The nape of her neck is half covered with the defiant curls of her hair; she was not one to be tamed. But as it turns out, the poet who once had no time to marry is a young woman who’s now almost done running around. She’s marrying Bart, ever-attentive, sensitive; the man whose promise is to keep her happy as she deserves to be. It’s a marriage of contrasts, so beautiful in its extremity that there’s promise of more adventures not just together as one, but as two unique individuals.
On the big day, the defiant curls of Pooja’s hair were tamed and tucked neatly into a bun.
The ceremony began, family and friends gathered around the mandap. The kanyadaan, where dad gave Pooja away. The panigrahana, in which the groom takes his bride’s ornately henna-ed hands in his before the sacred fire. The saptapadi or seven steps, in which bride and groom declare their vows as they circle the fire together seven times. After the seventh step, they are man and wife.
That day, fire-deity Agni sanctified this union between the two. But what made this wedding a wedding was not just Bart and Pooja, rituals and tradition, but also mom, dad, aunts, uncles, family, friends, satay, ice cream, music and well, beer. It was a celebration—and one of those gatherings where you couldn’t quite tell who’s aunty and who’s mom.
Strobe lights flash, instersecting as they cross the movers and shakers on the dance floor, and the room is smokey from the satay man’s charcoal fire. A final approval from Agni, and Pooja’s defiant curls are awry.
Let’s just say, Bart downed that shot glass of unrequited love. And that bar stool is no longer empty.