On a cold January day in 1990, Hare came into my office to say he would be going to the wedding of his niece next week without his family. I said adopt me and I’ll go along. The rush was on to get a visa, shots, and shuffle other plans. At the news, my brother Rich was intently interested and Hare agreed to make it a tour India. Hare had never seen much of his native country. Having left after college, he returned only for family events.
The short plan was to fly into Bombay and fly out of New Delhi three weeks later. The reality of this strange place came after our landing in Bombay. The interior carrier, Indian Airlines did not have a computerized ticketing system and flights were visual, limited to daylight hours and cloudless skies. This taught patience and flexibility. Good weather the next day got us to Madras. A taxi ride to get us to Mamallapuram taught us the roadways were the most dangerous in the world. This seaside area got us oriented into the color, caste system, and temples of the Hindu. A roadside magician/snake charmer was an intro to the bazaar. Water consumption was out of the question so it was tea in the morning and beer thereafter. Sanitation did not exist. Out of necessity, I became ‘potty trained’ to contain myself throughout the travels of the day and find relief only in the hotel room. We were very fortunate to have Hare at restaurants to query and dictate food preparation and freshness.
We flew from Madras to Vishakhapatnam. We were picked up by Hare’s nephew for a 190 km drive to Rayagada, the home of the bride’s family. The wedding was into the first of a three-day festivity. Hare’s brother, a doctor, and father of the bride was hosting a major celebration. His third daughter and dowry would financially cripple most fathers. Yes, the nuptials were arranged by their families for a proper match. The extended family and community members in attendance were witnesses to extend the responsibility of the couple to make it work.
The following evening the procession of the groom, his family, and friends arrived with music, pomp, and circumstance. This doubled the size of the party. The bride had been secluded with a group of women for an extensive homily on marital responsibilities. The groom was shuttled off for his orientation in sessions by men and then women. It was four AM before the priest bought the two together and performed a lengthy dissertation that left me nodding off. Preeti and Kumuo disappeared before sunrise but the food and guests remained well into the next day.
We had brought some clothing from home to hand out and a family member agreed to help direct our gifts. It turned out to
be a twenty-kilometer hike to a remote village. Isolated tribal settlements are common throughout this country. This agrarian group had a distinctive nose ring. Woven baskets were a small commercial enterprise but subsistence farming was the base. I would guess their numbers were one hundred in about ten thatched-roof mud huts. Most of the men were out working in the fields. Amongst the women and children, we handed out our western clothing. Looks of dismay made me realize they were much more comfortable wrapped in cloth. We were beneficiaries of their hospitality.
The short plan was to fly into Bombay and fly out of New Delhi three weeks later. The reality of this strange place came after our landing in Bombay. The interior carrier, Indian Airlines did not have a computerized ticketing system and flights were visual, limited to daylight hours and cloudless skies. This taught patience and flexibility. Good weather the next day got us to Madras. A taxi ride to get us to Mamallapuram taught us the roadways were the most dangerous in the world. This seaside area got us oriented into the color, caste system, and temples of the Hindu. A roadside magician/snake charmer was an intro to the bazaar. Water consumption was out of the question so it was tea in the morning and beer thereafter. Sanitation did not exist. Out of necessity, I became ‘potty trained’ to contain myself throughout the travels of the day and find relief only in the hotel room. We were very fortunate to have Hare at restaurants to query and dictate food preparation and freshness.
We flew from Madras to Vishakhapatnam. We were picked up by Hare’s nephew for a 190 km drive to Rayagada, the home of the bride’s family. The wedding was into the first of a three-day festivity. Hare’s brother, a doctor, and father of the bride was hosting a major celebration. His third daughter and dowry would financially cripple most fathers. Yes, the nuptials were arranged by their families for a proper match. The extended family and community members in attendance were witnesses to extend the responsibility of the couple to make it work.
The following evening the procession of the groom, his family, and friends arrived with music, pomp, and circumstance. This doubled the size of the party. The bride had been secluded with a group of women for an extensive homily on marital responsibilities. The groom was shuttled off for his orientation in sessions by men and then women. It was four AM before the priest bought the two together and performed a lengthy dissertation that left me nodding off. Preeti and Kumuo disappeared before sunrise but the food and guests remained well into the next day.We had brought some clothing from home to hand out and a family member agreed to help direct our gifts. It turned out to
be a twenty-kilometer hike to a remote village. Isolated tribal settlements are common throughout this country. This agrarian group had a distinctive nose ring. Woven baskets were a small commercial enterprise but subsistence farming was the base. I would guess their numbers were one hundred in about ten thatched-roof mud huts. Most of the men were out working in the fields. Amongst the women and children, we handed out our western clothing. Looks of dismay made me realize they were much more comfortable wrapped in cloth. We were beneficiaries of their hospitality.
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