An Indian Wedding
The Gurusamy family home in a residential part of Vellore
provides a welcome sanctuary from the frenetic din of the city streets. The
house was designed by Nav’s father, Guru – a kind, smiling man with a quiet
determination. Growing up in an impoverished patch of rural Tamil Nadu, the
youngest in a Hindu family of eleven children, he used to rise at dawn to
labour in the fields every day for two hours before attending school. Guru’s
life changed irreversibly when he met Cheriya, a Catholic girl, becoming ostracised from much of his family as a consequence of their marriage, before they
would eventually raise two children in the far-flung city of Edinburgh.
Throughout the week, with Guru and Cheriya sorting wedding
preparations and uncle Clement running constant errands, auntie Daisy and
auntie Diana are busy cooking a delightful array of dosas, idlis, biriyanis, vadas,
bajjis, bondas, lentil samba and chai tea. The hospitality is so generous it
makes us feel almost embarrassed, with the meals coming three times a day and in
as many portions as we can physically manage. South Indian food is a veggie’s
dream, or indeed, a vegan’s. Meanwhile, Nav’s distinguished Grandfather,
Douglas – “dapper Dougie” – kicks back while his two grandkids scurry around
playing games. The eldest boy is called Zidane - or “Zizou” - a consequence of
Nav, as the boy’s godfather, being granted the honour of naming the child. The
events of the 2006 World Cup shortly before his birth may have had an
influence, though thankfully I haven’t seen him headbutting anyone.
The days leading up to the wedding are a constant stream of
activity. We’re up at dawn on the first morning to bless the house. Incense
burns as a confused looking Nav is guided around by different family members –
this is almost as new to him as it is to his white friends. It sets the tone
for a week of traditions and rituals as Tina’s family visit to offer gifts and
bless the groom, while we later return the favour, taking the chance to don
traditional Tamil dress. It’s wedding season in India and on our trips to suit
shops, bakeries and the flower market we notice billboards with
newlyweds all over town. An amused Nisha – Nav’s sister – points out that Indian
men rarely smile in photos, the grooms returning your gaze with unmoved
seriousness. We also become accustomed to the nearby hole-in-the-wall - the
grimiest, dingiest, dive bar imaginable – receiving the occasional hundred-yard stare
from the locals as we swig our beer and brandy.
One afternoon we drop by with donations to a nearby home run
by nuns for women with mental and physical disabilities. Many of the women were
abandoned as children by their families, reduced to “untouchable” status, but the
love and care of the sisters seems to have restored some dignity and happiness
to their lives. We’re told that their wedding blessing means more than God’s, a
sentiment which resonates with Nav.
Given the centrality of spirituality in Indian society, it’s
no surprise that the Golden temple on the edge of town is Vellore’s biggest
tourist attraction. The lavish, solid gold structure was built by Sri Lakshmi
Narayani, an enigmatic figure the source of whose wealth remains unclear. As if
to address any scepticism, the path to the temple is lined with plaques
containing aphorisms and moral precepts. One reads “Some may ask ‘Why spend
money on a golden temple rather than a school or hospital?’ But a visit to the
golden temple will inspire the construction of a thousand schools and
hospitals.” Aye, right enough. While the temple is undeniably impressive, it
somehow lacks the divine presence of the ancient Hindu monuments at Vellore Fort
or the seaside town of Mahabalipuram.
With a week left in India, I set off to explore some of the
rest of the state. Travelling on trains and buses I find strangers to be
curious and friendly. When I tell people I’m from Scotland I’m often met with a
blank expression, learning to respond with “It’s near London”. In conversation,
questions with apparently yes or no answers will often end cryptically, leaving
me to ponder the meaning of that bewitching head wobble.
In this most deeply religious country, Tamil Nadu is the
spiritual heartland. While I see plenty of Hindu sites and temples, I have more
direct contact with Catholicism in cathedrals and households, where I find the
presence of a white-faced, blue-eyed Jesus rather jarring and eerie. Aside from
the obvious historical inaccuracy, Christianity reached this corner of the
subcontinent more than a millennium before western colonialists, so such
flagrant whitewashing feels like a double insult (…says the white British man).
Yet it’s not just in the Catholic iconography that this tension is evident. In
the film industry, music videos and mass-marketing, the predominance of
improbably pale-skinned Indians – especially women – simply does not reflect
the reality of how people look, especially in the south of the nation. This
phenomenon surely has associations not only with western imperialism, global capitalism
and sexism, but also with the Indian caste system, which is not recognised in
law but still exerts considerable influence over people’s everyday lives. While
certainly still relevant, in Tamil Nadu caste is less rigidly observed than in
other parts of India, in part due to its high literacy rate and cultural
distinctness from the north. Historically caste has faced resistance here, most
notably from the Dravidian politicians, who railed against its favouring of the
northern, light-skinned Brahmins.
Political parties in Tamil Nadu today, some of which have
their roots in the Dravidian movement, resemble something close to clans or
monarchs. Large flags marking their territory are a frequent sight. They even
have their own TV channels. The late J. Jayalalitha, Chief Minister of Tamil
Nadu for over fourteen years between 1991 and 2016, is especially idealised
here. Her profile adorns the city streets and there’s a large shrine devoted to
her in Chennai.
While certain politicians enjoy an exalted status, that’s
not to say all political decisions are universally popular, of course. In a
move sparking economic chaos, Prime Minister Modi has withdrawn 500 and 1,000
rupee notes from circulation and restricted the amount a person take out to
10,000 rupees per day and 24,000 per week. It was introduced to fight
corruption, but seems to have mostly caused stress and inconvenience for
ordinary Indians, with habitually long queues and “No money” signs at ATMs. One
afternoon we try nine different cash machines before finally striking lucky. Arriving
after dark in the former French colony of Pondicherry, typically disorganised and
down to my last few rupees, I feel a rush of relief and joy when at last I find
a machine with money. I’m laughing all the way to the coffee, crepes and wine
in the seaside French quarter…
After Pondy, my final stop is Ooty, one of India’s great hill stations. Nestled in the Nilgiris Mountains, the town is surrounded by breathtaking tea plantations and can be reached by taking an antiquated steam express train, a UNESCO world heritage site, which crawls and wheezes up the misty peaks. Even after only ten days or so in India, the restorative tranquillity of the area already feels greatly welcome. At times the sheer intensity of the urban environment can feel overwhelming - The stifling air pollution mixing with aromatic street food and wafts of sewage; the thick humidity; the piles of rubbish; the blaring horns; the street kids begging and the elderly people sleeping rough. Yet for all that, I leave with the conviction that I’ll definitely be back, eager to explore more of this vast peninsula. In five years India is predicted to overtake China as the world’s most populous country, with 1.4 billion people. For all the challenges that undoubtedly brings, it’s hard not to conclude that the influence of this colossal culture of assorted languages and religions will only be more deeply felt in the coming century.
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| Not to be confused with Nav's wee cousin. |
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