mehndi.

Though the wedding festivities began on the 28th (poker and karaoke nights), they were informal compared to the Mehndi (pronounced Ma-hen-di) which took place on the third night at Mayura's home. Known more commonly as henna, it is the evening in which ladies (only) gather to decorate their hands, feet, and (previously unknown to me) any other area of their choosing such as the upper back. It is made of rather potent dyes derived from crushed plants that are applied much like cake icing. When allowed to set, they begin flaking off and exposing a reddish ink on your hands that darkens over time. It has a remarkably earthy, sweet, yeasty smell which has actually woken me up multiple times overnight...and still remain noticeable days later. The women who do the artwork are incredible, both in speed and detail, and clearly take great pleasure in their craft. In fact, a neighboring Mehndi artist brushed across my fingertips, blurring a meticulous design, and the looks exchanged between these two women could kill. I stayed quiet.

The trick to Mehndi night is either advanced planning, good timing, or a partner in crime, because I learned very quickly that attempting to eat Indian food is a challenge of great proportions when both hands are occupied. There is nothing graceful about what occured last night. And nothing more desperate looking than a woman attempting to hold a gin and tonic with two fingers and the back of one hand while attempting to sip. Not one of my finer moments, though I was not alone. The boys en route to men's night next door commented that we looked like a zombie party, hands held up in the air to avoid smearing. But distractions were many, as the bride's family had prepared a series of traditional dances to perform throughout the evening beginning with the young and adorably awkward children and ending with the graceful elders.

Having had a taste for the fanciness of the wedding events to come, Aparna and I went saree shopping, intending only to purchase a blouse to match one of her mother's sarees but instead buying the whole shabang....for a lot of rupees. I thought of mom often and her love of textiles because once I chose the blouse, the salesman brought box after box of saree silks to show, never a repetative color or pattern. And the woman who helped me tie the saree, which is no easy feat and involves a fan-like folding technique, was able to tailor the blouse to fit perfectly in three hours without so much as a measurement. I've found that they are the most comfortable things to wear, especially the breathable cotton ones, and I am devouring Aparna's family's compliments saying "they look so natural on you".

The Sangeet was the pinacle of fancy, and I can say this with certainly since the wedding has since come to a close and our Anirudh is married! Traditionally a North Indian event much like a dance-off, this is when the bride and bridegroom separately prepare dances for the entertainment of the guests. It was held in a grand room at the Taj Hotel in Chennai and the entrance was marked with long strands of jasmine which are a Hindu wedding decoration and a symbol of piousness to the gods (they are sold everywhere in Madras, always hanging from small, fruit and vegetable stands). Anirudh and our clan had been practicing a routine for the entire day with such intensity that many of the dancers developed blood blisters on their feet, but as a spectator...with in tact feet...I thought it went swimmingly. The Sangeet was by far the most debaucherous of evenings spent in India thus far, due largely to the black label whiskey room located next to the buffet line, as well as the fact the under 40's stayed until the wee hours of the morning and attempted (but failed) to act refreshed for the following days events.