This week I attended a delightful wedding hosted by a modest-sized silver merchant I know and admire. I have been patronising his store, tucked away in the bylanes of an old vegetable market near my home in South Mumbai, for four decades. It was a convenient place from which to pick up a trinket or two, since I was the assigned vegetable shopper in my family. Over the years, a close and wonderful bond developed with the merchant and his family. So it was with a sense of great pride that I attended the wedding of Shah Sr.’s grandson recently.
My word! What a wedding it turned out to be! Hosted by the family at a venue (football ground) generally reserved by local politicians for their mass weddings, here was the Shah family standing at the flower bedecked, glittering entrance, warmly receiving a steady stream of guests, some of them driving up grandly in fancy limousines. Over 50 counters dotted the red-carpeted grounds, serving the most exotic food. There were more than 20 desserts, including iced lichees stuffed with pistachios. And it was at the lichee counter that I met this lovely, young girl.
She was one of the hired “hostesses” for the event. And I was struck by her beauty, poise and innate grace. We got talking. She has been a hostess at similar weddings for the past 10 years. She works through an agency that takes a big, fat commission from the youngsters. Often, she and other young people registered with the agency work 10 hours or more a day — during the wedding season. There are no frills. No extras. She pays for her own “uniform” (a black pant-suit, black pumps), make-up, hair styling and transport. Since most of the hostesses live in the distant suburbs, if they miss the last train, they are forced to share a cab. Often they get home well past midnight. And most times they have to trek back early the next morning. For all the effort and hard work, this smart, educated (12th standard), young lady makes less than '500 per night. During the off-season, there is no work. She spends those months looking after her seriously sick mother.
Listening to her account, I wanted to respectfully point out to the observation of the Supreme Court (bench headed by the learned Justice Deepak Misra) earlier this week, that it’s better to dance in bars than beg on the streets. Much as I support the rights of bar dancers, there are other options available. Take the example of this young beauty who could have easily opted for a career dancing in a bar. She chose to be a hostess at weddings instead. When I asked her why, she admitted shyly, “I am Muslim. My family is very conservative. This work suits me and I can focus on looking after ammi.” I looked around the venue. One of her colleagues was a Hindu married woman with young children. There was a Sikh wedding photographer on stage. The hosts were strict Jains. The eggless wedding cake had been created by a Christian baker. The guests represented a cross-section of all communities and castes.
The Shahs had invited their foreign clients, and I spotted a couple of blondes clicking pictures of the ring ceremony. Not only did the young couple publicly declare their love on stage while holding hands, but the groom also went down on his knees for the big moment. Right after that, the couple was persuaded by a female compere to perform a spot of “ballroom dancing”! The DJ played a sentimental waltz as the two gently swayed to an electronic remix of Strauss. Bizarre? Well, no. Personally speaking, this was one of the most fascinating wedding ceremonies I have attended. So eclectic and uninhibited. How freely and innocently various idiotic, age-old taboos had been effortlessly breached. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared.
I did a double take myself when the couple made their grand entry in a gigantic, plastic bubble, led by dancers dressed in futuristic silver lame outfits, who were busy fanning them Moulin Rouge style, with diamante-studded ostrich feathers. Watching the proceedings were traditionally dressed family elders, some of whom had traveled from their villages in Gujarat and were in Mumbai for the very first time. I looked at an 85-year-old granduncle clad in a dhoti as he cheered and clapped when the bubble went past his chair. How easily he had embraced change! Dramatic, radical change. This is the tolerant India that still exists — strongly and proudly. No political party should mess with that. Such an attempt will only backfire.
