Oh Shit! I am the Bride!

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Ever since I remember, makeup kit was not my thing. My most prized possession in my teenage was a badminton racket that my dad bought for me on my 10th birthday. The highlights of my summer vacations used to be gully cricket and fist fights. The summer of 2006 is etched in my memory because I learnt to ride a motorbike that year. I was not the quintessential girl ever; however, I did not know I will make such a crackpot bride.

It all started with the idea of getting married. Well! It might sound strange but the idea of marriage came to us (me and my boyfriend) as a remedy for the intermittent bouts of hatred that we used to feel for each other. We were friends. We fell in love. We were friends again. We fell in love again. It was a weird relationship. So, to put our relationship drama to an end for once and for all – we decided to get hitched.

The real drama started when my mom asked me about my choice of the wedding attire. Guess! Guess! I had no idea. So, I decided to do some online research before I made up my mind. Everyday after office, for around 20 days, I followed this routine – start my search from Indian Ethnic Section on some nice shopping portal and by the end of 30 minutes of looking into lehengas and churidars of various kinds, navigate to the Domino’s portal, order Pizza, watch Suits (a Television series), curse God for making Mike (a character in Suits) so hot and sleep talking about Harvey’s and Mike’s next move with my then fiancee (now husband) over phone. 20 days into this routine, my mom intervened. Guess! Guess! I still had no idea, so I suggested buying something in yellow (I love yellow). My mom almost yelled at me for wasting her time with this stupid idea and did not consult me again on what had to be to bought for my trousseau.

The problems, however, did not seem to end. 25 days before my wedding, I reached home with a face full of acne. My mom almost fainted at the airport after looking at me. The weird acne treatment from there on was the most torturous experience of my life so far. But guess that was not the end! My mom made it very clear that with people coming to visit me everyday, my hippy look with shorts and shabby hair was out of question now! I had to be dressed decently. I guess she was just preparing me to survive beyond my comfort zone. The only moments of relief in these 25 days were the moments I spent working on the vendor management spreadsheets  (related to my wedding) with my dad. Number crunching is certainly easier than undergoing acne treatment. I speak from experience here!

However, nothing beats the stupid incidences that happened on the day of my wedding:

  • 2 hours into that makeup room and I was so exhausted that I almost felt like postponing the wedding date (only if I could!).
  • A bride, who was getting ready with me in the same room, asked me I wanted to share a smoke ( I don’t smoke!).
  • The makeup artists applied some light makeup (light, my foot!) on my face and made me look a Voodoo doll – barely recognizable to my own eyes.

The biggest sigh of relief for me was the sight of my fiancee (soon to be husband) on the stage. He looked equally funny (may be funnier!) in a shimmering sherwani. Guess what! I was not the only joker in my wedding! Aha!

The biggest blooper of the day was still to happen.

I heard someone from the photography crew asking the bride to look in to the camera. Nervous as I was on the stage, I looked around to see where the bride was! My husband, the gentleman that he is, elbowed me thrice and then almost yelled at me – “you, idiot, you, look in to the camera”. 

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