The events surrounding my wedding ceremony propagated a dozen social evils that plague the Indian society. As a child, I pledged to fight them all. I assumed that I would be the change. I assumed that I would break the glass ceiling. I assumed that I won’t be a slave to the traditions. I was going to be that feminist and make a statement. AS IT TURNED OUT, NONE OF THESE REVOLUTIONARY CHANGES HAPPENED at my wedding. I felt helpless. I was asked to shut up. I was asked to keep the peace. I was asked to look the other way when the social evils were propagated in my name. I was asked to keep the superstitions alive. I was the anti-science bride. It KILLED me to be her. Every molecule in my being was repulsed by what was going on. I was told that I was being selfish for wanting my wedding to be how I wanted it to be. It’s about the community. It’s about the family. It’s about being Indian society. It’s about making the relatives happy. It’s about bonding with the in-laws. …. The “i” has to make way for the “we”. That is what makes for a good wife and it starts right now, I got told. Amidst all this, I was in mourning when I realized that I was not the person I always wanted to be. I was disappointed that my partner wanted to play along to keep the peace. I assumed he would fight along side me. “This wasn’t the time”, he said. Who was I marrying ? Haven’t we been dating for five years now ? Amidst all this, I was picking out my wedding clothes. I hated what I was supposed to wear. It was creating a lot of tension. My fiancé stepped in to help me navigate the situation. He said “we don’t seem to have a say in what we want to wear to the wedding. But we can, how ever go pick out the under garments. They don’t have a say in it. Lets at-least do that together”. That line won me over. It’s so little, but it’s effect magnified given the circumstance. The flimsy rope looks like a yacht when it comes to your aide because you are being swept away by a downstream current. Yes, let’s pick out our underwear. Amidst the lack of choice and power, let’s hold on to this one choice that we do have. We both went shopping. I picked a white lace underwear from Victoria Secret and went home with a small shopping bag. I would keep the bag by my bed side and look at it with pride. I choose this. This is the one thing that is mine. When we later met on the alter, he did not recognize me. His first words to me were “what have they done to you ? ” I smiled out of inertia because that is what my face has been doing all day. I blurted out “I am tired. Let’s quickly get this done”. It went on for 24 more hours from that point in time followed by 4 additional days of ceremonies. If the words “never again am I getting married” were uttered, it was for all the wrong reasons.

It’s been 9 years. I still haven’t made peace with my wedding. I cringe at the photos that are on display at my in-laws home. Amidst the bad memories, this garment, comes out as the silver lining. It kept the peace. It helped me get on with the day without revolting. Whenever I wear it, it makes me smile. Today, it’s worn out and I am letting it go. If you were to ask me about my wedding dress, the flood gates would open and I would tell you all about this underwear. So be it. This is what I wore on my wedding day. I got to choose it. That is more important than all the expensive fine things I wore when I stood on that stage. This is the most authentic act among all the charades I performed. I way I smile when I look at it today is more genuine than the smile I had plastered on my face all day, on my wedding day. Someday, I will forget it all. This is not a tragedy in any sense of the word considering the state of things in the world. I acknowledge the privilege that goes into having the wedding procession I had. There is no tragedy in a middle class woman complaining about not liking her wedding. But having this story written down feels like a privilege too considering that I wasn’t allowed to talk about it. At the least, I get to tell it on an anonymous blog.