Has the “halwai” (sweets chef) prepared the “pista barfis” (pistachio sweets), my anxious father asked my elder brother.
The latter unlocked the “sweet room”, which housed about 30 large trays of colourful, enthralling Indian sweets. I sneaked into the forbidden room to savour the sights and aromas.
On the veranda of our home in Tandlianwala – then in undivided Punjab, British India, but now in Pakistan – the sweet chef squatted like the master of ceremonies next to an earthen oven, stirring a pot of milk, pistachios and saffron to produce some more colourful sweets.
The house was swarming with my uncles, aunts and their friends.
An aunt was scurrying around with a new dress for the bride. A cousin yelled for the lady who applied henna on the hands and feet of girls. A cousin was scampering around laying crockery and cutlery in the tented dining area for about 350 guests.
The reason for the frenzied activity was the marriage of my elder sister Laxmi in 1932. At the young age of 12, I was totally ignored by family members who normally pushed me around. I was fascinated by the kaleidoscope of activities that engrossed the household.
As I grew older I played a part at the wedding ceremonies of numerous cousins. I observed that all the arrangements were managed by family members, relatives and friends. Marriages were normally held in the gardens of the villas.
The decoration of the villa, the marriage area, the lighting and flower arrangements would be undertaken by family members. Serving the meals to the guests and making arrangements for their stay would be the responsibility of other relatives.
The groom, his family and friends were treated like royalty by the bride’s family. My sister’s groom arrived on a white horse in a massive procession, called the “baraat”. The procession was led by a band playing popular songs, followed by youngsters, who danced gustily. Many of the relations of the bridegroom rode in horse-drawn carriages. Others walked behind the procession.
They were treated to sumptuous meals and comfortable accommodation in a local hotel or the homes of friends. It was also a tradition to serve almond flavoured milk to the guests every night before they slept.
My childhood memory recorded that the weddings among the Punjabi families were just too long. They went on for up to five days. The bride’s family would tire of serving the guests. The groom’s family would be itching to return to their own homes. Even the wedding ceremony was protracted. The priest would commence the ceremonies around midnight and declare the couple to be husband and wife by 5am. Only close family members would manage to keep awake through the exhausting nocturnal ceremony.
There are also other aspects of marriages that were intriguing. Marriages were frequently arranged by families, without the bride and the groom having met or even seen each other. The bride’s face was always covered, so the groom only had the first glimpse of his bride after the marriage. The bride’s family invariably gave a lot of jewellery and gifts to the groom. These gifts were frequently displayed in a room, for all family members and friends to see.
Now when I see youngsters get married, I am amazed by how easy it has become to get married. Wedding planners manage the entire process.
When I got married 71 years ago, the priest took us through the seven marriage vows, after each of which there was a walk around the sacred fire. The entire process of explaining the seven vows was elongated over five seemingly never-ending hours.
Now, youngsters want to know each other before tying the knot. Many live together before taking the final call. Priests have now abbreviated the marriage process to an hour or even less. Some youngsters prefer to register their marriages in a civil court to compress the process to a few minutes.
Compared to the time I got married, which encompassed the normal three days of ceremonies, marriages now can be termed “instant” marriages.
Hari Chand Aneja is a 95-year-old former corporate executive who now keeps busy with charity work