It was Mustard!

Let's assume you haven't seen Patch Adams. And, let me quote a line, one of my favourites: All of life is a coming home. This may seem far fetched to you at the very outset, but my first trip to Punjab, to my paternal grandmother's hometown (paternal grandfather hails from Kamalia), for a wedding, it was just that. My introduction to Kothkapura started with my dad's nephew's daughter's wedding invitation (the North Indian family largesse of family members, if you may). After managing three days off from work, we took the night train. Let me also share that travelling in trains, reminds me of Melman in Madagascar, when he wakes up in the box while being shipped to Africa. And, no, I did not land in Madagascar, not even close. I was in the city of white gold, one of Asia's largest cotton markets, Kothkapura. Thank you, Wiki.

When we reached, it was wee hours in the morning, and a massive truck carrying cotton (what else?) slowly chugging forward, was ahead of our car. If that stock falls on a vehicle behind it, I'd safely say you'd be flat to be fit into an envelope. It was massive, and I wish I had clicked a picture, but then, you see, I was half-asleep, and too many noises of relatives behind me, I was burying my eyes into the planet of cotton ahead of me, with my lugubrious mind (tiff with boyfriend on mind).

The first big hug came from the cousin herself, who looked really the bride you'd want to be sometime, if you ever thought on those lines. A little bit about her. She is your fiesty, boisterious girl from Punjab who scares away young promising lovers on the streets with her crackling insinuations. She showed us this big framed photograph with her fiancé, a chubby young man. The pecking order being that me, the unmarried, older cousin, was to be with the bride and the other older (married) sister through the rites. Fair enough.

Now, let me pause a little and tell you about the dog. Kidding. But, yes it was a nice dog, and I quite fancied it (also likened a bit to it because of my non-understanding of the language or customs). I take no pride in saying I did not understand the sharp strokes of dialect that come out brisk and mostly laced with a mild taunt, which is a tacit suggestion of brotherhood or sorority.

Let me make my second assumption that we all do have a fair idea of Punjab's wedding customs. Thank you, Bollywood.

Focussing a bit more on my experience, let me share the bright sparks in the family, (not the only ones) were the kids, the young pack that danced well, did not get into fistcuffs or abuse, were simply engaged in lot of uninterrupted revelry while their parents showed off some of their strange seductive moves on the dance floor. Have you seen a man whacking another's guy's bum on Bollywood's favourite evening number Sheila? I have. The guy in question happens to be a doctor, who stays overseas (where else will Punjab send its sons, huh!)

Now the bit about the solemn connect. There's this place, a quiet dargah, as it is called, in a nondescript, tiny lane, where my grandmother went with her parents, and generations before that have been there. The guru, was a teacher in the madrassa, and the custom is that before every wedding, the first invitation card from the family goes there. We went there, and much to my surprise, it was neither crowded nor was it noisy. There's a 100-year old tree, where people have tied threads, not that I had any such inclinations, I was taken in by the calm, and the feeling of solitude. My epiphanic moments from the trip were here, mostly, and I do have few pictures, which are stacked up in my phone.

We made a quick trip to the Firozepur-Lahore border, but reached late when the day's march was over. We saw the bridge, lost connection on our phones because this was, in effect, the end of Northern Railways, and the border area packed with men in the military. We took a leap of faith, and ended up at the border, being escorted by polite army men, who took pity on a bunch of gasping young people, collectively starry eyed about the line that marks them away from their neighbour and shared history. Dinner was spent with a family of eight, a joint arrangement. One of the couples is part of an extended branch of grandma's pack, and let me add, I was down with stomach cramps and headache by then. The rich, thickly flavoured food, playing truant with my pollution-ridden stomach, there was no wedding happening there.