This I did not plan. I was just walking, exploring, with some sense of a destination but not really, when I heard what I now instantly recognize as the marching band of a wedding. Wedding season is on crack right now; there were two huge weddings going on both nights I stayed at the Novotel, and when I went to see what the Marriott was like, a waiter told me there were five weddings going on in the hotel—that night. And outside of glitzy Mumbai, you can’t go more than a couple hundred meters on a big Mumbai street without coming across what was once a large, nondescript open space but is now a spruced-up, outdoor banquet hall with tacky entryways and Christmas lights.
So when I heard the marching band, and then noticed the crowd, as well as the guy in a costume sitting on a horse, I got closer to take some photos. There was a group of four foreigners who had already gotten closer to take their photos, and suddenly they got swooped up into the procession. People were yelling at them (in, you know, a friendly way) to dance and, as I was about to discover, that’s a hard invitation to turn down.
Look closely at the back of his t-shirt. Familiar campaign logo? Funny, because it turned out they were Australian.
I got pulled in soon enough. It was all pretty liberating, really, because you spend a lot of time feeling hesitant or intrusive about being a tourist or trying to take a photo, and now every other person in this large crowd was basically threatening you if you didn’t dance with them or take their photo.
Groom seemed kind of stressed, to be honest.
Some of the cousins of the groom invited me to eat with them, and when they walked me down a sidestreet is when my skeptical traveler instinct kicked in and I started to wonder how far I should go with this. But in broad daylight, with large crowds of very happy people—and young kids—still surrounding us, I kept on. Seemed harmless to have a meal, and I was hungry, anyway.
Then they told me to come back tomorrow night, for the second day of celebrations when the younger brother of the groom was also getting married. I hesitated slightly in giving them my phone number, and they noticed, calling me out for it but then assuring me they were honestly just hoping I could be part of the fun.
To reassure myself, I kept coming back to two things: that it was I who first approached them when I wanted to take some pictures, and that there were still loads of young kids around who kept squeaking to have their pictures taken. I figured this would have to be a pretty crazy elaborate plot to have set all this up just to trick a few tourists, and even then, what could they be tricking me into? This was all happening out in the open, on the streets, and there were no shackles preventing me from bolting into a taxi the instant I felt uncomfortable. So I went back the next evening.
And I was part of the fun.
What can I say? It lived up to the hype.
Not a whole lot of Bhangra (though when there was, I had very eager instructors), but it was still non-stop music and dancing and just madness. Kids were screaming their heads off. The group of guys who had invited me were pulling me aside for surreptitious yet large sips of beer. More dancing, on other people’s shoulders, on the tops of trucks, everywhere. Just madness.
Here I stand, on the shoulders of giants, er, other Indian wedding guests.
Was also kind of relieved that the Australian guys got re-invited, too.
Really damn loud firecrackers and fireworks. China’s greatest export to India. Only they are much, much louder in India.
Oh yeah, and then there was the actual marriage.
Finished the night by eating beef sausages. Yup. The guys actually seemed kind of upset that all foreigners think all Indians don’t eat beef. I was tipsy at this point, so this whole discussion of stereotypes in between the wedding madness and the dancing and the beers was like, whoa. At one point, I told them Jackie Chan was my uncle and they were like, whoa. And then I told them I was kidding.
“Ah, Keane, so now you think you can joke with us, huh?”
Joke, dance, eat, drink. You make fast friends at a Mumbai wedding.
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