Weddings, especially in those days, were full of fun and memorable moments. The day before the wedding, the bride’s family traditionally arranged to pick up the groom’s family from their home and escort them to the wedding hall. A pleasant surprise awaited us—one of my closest relatives, who felt like an elder brother, was the first to arrive at the hall. He joined the bride’s family to escort us, adding a personal touch to the celebration. 

The evening began with the Nitchayadartham (betrothal ceremony). As per tradition, the groom stayed away from the stage, waiting at the temple in a suit—despite the oppressive June heat. I was paraded in a vintage open car, accompanied by musicians and gaslight carriers. Along the way, curious passersby stopped to observe, and children surrounded the car, adding to the festive chaos. Surprisingly, I managed to survive the heat in my woolen suit. 

The next day was the Muhurtham (wedding ceremony). It rained heavily—a good omen, they said, though I’ve yet to find a scientific explanation. The ceremony was intimate, with only close family and friends in attendance. A popular film star, a friend of my father, attended and captured the moment with a Polaroid camera—an exciting novelty at the time. 

After the wedding, we prostrated before countless elders—a practice simplified in modern weddings. Following the ceremony, the bride and groom visited both households as part of the traditional Grahapravesam (first entry into the groom’s home). The lunch that followed was filled with playful pranks, easing the couple into their new life together. 

In the evening, the Nalangu ceremony—a playful contest between the bride and groom—brought laughter and joy. The reception that night was a blur of handshakes, greetings, and endless photographs. With garlands around our necks and heavy bouquets in hand, we barely had time to sit. 

The next morning, food packets were distributed to guests—an act of thoughtful hospitality that allowed everyone to enjoy lunch without cooking. 

Amidst all the joy and rituals, I couldn’t help but think about the bride—leaving her family to join a new one. Adjusting to such a sudden change requires strength. 

Times may have changed, but these memories remain vivid and precious. 

Contd. 363. Half Is Full - Part 4