Back in my younger years, there are a lot of weddings that happen, whether it’s in the family or among friends. Indian weddings are galas of splendor. No expenses is spared. Wedding season is in the wintertime, when the trees are full of oranges and there’s a delightful nip in the air. Winter in the tropics is a wonderful time. Ever since I can remember I’ve loved stockings and turtlenecks and the feel of long hair. I suffer in the heat like a dying hog. The only thing that can defeat the breeze of December 60° is a violent monsoon storm that rips trees off the ground and soaks the city in sheets of gray rain. 

The weddings are usually four or five days long. Different guest lists for different days. The closer you know the pair (or rather, their parents), the more days you’re invited. I don’t know if they set this up on purpose, but the puja timings work out wonderfully. All the new clothes you get during the pujas in October are ready to be premiered at the weddings all December long.

We have no idea what any of the ceremonies are about or what day is significant or why, we’re just here to party and preen and eat. There’s no walking down the aisle or any sit-down formalities so once we arrive at the venue we’re let loose like a pack of dogs. Occasionally a grown-up will find us, drag us to meet some relatives or something, but we’re mainly free to check out the ice cream flavors, take pictures, and giggle. 

One of my aunts or someone is getting married and it’s a spectacle. We’re to be there for four whole days. The winter holidays have kicked in and we don’t have a care in the world. We get ready at my grandma’s house and my two cousins on my father’s side are there, Dada and Didiana. That’s the core group. We play Connect 4 during the pujas and have paan-eating competitions during wedding season. We take trips to the garden house out in the country, drive to the beach, swim at the club, and gather at Headquarters (my grandma’s house). They’re almost like two extra siblings. 

The Headquarters is in uproar. The adults are already dressed. They’re making arrangements, calling people and other adult activities. We’re in my aunt’s room, huddled around the mirror, trying on her makeup, braiding our hair and hiding from the camera that Dada keeps flashing. There’s a taste of seriousness in the air. The aunt getting married is very close to our age and would regularly play board games with us instead of hanging out with the adults. I can’t believe she’s getting married, we keep saying to each other. It felt like betrayal, like she had stepped over to the other side and we were waiting for her to fire at us. 

I’m wearing a red velvet dress. It’s beautiful, soft. We had all gone shopping with her last week to get outfits specifically for today. I had touched the silver brocade on the skirt, immediately in love. All of our clothes are coordinated. I think we’re in the wedding party or something. Didiana is old enough to be allowed to wear a sari. It’s got double threading so it looks red or bluish-velvet depending on the light and pressure against the fabric. She looks so grown-up, and we’re green with envy.