Significance of a wedding, and why Her

What does a wedding really mean? What the word wedding signify?


Answers (some vague, others not so much) I've come across so far are:

  • Coming together of two families
  • Convergence of two individuals into a single entity
  • Societal requirement
  • Legal contract
  • Legitimising physical intimacy

Over the last few months, it has become clear to me that every person has their own definition and understanding; which is quite beautiful as this one word manifests itself in a number of different ways. It becomes not so pleasant when any one of these definitions is forced upon you, under any pressure. The beauty in humanity is we all see things differently. It is this diversity; how no two people think or react the same way for every situation is what I believe our greatest strength. (One may say it is our greatest weakness too, to which I'd say -- read the above again)


What I want to think about is what this means to me. After having dated Jyoti for a better part of the last 5 years (well, 2014 was interesting, for multiple reasons), I realized earlier this year that I wanted to spend my life with her. Wake up to her, go on vacations with her, discuss my day with her, whine to her, and work towards the extinction of birds with her (not an exhaustive list). Ideally everyday. We've come through a long distance relationship, the whole way; and the fact that our want for each other has had an exponential slope makes me very comfortable making this commitment. And that, at the core of it, is really what this wedding is to me -- a commitment.

The want to make this commitment stems from understanding our compatibility. Over the last five years, Jyoti and I took a lot of steps forward, and some backtracks. In hindsight(which of course, is always 20/20), some important and required steps backwards. The fact that there isn't a fight in history we cannot discuss and make fun of is a big positive factor in this compatible and comfortable relationship.

Our matching sense of humor is probably the biggest factor that draws me to her. We make jokes about how Dad would react to some things being discussed in the family. To an outsider, this would be ludicrous, but she didn't have to think about that joke first, or if it would make me uncomfortable. Outside of myself, she is the person that comes closest to knowing what my father means to me, and what humor means to me; the combination of which can never be a bad thing. Her confidence in knowing this without asking me or checking with me first makes us compatible. 

Another important compatibility factor is understanding my reasoning process. Anyone who has ever undergone an extended travel or vacation with me probably remembers what a harrowing experience it was, except her. She understands, and sometimes accepts, my unreasonable need to have a plan, sometimes to a ridiculous extent. That said, she also understands deeply that once a plan is in place, going with the flow comes easy. That is why travelling with her (and only her) just turns out to always be a great experience. Compatibility.

I can only imagine how difficult is must have been for her to agree to spend the rest of her life with me, and there comes a quality of her I admire the most -- adaptability. She somehow always seems to know what the sweet spot (yeah, that too) is between being flexible and rigid. For a wannabe Vulcan, it is really a no-brainer to latch on to that! The number of times I've had to concede that I should have listened to her exceeds the next person by a factor of three digits. Come to think of it, we couldn't be any more different; and in this case, it just works.


I understand it's not all going to be rosy going forward (for one, she hates Roses). It's going to be very, very good though. Having brawled through a good part of the last 5 years makes me optimistic that the coming years will be on the other side of the balance. To me, it really began the day I first told myself, and then her that I want to be with her, and that commitment is really what a wedding is to me.

Offended, then ashamed, for the same reasons

Early May 2015 (a month before Dad died), the family has just moved back to Mumbai and I was searching for a house in the Andheri neighborhood of Mumbai, primarily because of its proximity to the hospital Dad was being treated in. One of the questions while talking with the brokers  was always about religion, but I disregarded it to be a question about demographics. Until this once when I really liked a place and the broker said he will check with the owner. The response:

Sorry, cannot rent the house to a Muslim.

From that point on, whenever I’d speak to landlords, the identification as a muslim (or non-vegetarian, which is supposedly the politically correct term) became a part of the first conversation. (There was this one time when one house owner actually took offence to my statement Will you rent your house out to a muslim family?, that was 1 out of 20+ conversations I had)

There are laws in india against this kind of discrimination, and its implementation usually met by apathy . But in my case it was a deteriorating father. So we moved on and finally found a good place that everybody like, owned by a Muslim.

I was offended.


Fast forward to September 2015 —  Dad’s dead, Mom and Sana are back in Doha with me (the house was not rented after all), and I’m getting married in December. For the dinner with my side of the family* (mostly a practicing muslim family), Jyoti and I decided on a poolside place at The Westin and made sure that Halal food will be available. On talking to the family, another requirement was put forward

The food has to be cooked by a Muslim. 

Now, I could go into the laws of Islam about food being Halal, interpretations by important leaders, and just common (f*king) sense; but an argument is not really worth it. Especially when 1. it is cousins in my age group who push for this and 2. the two possible outcomes of continuing with the Westin are 2a. Mom being harassed because none of the family will speak to me directly and/or 2b. People simply won't show and I will end up wasting money that could have been put to better use.

So we decide to hire a banquet hall, and a Muslim caterer for the event and everyone is happy. Well, not everyone, but is there any event in the world that makes anyone happy? So we move on.

I am ashamed.


When do we move forward in time? And life?

 

*Jyoti and I will have only a dinner with each side of the family independently — reasons (separate, but related) not important here, I’m positive I will write about it later

Thank you, Dad.

The delta of life has been off the charts lately. Dad passed away at 1039 on June 3. And I grew up.

Kind of.

The last three days he spent at the hospital were difficult. Very difficult. I want to believe they were more difficult for us around him than him. I honestly don't believe he was in pain. A person like him cannot be in pain.

The last two years he spent fighting Pancreatic Caner were difficult too. They were also, by far, my best years spent with him. He spoke about his life a lot. Growing up at Bazaar Road, Bandra. Being forced to work at the family shop right after school. Bunking school to learn to operate a crane so that he could earn some money. Going to the Middle East at 17. Letting go of a house in Versova (which would be worth about 200 times now) to get his older brothers married. Fighting with his parents about the guest list at his own wedding. Fighting with white guys off-shore who disrespected his colleagues (Apparently slapped one of them across his face and did NOT get fired). Coming to Qatar and settling down.

He never had a convincing answer to one question though – What do you want to do?. He was asked this question multiple times over the last 2 years in various contexts but never answered it. He probably didnt know how to. Unsurprisingly.

He is missed. A lot. Even though our most recent interactions weren't very cheerful (and I understand its going to take some time for the more jovial memories to be the permanent ones), just him being around was something. It hits me when I go back home and the chair/bed he usually occupied is now empty. Its weird to not need to ask mom the details of how he has been today. Nausea? Motions? Food? Pain?

And then I miss him more. Thinking about the bigger picture, which he is physically not a part of anymore. There are things I wanted to do with him around and couldnt get to. But again, that was always going to be an infinite number of things to do.

Thank you, Dad, for showing exactly what it means to not live for yourself but for others. And thank you, God, for making me a part of that specific others.

Happy Father's Day.