shaadis

Ten million marriages take place in India annually. It’s estimated that one in every four weddings worldwide takes place in India, translating to approximately 27,000 weddings each day. You could hit one a week your entire life and still barely eclipse 10% of the daily wedding count in the country.

Weddings, or “shaadis,” are deeply embedded into the cultural fabric of India. Countless Bollywood movies center around matrimony, with popular titles such as Mujhse Dosti Karoge, Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, and the timeless classic Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (DDLJ). I’ve watched two out of the three!

In the United States, I’m frequently asked about my experiences with Indian weddings, often accompanied by inquiries about riding an elephant during my future nuptials.

American’s perception of Indian weddings often stem from coworkers mysteriously being out of the office for a week, returning with henna tattoos and hoarse voices or stories from their token brown friend.

Pop culture has gradually brought Indian weddings into the spotlight, thanks in part to Netflix’s Indian Matchmaking. For what it’s worth, I barely made it through half an episode; not my cup of chai.

I grew up around a large Indian community in Richmond and have been to a dozen or so shaadis in my day. Up until this year, I had only been to one of the ten million that happen a year in India. This was back in 2019 at the St. Regis in Bombay.

Plainly put it was a banger. I spent the night partying with my dad’s friends, then the actual wedding party, and walked back into my parent’s hotel room just in time for breakfast.

Our India trip this year kicked off with back-to-back weddings in Chennai and Delhi. Despite a delayed connecting flight in Abu Dhabi, we made it just in time for the first event of wedding one. The subsequent week was a whirlwind, staying up all night (echoes of 2019) before our flight to Delhi for wedding two.

To set the stage a bit, Indian weddings typically involve pre-wedding rituals, wedding day events, and post-wedding programs, contributing to the perception that they last for several days.

A notable pre-wedding event is the mehendi ceremony, where the bride and her guests receive elaborate henna designs, usually on their hands and feet.

The baraat, a wedding day event, sees the groom and his entourage arriving at the venue with loud music, dancing, and sometimes even on horseback – a personal favorite of mine.

In some traditions, the mangalsutra ceremony occurs on the wedding day, symbolizing the groom’s commitment and protection as he ties a sacred necklace around the bride’s neck. This necklace, called the Mangalsutra, is believed to bring auspiciousness and is worn by the bride as a permanent symbol of her marital bond.

Side note, my mom has made upgrades to hers over the years. She would get mad respect from Gucci Mane for her iced out mangalsutra.

As far as post-wedding rituals, there’s a reception akin to what you would find back in the States.

Each one is a spectacle in its own right and a helluva bill for the bride’s family.

Following the wedding marathon, we spent a day in Delhi, indulging in a typical day of shopping with my mom and sister.

Coincidentally, one of our family friends from back home was also in Delhi, leading to an impromptu meetup at a jewelry store.

As my mom explored available pieces, Auntie (auntie and uncle is what you call all Indian parents), looked at me around hour three and remarked, “You better get used to this!” – a nod to future Chirag spending time in jewelry stores with his wife.

Putting things into perspective, my parents were 19 and 25 when they entered into an arranged marriage. They had only met a few times before giving their parents the go-ahead to tie the knot.

My mom was pregnant with me during her second year of law school, and when my dad was my age, he was married, had two kids, and was 7,000 miles away from his friends and family. Mad respect, fam.

Historically, arranged marriages are common in India for a plethora of reasons. Family values, the importance of compatibility in terms of caste, religion, and socioeconomic status, as well as the belief that families are well-placed to assess compatibility and ensure long-term stability. It’s a tradition that has endured throughout history.

India’s divorce rate comes in at around 1%. India’s relatively low divorce rates are influenced by a cultural emphasis on these family values, extended family support, and the social stigma attached to divorce.

I’ve listened to conversations between aunties and uncles when talking about someone’s broken off marriages – they don’t even mention the word divorce and are quick to change the subject to how bland the paneer tikka tastes.

Not a fan of this type of suppression, but I digress.

Due to the saturation of marriage in Indian cultures, there’s heightened societal pressure to get married, escalating exponentially as the years pass. Like there isn’t already enough pressure?

Another example of this heightened social pressure came up the very next evening when we were eating dinner with one of my dad’s college buddies. I was happily eating my Hyderabadi biryani and listening to the “adults” go back and forth on work. The clock was approaching midnight and my dad’s friend suddenly (not even smoothly) switched the topic to me.

He inquired about my desire to get married, any parental pressure, and subtly hinted if I had an interest in an arranged marriage (no disrespect, but nah fam).

Laughing, I looked at my mom as she shook her head. “Of course, I want to get married,” I told him. There’s nothing more in the world I want than to marry my best friend and start a family. In due time, I said, and “in due time” my mom added, conveying that there isn’t any parental pressure to tie the knot any time soon.

The rule of three was in full effect a week later as we touched down in Rajahmundry to spend a few days with extended family and visit spots where my parents spent the majority of their childhood.

Our first stop was at my great aunt’s home on my dad’s side. In her mid-80s, she has resided in that very home her entire life. My dad, wide-eyed, pointed out every nook and cranny, recounting stories of him and his siblings getting in trouble for playing in the house.

My great aunt shared tales from her time as a Major in the army, obtaining a PhD, and living a fulfilled life without getting married.

Then she brought it out – the family tree. A document she had compiled over the years tracing our lineage as far back as she could uncover, reaching around the early 1700s. It has been shared with me many times that our ancestors go back even further to the first people who wrote down the Vedas, one of the prominent Hindu scriptures. If records were a thing centuries ago, we’d have a few more pages of this tree.

Pointing out herself, my dad, my grandfather, and other members of the family, I jokingly asked if I made the cut. She pointed to the last name in blue at the very bottom of the chart.

The last remaining blue name on the tree signified that I was the only one to carry on our family name. My heart sank, and I suddenly felt a tremendous amount of pressure in my chest. That single piece of paper took the wind out of me.

Sitting there for a few moments – whether one minute or five hours, I couldn’t tell – various thoughts raced through my head. I immediately contemplated all the events, sacrifices, strokes of luck, and decisions that unfolded over the last hundreds of years for our lineage to persist, ultimately leading to my existence in this world.

Reflecting on my parents’ journey served as a poignant example. Two kids in their early twenties, meeting, marrying, and relocating across the world to start a family in an unfamiliar territory.

They navigated the initial challenges in America, residing in a basement on Monument Avenue in Richmond, juggling postgraduate studies while raising a daughter. McDonald’s meals marked birthdays and special occasions, cherishing moments when the trio could attend the movies.

Fast-forward years later, and they were gifting their son a BMW for his 16th birthday. The stark contrast left me sick.

It is commonly stated that one wins the lottery by being born into the world with a roof over their head, access to drinking water, and food. Add being born in a safe community within a developed country, and that’s an extra layer of fortune.

Many of us fall prey to first-world problems, and I am no exception. In the grand scheme of things, the “pressure of marriage” is a trivial concern. For one, I am confident that my aforementioned best friend is out there; it’s merely a matter of time before our paths cross (or recross). Much of it lies beyond my control and tied to a sprinkle or two of luck.

Following the revelation from the family tree, what became evident to me is the deep sense of gratitude and awareness of my good fortune to be who I am in this world and be a part of this family.

My time on the horse will come.

Preserving the family legacy is undoubtedly a privilege. Until that moment unfolds, my commitment lies in navigating what’s in my control, engaging in daily actions that mold me into the best version of myself.

That, and my skin care routine.