Presents the larger than life sometimes outlandish, generally madding and always high octane world of Indian marriage ceremonies! Dip in to discover the zany, over the top and thus far undisclosed stories associated With the ell-heeled Indian courtship and nuptial dance. From inebriated first date over bottle" of Dom Perignon; to inspired proposal in exotic locations; to the entrance of the big ticket wedding planner; to, finally, the giant wedding itself preluded shopping sprees, bachelorettes, sangeets and mehndis, and culminating in the mother of thorn all the 'saat phere this book is the ultimate compendium to the Indian marriage tamasha.
Written by someone who has keenly observed and enthusiastically participated m weddings and has almost been roped into one herself and peppered with witty observations, merry quizzes, and a whacky proposal manual (Bollywood style) , this book is a satirical account of the excesses of modern day Indian weddings, and a sobering comment on the simplicity of the past.
Born and brought up in New Delhi, Sakshi Salve holds a bachelor's degree in business management from the University of Exeter, UK. After working for one year at a reputed fashion house in London, she had two stints in the banking sector at UBS and Barclays, following which she moved back to New Delhi to set up a lifestyle store at the DLF Emporio mall with her mother. Her love for fine dining took her back to London, where she completed a comprehensive culinary course from the reputed Le Cordon Bleu. She also spent a summer in New York City and completed an intense scriptwriting course from New York University.
Sakshi loves to travel, is a voracious reader and is instinctively drawn to all things spiritual. She divides her time between New Delhi and London, and is now planning to pursue full-time writing and entertainment.
The irony is that both the author, Sakshi Salve and I, are unmarried. I don't know her reasons for not embracing this rather quirky world of relationships mired initially in commerce, but mine are pretty simple. I don't want to marry only because I don't want a wedding. But then these are tough times for such demands. Everyone wants a wedding just like in yesteryears everyone loved a drought.
A wedding is a tedious event. It drives almost all involved in it, insane. I can take a wager that more divorces are planned during the wedding than after. The groom and the bride see the real colours of the families they are about to inherit-louts drinking whisky; then getting the horse to drink it; and then finally, getting the priest stoned only so that he can rush the actual ceremony so that they can go back to drinking. More Indians are drunk at their own weddings than any other race on this planet. More food is eaten during an Indian wedding than all the combined years of Taste of London. More Indian designers can still call themselves that because just being a wedding tailor is not enough.
I have seen more ugly people at Indian weddings than even in India's Parliament. But then that is not where it stops. The Indian wedding is not intended to be pleasant. Everything reeks of violence. You slap your in-laws on their backs, then you lift them, then you drop them to the ground; you then hide the shoes of that sod of a groom and then you run after them; then you encourage incest amongst cousins; and then everyone is happily drunk only to wake up the following day to get drunk again.
Then, of course, there is the small matter of the family.
You will have relatives coming out of the woodwork and each of these dolts has to be sent an expensive wedding card: one card could feed a hundred Somalian pirates for a month, but then, who cares?
And our weddings are no longer confined to the family. You must invite the local lout (read: minister). You must have at least seven functions; you must engage a wedding planner and most of them are brain dead, which is why now even some fashion designers are quickly getting onto the wedding bandwagon. You must invite those people who you need to curry favour with-which means anyone from the local excise inspector to the local bootlegger. Then there are the Bollywood stars you can rent. If you pay them more, they will dance with the horse; if you pay then even more, they will be willing to allow you to ride them or at least some delicious cousin of yours who is not married yet.
But again the nuptials are the least important. You will need to plan the entertainment as well-and, at times, the entertainment and not the silly couple is the real draw. I mean, if you told me Jennifer Lopez would sing and then take her clothes off, do you really think I would bother with the names of those getting married?
You will also see the ubiquitous VIP corner in most Indian weddings. If the wedding is in Delhi, it will be meant for the prime minister who may not have been invited-but then, it's the effect. If it's Mumbai, then probably you can expect Salman Khan and if you are really desperate you might even settle for Raj Thackeray.
The Indian wedding is everything other than the wedding. Those who gush about the event and are found at each one of these are like the jokers who prefer an airline lounge to the actual journey itself
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