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In the hope of eventually getting internet, I started writing these notes on my laptop so I could upload them as and when. Which possibly explains why they're now several weeks old……WED 05 DECSo, the Indian wedding! It's what everyone hears about, and what most people think about when they hear 'India'. I at last actually got invited to one, rather than just gate-crashing the house next-door's. I perhaps didn't see it in all its glory being a) a girl with a bunch of men (since the sexes don't mix, I missed out on all the giggling) and b) not a close connection to the bride/groom, more like one of those second-cousin uncles that wander around in the background, that you're sure has some connection to the family, it's just that no-one quite knows what. But still, I got to see the horse and the brass band and the beautiful saris and rooms decked out in fabrics and the dancing and the food. There were just a few moments of brilliant comedy worth mentioning - travelling on the bus with an entire brass band in full white and red and gold and sparkly regalia notwithstanding. So, we're standing in the courtyard of the community centre in which the wedding is about to take place, watching a few overenthusiastic children dancing on the light-up dance floor (a cross between downstairs at the key in London and Jennie's dance mat): then, just as the big beat of a bangla tune comes on, up through the stairs and straight through the crowd strides a guy like a bollywood hero with his posse. And I mean just like a bollywood hero, down to the posture and glances round the crowd, the walk in time to the music, the gang of 8 or 9 soberly-dressed guys following in formation and, most crucially, the bright pink and white jacket and shirt constructed only out of sequins. Through the crowd they stride, whilst we all watch, and off toward the bar (except it's actually an ice-cream stall, but that kind of spoils the image), then they pose beautifully around their leader. So it begins. The boys have clearly timed this deliberately, because no sooner has everyone simmered down again than murmurs in the crowd ripple out: the ladies have arrived. In similar classic bollywood style, as a new beat comes on the speakers, our leading ladies saunter in, all coy glances, flicks of the hair and smirks. Their entrance is even more polished: our heroine and her three companions enter abreast of each other before stopping in the middle of space and exchanging whispered giggles. Although all four are decked out in stunningly embroidered kurta salwar, you know the heroine for all eyes are on her, and her black suit looks all the more elegant amidst the accompaniment of riotous colours. A measured pause, just long enough to get all the boys focused and the whole crowd's attention, then they're off towards the hall. That's not the end though; her entourage is even more impressive. Behind these preening beauties follow a horde of slightly older and more muted girls - this contrast seems deliberate, for behind them come 5 or 6 slightly younger girls, just as bright and lovely as the leaders, but in fabrics less embroidered with gold and silver. Older mamas and aunties follow, in pinks and reds and florals, presumably to remind our Romeo and his gang that these Juliets are more carefully guarded. Ah, I was so looking forward to a proper dance-off breaking out, but no such luck sadly - the bollywood analogy only goes so far. Not least because, despite all appearances and posturing, neither the girls nor the boys were actually familially linked to the couple. Brilliant anyway, nothing like a good bit of posing at a wedding to get everyone in the mood. Although after the five course meal that was shovelled down me, there was no way this puppy (this hippo?) was dancing.
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