CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Hindi word for blessing is ashirwad.
The day of the wedding was fast approaching. All the arrangements had been made and over a hundred guests had been invited. There was no need to send out invitations as the word of mouth network was sufficient enough to do its duty.
All of Kishore’s family, friends and the local neighbours were coming and those who hadn’t been invited would turn up anyway. This wedding was not formal and as it was to take place in the communal garden, anyone could watch and join in the festivities. Kishore said he wouldn’t be surprised if two or even three hundred people arrived on the day.
At any wedding the bride is the main attraction. In this case the bride is of course me. Me! I was still coming to grips with the fact that it was me, who would very soon marry my soul mate. I had to pinch myself to admit I was actually getting married in India - it was hard to take in. The reality of what I was doing, having a wedding without any of my family or friends present was piercing me straight in the heart – like an arrow hitting a bull’s eye.
With no one I could easily talk to, those little doubts still managed to creep into my mind and my self-confidence hit an all time low. Nevertheless, I held my chin high and tried to keep myself busy by helping out with the preparations but I found it was no use. As I observed, everyone was buzzing around like bees, each having their own chore to attend to. I offered my help, “Julie," I was informed, “Help? you are the bride, the guest of honour, you shouldn’t help, go and rest, you will need your strength for your big day.”
Reluctantly, I decided I did need some alone time so I headed up to the balcony. As I reached the top of the stairs I felt the warmth of the winter sun on my face. I headed over to the railing and took a few deep breaths. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I thought about getting married, a real marriage - there would be no turning back. Could I actually do this? I loved Kishore there was no doubt about that and I had a different kind of love for his family. They were sweet and had accepted me so readily considering I had known them for such a short time. I was going to become Mrs Julie Patel or Mrs Kishore Patel…mmmmm…could I live the rest of my life with that name? I smiled to myself, I supposed it could have been worse, I could be marrying a David Pork or George Ramsbottom.
Better a Patel than a Ramsbottom!
The day before the wedding loomed and anticipation in Kishore’s house was at fever pitch. Kishore, his Father and Sunil had packed a bag each because they were going to stay the night at an Uncle’s house. Any family friend is called an Uncle or Aunty and I was not actually sure if this Uncle was a relative or not. I was a bit emotional as I said goodbye to Kishore but as I thought of how I would look when I saw him next dressed in my wedding outfit and knowing that he had never seen me in any sort of Indian clothes before, I said, “You are going to be so surprised when you see me tomorrow.”
With a wag of his finger, his mysterious reply as he headed out the door was, “Wait and see Julie, I may just have a surprise in store for you.”
What did he mean by that?
This evening was to be the equivalent of a hens or bachelors night. As the men headed off for their own celebration, I soon cheered up as us girls prepared for our own fun.
A jingling sound could be heard coming up the stairwell, which was in unison with each step taken. Japoni entered the room and I saw she wore anklets with teeny-tiny bells linked to each chain, a town crier couldn’t have done a better job of announcing her presence.
Japoni was an expert in Mendhi or as it’s also known, Henna. She was a young girl in her early twenties with a vibrant personality. Kishore’s Mother, Ranjini, Saras and the other local neighbourhood women who had come for the evening were entranced by her as she made a grand entrance into the sitting room, they were all drawn by her effervesce. She didn’t wear a traditional salwar kameez, instead she had on a muslin aqua shirt and a colourful, long flowing hippy skirt. Around her neck was a string of beads and thick bangles clunked on her wrists. Her hair was long and wavy and her glittering eyes captivated me. If I looked up the word gypsy in a dictionary I am sure Japoni's name would be the definition. With her personality being as bright and sparkling as her clothes, I too was soon caught in her trance.
She found an appropriate place to set up her equipment and did so with the dedication of a true artist. As I sat in eager anticipation Japoni mixed the deep red henna paste. Using a little paint brush, she began to intricately decorate my hands and feet and while I watched spellbound, the creation came to life on my body. It took three long hours to apply but the time went by quickly as Japoni kept me amused with funny stories - she was so full of life! Drinking bottomless cups of tea, Mummyji, Ranjini, Saras and the other ladies listened, watched and gossiped.
When Japoni was finally satisfied she leant back to admire her work. I inspected my hands and feet, they were painted in an exquisite henna design - amazing! The intricate artwork was so delicate it reminded me of lace, I was astonished by its beauty.
If time was not a problem, henna needed to be applied a week before a wedding to allow it to dry properly and for the true colour to emerge. Japoni explained the darker the colour of henna, the greater the love will be the groom and his family will give to the bride. The designs would last for about two weeks, depending on how many times I washed them.