Threads of Tradition: Tales Of Indian Arranged Marriages

3.

The days following Rohan Kulkarni’s visit are a blur of activity and apprehension. My parents’ enthusiasm for the potential match contrasts sharply with my own reservations. The house is abuzz with wedding preparations, a cacophony of excitement and noise that feels alien to me. Amidst the bustling chaos, I struggle to come to terms with the reality of marrying a man I barely know.

My mother has taken on the role of wedding planner with zeal, her energy contagious as she discusses every detail with fervor. “The wedding is going to be beautiful,” she says as she flips through bridal magazines. “We’ll have the ceremony at the Ganesh Mandir, and the reception will be at the Ratan Palace.”

I try to engage with her excitement, but my heart isn’t in it. “That sounds lovely, Ma. Have you decided on the colors for the decor?”

“Marathi weddings are traditionally vibrant,” she replies, her eyes sparkling. “We’re thinking of shades of red and gold. It’s going to be a celebration!”

Her words are meant to be reassuring, but they only deepen my sense of unease. The vibrant colors and elaborate rituals of a Marathi wedding seem overwhelming, a far cry from the quiet simplicity I crave.

One afternoon, as I’m attempting to tackle a pile of invitations, my mother calls out to me from the living room. “Aaravi, come here for a moment!”

I set down the stack of papers and make my way to where she’s waiting. In the middle of the room stands a beautiful saree—a rich, deep red with intricate gold embroidery. It’s a traditional Maharashtrian saree, and the sight of it fills me with a mix of awe and trepidation.

“This will be your bridal saree,” my mother says, her voice filled with pride. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“It’s beautiful,” I reply, though my tone lacks enthusiasm. “But I didn’t realize we were moving so quickly with the preparations.”

“We have to be prepared,” she says with a reassuring smile. “The wedding is just a few weeks away. There’s so much to do!”

As she continues to explain the details of the ceremony, I find myself drifting away, lost in thoughts about the life I’m about to step into. The traditional rituals of a Marathi wedding, with their significance and symbolism, feel both intriguing and intimidating.

Later that week, my parents arrange for me to meet with the wedding planner. I sit through the consultation, trying to mask my anxiety as we discuss the arrangements. The planner speaks of intricate traditions—the Ganesh Poojan, the Mangalashtakshar, the Varmala ceremony—and I nod along, though my mind is elsewhere.

The days leading up to the wedding are filled with a series of rituals and preparations. The Gaurav Mangal Poojan, where a ceremonial pooja is performed to bless the bride, is conducted with great reverence. I find solace in the spiritual aspects of these rituals, but the idea of becoming a bride again, with all its expectations and responsibilities, is a constant source of stress.

One evening, as I’m sitting with my mother, she looks at me with concern. “Aaravi, are you sure you’re alright? You seem distant.”

“I’m just... overwhelmed,” I admit. “There’s so much to think about, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.”

She reaches out and takes my hand. “I understand this is a lot to take in. But remember, we’re here for you. This is a new beginning, and I believe it will be good for you.”

Her words are comforting, but they do little to ease my anxiety. I’ve come to accept that this marriage is not just a union of two individuals but a merging of families and traditions. The weight of these expectations feels heavy on my shoulders.

As the wedding date approaches, I find moments of solace in the quiet corners of the house. I sit by the window, watching the world outside as it continues its ceaseless motion. I’m caught between the past and the future, struggling to reconcile my own desires with the obligations that lie ahead.

Rohan and I have had several brief conversations over the phone since our initial meeting. His voice is reassuring, and he seems genuinely interested in making this work. Yet, the distance between us feels vast, and the thought of sharing my life with him still feels surreal.

The night before the wedding, I find myself alone in my room, surrounded by the saree and the wedding trousseau. I sit down on the edge of the bed and look at the reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me seems both familiar and foreign, her eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty.

I think about Rohan and the life we’re about to build together. Despite my reservations, I remind myself of the importance of this step, both for me and for my family. It’s a new chapter, one filled with both promise and challenge.

As I prepare for the ceremonies, I take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart. The rituals and traditions of the Marathi wedding are more than just formalities—they are symbols of unity and new beginnings. I hope that through these rituals, I can find a way to embrace this new chapter in my life.