It is the pictures.
I had two weddings. I would think that that would be more than enough for most people, unless they are Elizabeth Taylor and I hear, even she’s getting sick of it these days. But, as I figured recently, I am not most people. Therefore, I want one more wedding, this time to do it all right (groom will be my current husband, FYI, so I can safely concentrate on other things). Which is basically to focus on the wedding and not on the person I am marrying.
This, in fact, is the culprit. It is also my inspiration to go for plan B in case I don’t make it as “world famous, renowned” author/super crocheter of the year, every year/fantastic mommy of the decade, till I die. (If you were world famous and renowned, you would be known, wouldn’t you? And hence wouldn’t need the qualifiers to introduce you.) I want to be a wedding photographer of his ilk. I may or may not have his exact talent but I want to photograph weddings without everyone at the do knowing they are being photographed. Preeti and I discussed this before our individual babies came along. Maybe it will happen.
At both my weddings, I was dewy-eyed, giddy and ecstatic that I was marrying the man I loved. The first time, well, at that point I honestly, and truly loved him. The second time I married the man of my dreams, and knock on wood, he still is that man. 99 per cent of the time at least.
Both times I did not coordinate the colour of my fake green-eye contacts to the colours in the venue. I did not worry about two guests who hated each other sitting together having a slug fest with the wedding wine. I did not think about classy wedding favours that get lost the minute the guest leaves the do. I did not think about wedding photographers or a designer wedding cake that used orchids whose petals were crushed by underpaid Thai children imported from, well, Thailand. Or a funky pre-wedding party with a Klingon theme. Or an offbeat wow-inspiring venue like the dark side of the moon or deep under water. And, you know, I really am not that old; except for the 20 year olds who come here, I know you’ll agree. I just didn’t think the wedding was as important as the marriage, fool that I was. And going by my track record, what a pity if I decided it was time to change husbands, right?
These days, I see all these really nice weddings — I hope the bride and groom will make them loving, lasting marriages – and I see even more gorgeous pictures and it gets me thinking, really, what the hell was I thinking, concentrating on the groom and not on the wedding?! The second time around, stupid as I was, I should have paid more attention, spent more and planned even more. But the nonsense romantic that I am, I thought, hey, it’s my second time, I shouldn’t spend so much, so lets keep it small and simple. And, mostly, my parents went with that and didn’t encourage any pomp and show.
It was only my mad aunt — the same one whose behaviour greatly disturbs me these days — who said no, so what if it’s your second time? You should celebrate it just as if it were your first. But unfortunately, it was a little late for good, sane advice like that (the eve of my wedding), and I was left feeling, damn! She’s so right.
And truly, this was a wedding that should have been celebrated well. Because it is a marriage that gave me my perfect man, a marriage where our lovely, seriously crazy kids happened and a marriage that will never age. And it deserved all the fun, glamour and preceding weightloss that go with a regular wedding.
So the pictures are really crappy and I am cringing thinking of what the kids are going to say when they grow up and see their Mama’s hep wedding pictures and my really odd ones. But the wedding, per se? It was perfect. Just perfect.
Small, sweet, fragrant and pure.
That we exchanged vows in Malayalam will always be a shock to me because I cannot pronounce big Malayalam words easily and I wasn’t warned (thanks, Mathew!) that I was going to have to say words that had more than three very complicated syllables, holding Mathew’s hand*.
I still, to this date, don’t know what I vowed to do in the marriage. And I am pretty sure Mathew tricks me, every once in a stubborn while, into doing things by referring to the Vows. “But, but, but… you promised! In church too.” Okay.
Still, I want nice pictures.
*Mathew held my hand and steadily looked into my eyes throughout the exchange of vows, with a soft smile on his lovely face. It still makes me squirm and it still curls my toes.