Bright colours, strains of traditional Punjabi songs and the latest Bollywood hits sum up a Punju (short and sweet for Punjabi) wedding for most ‘South Indians’ like me. The verbally brash purists amongst us even call it loud and overdressed.
But when I travelled to Delhi and joined the wedding celebrations for my friend of more than 25 years, the narrative changed. I fell in love with the bright clothes, I glowed with happiness, matched step with her family to Honey Singh songs and fielded questions yelled over the chatter of concerned family members. I even travelled back in time and discussed her growing-up shenanigans with her cousins who made me feel like I had returned home.
As the days progressed, and the engagement rolled into the Mehendi night and that into the wedding, I grew to appreciate the beauty within the chaos. I effortlessly suffixed the ‘jees’, became a party to inside jokes and shook my undersized ‘too’ (short and sweet for bum) like I was born doing it.
It struck me then that tolerance is as insipid as indifference. I would much rather experience what I assume I will have to tolerate and maybe… just maybe, I might fall in love with it in the process.