brett. His eyes grew wide, being the object of our gaze, then he broke into a goofy grin. Sarah trotted over and took him to one side, and handed the camera to him. There was a lot of whispering going on between them, and Sarah kept pointing in my direction.
Brett walked over to me, "How are ya Julie? While we are waiting, how about I take some photos." It was pretty clear he’d been told by Sarah to keep me busy, so I didn’t freak out while waiting for Kishore to arrive.
I had photos taken of me, me with Mum and Dad, me and Louise, me and Sarah… oh, the list went on, so basically any photo that could be taken was taken. I was even tempted to go and get Gail and ask her to pose and smile (if she was capable of smiling) for the camera.
The lift doors opened again and this time it was a man in a suit who, with a bowed head went straight through a door marked 'Staff Only.' Where was Kishore? The last words he spoke to me that morning rang in my ears, "Well, Mrs Patel, the next time I see you, you will be moments away from becoming… Mrs Patel."
Next to emerge from the elevator were Andrew and Tanya who was holding tightly onto Christopher. The wriggly toddler wanted to get down, his legs were already pumping as if he was riding a bicycle. Tanya gave him his freedom, and, after finding his feet on firm ground, he soon had us all giggling. Wobbling up and down the corridor he questioned, "Wad dat?" pointing a chubby little finger at everything from the fire hose attached to the wall to the camera in Brett’s hand. I tilted my head to one side as I looked at my nephew, I thought with a pang of sadness how adorable he would have been as our pageboy. I could just see him dressed in a cute mini black and white tuxedo, while clutching in his chubby hands a cream satin cushion with our wedding rings pinned to it. We would all be hoping like mad he didn’t take a tumble and drop the rings.
Grim-faced Gail’s dull voice interrupted my thoughts as she called from her booth, "Patel party – they’re ready for you now, please make your way to the second floor where the ceremonies take place."
I opened my mouth to say the groom hadn't arrived yet, but Mum quickly distracted me. "Ssshhh, Julie no," she whispered as she put a finger to her lips. Grabbing my elbow, she directed me toward the elevator doors. Andrew swiftly scooped up Christopher and followed Mum and I, and the rest of our troop fell into place behind them. Mum pushed the down button and we waited for the lift to arrive.
The doors closed and the elevator began to move as Mum explained, "Julie, if we had told her Kishore wasn't here they would have put your time back and we would have to wait for your turn until after the next ceremony."
"But Mum," I protested. “Kishore isn’t here, I can’t very well get married without him."
"Well Julie, let’s just hope he gets here very soon," she sighed deeply as she anxiously glanced at her watch. The doors opened on the second floor and in a grand parade, we marched down the hall searching for the correct room.
I began to have terrifying thoughts, unwanted images appeared in my head: his car smashed on the side of the road, sirens, ambulances, police… My heart began to pound faster, my palms became sweaty and it wasn't just nerves - it was pure fear.
A sign at the end of the corridor read, 'Marriage Ceremonies’, with an arrow indicating to a door. Louise was right next to me and I felt her arm link into mine as she began to hum that unmistakable tune ta, ta, tata, ta, ta, tata… Sarah emerged on the other side of me and joined in by singing, "Here comes the bride…" which partially managed to distract me from those awful thoughts.
Upon entering the room, I noticed that the walls were painted a pretty mauve colour, there were two framed pictures, one of an ocean scene and the other of a grassy meadow dotted with daises, and five rows of chairs for the guests had been placed from the front of the room to the back. A grey pedestal stood in a prime position at the head of the room with a small wooden table and chair next to it.
Mum, Dad, Louise, Sarah, Brett, Andrew, Tanya (who was again holding Christopher), and myself exclaimed, "Oh, this is not too bad" and "Mmmm… this is okay."
Where was Kishore!
A woman came bustling through the door, it closed behind her with an ominous click. Her name tag read Introducing: Elaine Dowling. Elaine was a mature lady with hair styled in a bob, the cut straight and defined. She wore a deep indigo-blue woman's dress suit, and from the manila folder she held firmly in her hand, I could tell she was a professional, just like a schoolmarm.
"Right then, good morning everyone," she said as she faced all of us. She looked at me. "If I could please speak to the bride and groom."
Obviously I was the bride seeing as I was the only one holding a posy of flowers. As everyone else scuttled towards the chairs like naughty school children, I stepped closer to Elaine Dowling with Dad at my side, securely linking his arm through mine.
Elaine Dowling looked at me, then at Dad.
"I’m sorry…," I muttered, "The groom isn’t here yet."
“Indeed! Well, they shouldn’t have said you could come downstairs unless both parties were present." She glanced at her watch,
"We will have to…"
Just then, the door burst open and Kishore exploded into the room with his Aunt and Uncle right behind him. Breathing heavily like he had been running, Kishore’s frantic eyes fell on me, showing the shame he felt. His gaze shifted to Dad who was not at all happy, the lines on his forehead etched like a rake in the sand. Kishore's eyes darted to Mum. I also looked at Mum, her face was stern and she was shaking her head while wagging a disappointed finger. As Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal sheepishly slid into vacant chairs, Elaine Dowling assessed the situation and thankfully took control.
"Right then, I assume you are the groom," she said to Kishore.
Kishore quickly gathered his thoughts and bobbed his head, he said "Yes I am, I am so sorry, I..."
Elaine Dowling put up her hand to cut him off.
"Let’s just get on with it shall we? Otherwise we will run into the next parties’ time, if the bride and groom could please stand here," she gestured to the front of the pedestal.
Kishore, his head bent like an ashamed little boy, joined Dad and I, while Elaine Dowling took her place on the other side of the pedestal, she placed her folder on top and opened it with a rustle of papers. She lifted her head to the crowd and glanced around the room, "I see that everyone has a seat."
Sarah stood near the wall at the front of the room with her camera poised in her hand, ready to capture moments in time. As Elaine Dowling spoke, Sarah seemed to shrink into the wall trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
I turned to look at Kishore, he looked flustered and crestfallen, sadness showed in his eyes and he was not smiling. Moving my posy of flowers into one hand, I folded Kishore's tense hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Straight away I felt his hand relax, as did some of the tension on his face.
"Now," Elaine Dowling said in a firm voice. "First things first, who do I have here in front of me?" She looked at her notes. "Are you Julie Patel?"
"Yes." I had filled out all of the forms in my married name, as technically we were married, which is why I couldn’t understand why Gail had trouble finding my name on her list.
"Have you already changed your name?"
"Yes, we were married in India, this will be our second service."
Her eyes fell to my stomach and then quickly back to my face.
This certainly was not a shotgun wedding and it was definitely not a marriage of convenience. I was well aware some people thought Kishore and I originally got together solely with the plan for us to get married to help his residency prospects. When I met Kishore, he made sure I knew he already had residency in New Zealand.
Elaine Dowling took another look at her notes. "And your maiden name is Harrison."
I nodded.
She turned to Kishore and as we were still holding hands, I felt his tense up again.
"And you are Mr Kishore Patel?"
"Yes."
She nodded at Dad. "And you must be Mr Harrison, the bride's Father"
"Yes."
"And the witnesses?"
Louise and Uncle Harilal hurriedly stepped forward.
"Could you both please stand here… and here." Like an airhostess showing the nearest exit during the safety message in a plane, she gestured for them to stand next to Kishore and Dad.
"Mr Harrison would you like to give your daughter away?"
Dad hesitated slightly and then much to my astonishment, he did the best thing he could have ever done to ease the tension in the room. Unlinking his arm from mine, he reached over to Kishore and slapped him on the back, smiling he said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear,
"Relax son, you are here now and that is all that matters."
Like steam spouting from a Rotorua geyser the whole room instantaneously exhaled, but Kishore's sigh of relief was the loudest.
Dad turned and sat in an empty chair next to Mum, she patted him on the leg and gave him a look of overwhelming pride. I loved my Father more than ever at that moment.
Elaine Dowling's expression did not change as she read from her notes, "The next question I must ask is that this is a true love relationship and the marriage you are about to enter into is for no other reason than the love of two people to become husband and wife."
The awkward words didn't matter to us, we as a couple had already overcome so much.
We both declared at the same time, "Yes."
She again looked at her notes, "If both parties could please repeat after me… I solemnly declare that I do not know of any impediment to this marriage."
In unison we repeated her words.
She turned a page in her folder and turned to Kishore, "Mr Patel, please repeat after me… I call upon these persons here present,"
Kishore repeated her words.
"To witness that I Kishore Patel, take you Julie Patel to be my wife."
Kishore again spoke aloud, repeating her words. "To witness that I, Kishore Patel, take you Julie Patel to be my…" He squeezed my hand and turned to look at me as he said the word… "wife."
Next, it was my turn. I apprehensively held my breath as I waited to speak the words I had longed to say practically all of my life. Elaine Dowling spoke, and remembering to breathe, I continued to look at my husband as I repeated, "I call upon these persons here present to witness that I Julie Patel, take you Kishore Patel to be my husband."
And that was that! Our vows were spoken, it had not been at all romantic. Her words were like cold steel, the room sterile and our vows were brief. Even though Dad had slightly eased the tension, the atmosphere of Kishore being late still hung thickly in the air. But most importantly, despite it all, in Kishore’s and my heart, our words were meaningful and our love strong.
Elaine Dowling looked at me and asked “Are we exchanging rings?”
"Yes of course," I replied.
Uncle Harilal, as best man, had been put in charge of this task. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket he pulled out a ruby coloured ring box. He snapped it open and two 9-carat golden wedding bands glinted in the light. Kishore was somewhat upset by the thought of not giving his wife the usual 24 carat Indian gold (we had not exchanged rings at our Indian wedding) but he had reluctantly agreed that these rings would suffice - for now.
I heard the sound of Sarah clicking pictures behind us as Kishore picked up my ring and placed it on my finger. Handing my bouquet over to Louise, I looked my husband directly in the eye as I ceremoniously placed his ring on his finger.
I waited for those six magic words to be spoken, words that were special to me, the words I longed to hear. I desperately wanted my groom to lift my veil (well, of course that part wasn’t going to happen seeing as I wasn't actually wearing a veil). The words, "You may now kiss the bride," but the schoolmarm never said them, I guessed they were not the protocol of a registry office wedding.
Just as I had given up hope, I heard my dear brother Andrew shout from his seat, “Come on then you two, hurry up, you may now kiss the bride… kiss already!"
That’s my brother - all class.
Kishore took one step closer and reached over to kiss me. I felt his soft lips briefly touch mine, but it wasn’t at all romantic, we were both too shy to kiss properly in front of our families and Linda (especially Kishore with his Aunt and Uncle there).
Elaine Dowling spoke up, requesting we both come around to the front of the little table where she had laid out the papers for us to sign. Kishore went first, with pen poised in hand ready and at Sarah's command he looked up at the camera, smiled and then signed his name. We swapped places and I proudly signed my name, Mrs Julie Patel.
"Would the witnesses please step forward."
Louise and Uncle Harilal joined us at the table and in turn sat, looked at the camera, and signed their names. Sarah took yet more photos while Elaine Dowling looked, with increasing frustration, at her watch.
The schoolmarm watched impatiently then surprised me by showing a human side, or maybe it was because she was trying to hurry us along so we would vacate the room. “Would you like me to take a group photo?” she offered taking the camera from Sarah.
Finally we left the room and made our way to the parking lot, our hands crisscrossed in hasty introductions with those who didn't know Linda or Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal. Then, in the same cars we arrived in, we headed to Andrew and Tanya’s house.
My sister-in-law, with Andrew and Brett's help, had been busy that morning preparing a lunch. Once everyone had arrived, Sarah and Tanya took note of who wanted tea or coffee and sugar or milk. They also quickly heated and laid out finger foods on platters: cheesy mini pizzas, quiches, flaky-pastry sausage rolls, and bite sized mince pies. Everyone took a paper plate, placed something to eat on top of it, picked up a serviette and a drink then settled on one of the seats placed around the lounge room. Without a word, all eyes fell on Kishore as we waited for an explanation. He turned, and we all followed to look at Uncle Harilal who cleared his throat. "You know," he said chuckling a bit, "I guess it's up to me to explain what happened."
"You see," he said, placing his cup of tea on the coffee table, "Indian weddings never run o