The Great Indian Wedding part one

What the west fails to understand is that an Indian wedding is not so much a union of souls as it is a clash of wills. Anyone who has been through an Indian wedding will realise that it is not the couple that gets married but the respective families which marries you. As such, it is not your day, but your parents'.

The idea of social standing is not unique to the Indian culture but it could be said that no other culture defends it as vigorously. One needs to save face, and the concept of a small informal function to save money and ensure intimacy is completely alien to the average asian family. The armbands worn by some Christians with the reminder "What would Jesus do?" or "WWJD" could probably be replaced by an 18 Carat gold bangle with the inscription "What will the people say?" on the arm of someone from an asian background.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that our funeral services are really modest affairs, but a family wedding is the one occasion when we can show the rest of the community what we have and what we are prepared to spend. It is thought that "Bling" is of Afro-Caribbean origin. Having been to many asian weddings, I'd like to challenge that. Western couples spend money on rings, and traditionally the value of an engagement ring should be approximately that of the groom's monthly salary. Indian families in Cape Town need to buy similar rings, but also need to fork out the cash for gold Indian jewellery and TWO outfits for the bride. The guest lists are enormous, often greater than 1000. Those who are not invited, will be offended. We do not have the drunken brawl, but what we do have is the family feud you take to your grave.

Recently, catering for the wedding reception has been taken care of by prfessional companies, with elegant tableware and extensive menus. My childhood memories of weddings in Cape Town are of wooden tables covered in rolls of white paper, folding chairs and plastic bowls of steaming Akhni with a sideplate to serve the food. No posh fruit punch in crystal glasses then, but frosty 200ml bottles of Marshall's or Amla soft drinks. The pineapple flavour was always popular, but there were the die-hard iron brew fans. Every table had a bottle-opener. There were no waiters in ridiculous waistcoats then, just family members forming a human chain to serve all of the tables and respond to calls of "Chicha, bring nog aartappel!". Before the advent of the wet napkin (or more recently the lemon-scented linen napkin warmed in the microwave) we tore off strips of the white paper on the tables to clean our hands. Remember, no fancy silverware either so everyone (including the obligatory token white family) ate with their hands. We didn't have desserts, no fancy cakes or little heart-shaped ice-creams. A polystyrene cup filled with hot sweet tea which had been brewing for hours was usually available in the foyer, poured from yellow enamel kettles (probably the same ones used to wash guest's hands earlier). Any domestic efforts to replicate the flavour of the legendary "kargana tea" were bound to be met with failure.