I had come out of my depression just in time, as usual: It lasts for a couple of weeks these days, like 1 or 2, if I’m lucky, or if not then 3 max. Before, like when I was first diagnosed as being bipolar—I used to suffer from my low phases for a period of multiple weeks, even months no less, without any end in sight. When I’d finally start getting out of it, and go out into the world—my god—the whole world would seem different now. All the bright colours, and the sounds and the people, and for me to start learning how to walk with the world again, and talk with all the people around me—it would be life altering.
So, I had started to go into my depression in the middle of last month, that’s August, and was starting to show the signs of recovery by the 5th of this month (that’s September) and dad had brought the news of the multiple invitations that we’d gotten for the entire middle of the third week . (My mom’s not at home these days, so my dad and I have to make do with whatever the cook cooks for us. She’s a good cook, but the only problem is that because of the doctor’s advice my dad has to follow a certain kind of diet which his body is more suitable for. The downside—it doesn’t include any meat, unfortunately, and what’s even worse is that since I’m living in the same house as my father I don’t think it’d be fair if I were to gorge myself in front of him, even though, to be even more fair—the dietary supplements that he’s been taking have had an effect on me too; I’m so much more leaner than I used to be. I’m in great shape, if I do say so myself.
So, the first wedding was for my dad’s best friend’s younger brother’s son… no, wait, let me start over… the first one was for one of the members of the mosque where he goes to pray. His son was getting married (over here we have the system of having what’s called the “Nikah” which is where the religious formalities are done and the man and woman take each other to be husband and wife before the eyes of god, and this is usually, if not always the brides families responsibility to arrange. It’s on the second or third day, that the groom’s side of the family steps into the picture, and he has to take care of the “Valimah”/reception. So it was the Nikah that we were going to attend that day. We wouldn’t be able to attend the Valimah though because of the other wedding that my father had to be present for.
But the Nikah was grand. The catering service was the best, even if the food wouldn’t’ve been so good, which it was; the quick and cordial response that everyone was getting would’ve more than made up for it. For me at least, but then I’m so easy to please, sadly. But yeah, all credit goes to the well-dressed (first time I’d seen this ((I wouldn’t say they were better dressed than the people attending the wedding)) but how many times do you get to see the guy bringing you your dishes wearing neatly pressed white-coloured gloves. And dressed in their finest tuxedos… I don’t know—it seemed like I was in the twilight zone all of a sudden… and we were on the set of Titanic—the dinner scene.
The second and third days were the days when the two sons (they’re pretty close in age, maybe separated by a gap of two to three years) of one my Fathers’ best friend’s, deceased younger brother had their Nikahs, and they were pretty good. I was loving the food by now, not getting to eat any at home these days. Heck, I wouldn’t even feel the need to have anything for the entire day, until I’d attend the wedding, and have something to eat there, which would usually be fantastic: I don’t know whether it was because of the fact that I hadn’t eaten such great food in so long (my mom had been gone to the states for three months now), or whether the food itself was good/better than before… but I sure did like it. We’d usually start off with something called “Murg” here, which is like a soup like mutton dish, and you have it with “Naan”, which is kind of like a bread. And then move on to all the chicken and mutton dishes, ending your meal with the world famous “Biryani”, and whatever deserts there are on the table. A fruit custard is a must, along with the (my favourite) “Khubani ka Meetha”.
The final wedding that we had to attend was the Valimah, that the family had decided to do for both of the brothers together, and it was this one that I found the most enjoyable. We were usually arriving at the wedding venues by 9 (even in rush hour traffic; the places wouldn’t be very far off; my home’s sort of in the middle of the city, so it makes it easier for us to commute whenever we have to) but today, we were a bit earlier than usual—and there was absolutely no one there, except for a good Uncle of the two groomsmen who was making sure that everything had been sailing smoothly for the past few days, and especially today. So we sat down with him on the lawn (the marriage hall was also pretty nice) and had a good tête-à-tête with the guy. The Ladies and Gents segment are usually partitioned over here, at muslim occasions such as these so as to allow the women freer access to move and enjoy themselves without the glare of the men-folk that might be there, and hence not wear any of the covering/concealing outer garnments that they usually do. So I was surprised to see a woman sitting in one of the first rows of the men’s section—chatting to a man seated next to her. It was later that dad told me who she was, and what was going on… she was a member of the “Ghazal” team that had been arranged for the evening’s entertainment, and she was one of the singers (you can’t get a man to mimic the lyrical voice of a woman, no matter how hard you try) and there was also this gentleman who was the head of the entire troupe and was in-charge of the gathering and what they were doing that day, which, I must admit—was much more enjoyable than I thought it was going to be.
Which brings us to the food again—the week had started with something new at the wedding of my dad’s friend from the mosque (got the chance to have some fish that day, and prawns, I think it was) and today, it would be a dish called “Nehari”, which I’ve heard my dad talk a lot about since time immemorial, of how he’d have to wake up early in the morning (before dawn even) when he was a kid, and get the stuff from the market if he ever wanted to have it. And to have it served here, finally, was like a dream come true for him, I’m sure. This was the first time I’d seen him taking a second serving, but yeah, the Nehari was too good—and needed to be taken again if you wanted to. I did. (It’s a soup like dish again, the only difference being—it’s made of the tongue and legs of a goat). I know that doesn’t sound very appetizing, but trust me—they are/were DELICIOUS. And then there were the chicken and mutton dishes again, and the biryani, and the custard and “KHEER” instead of khubani ka meetha this time.
By the time we’d be reaching home that week—it’d be 11 already. And by the time I’d lie down on the couch in front of the tv to watch the news for the day, and have my coke (I’d usually buy the coke before I’d have to leave for the wedding)—it’d be 11:30. So that’s my story for the week, I guess… oh, and I’ve got a bit of good news to add. My mom and I will be heading to Mumbai after she returns from Baltimore. I had spoken with her sister yesterday, and auntie and I were deciding when would be the best time for the both of us to make our trips? And since her daughter Huda gets an off from University during Diwali, I thought it would be great if mom and I could make it out there at the same time too. My aunt lives in Ahmedabad, just north of Mumbai, and Hyderabad—where I live, is kind of like in a South Easterly direction. But she’s going to be coming for 6 days, so we’ll have to make them count.
Mom had told me not to expect her to do any work around the house after she comes back, so I was figuring this would be a great diversion for her to have—not only will she get the chance to meet her two wonderful sisters, one coming down from Gujarat, and the elder one living right there in Mumbai itself. She also has a younger brother living there too, so that’ll be fun (me housing with the guys; my uncle’s got two strapping young sons…). And to add to that—my mom’ll be able to meet her mother—my grandmother, again, who’s kind of in poor health these days… so she’ll be happy too.
