An action-packed weekend back in the land of chips and curry. We caught a flight late on Thursday afternoon which should have got us to Cambridge in good time for a cordon bleu meal and a convivial evening chez J&C. A delay of nearly two hours meant the conviviality didn't begin till 10pm. Never mind, we got the sumptuous dinner anyway, cooked by la petite chefeuse as le maitre cuisinier was away on business.
A late night ensued, and thus we weren't up quite as early as intended for a shopping expedition into town. Wedding accessorizing was on the agenda, and a fashionable pink cardigan and a new pair of shoes did the trick for both of us, respectively. I also splashed out 16 quid on my first pair of spectacles. Now I can read what I'm writing, so no further excuse for churning out rubbish...
A quick drive down the M11 later, and we were effecting a perfectly timed rendezvous in our Ilford hotel with la belle-mère (la mienne that is, not the bride or groom's). Early evening, the groom arrived. His job for the evening - chauffeur. He drove us to the bride's house but obviously wasn't allowed in. In the back garden we rubbed turmeric on the bride, a Punjabi tradition that wouldn't go amiss in Western culture, ate, drank and watched as the assembled guests danced the night away.
A taxi got us back to the hotel by midnight and we were up early the next morning, waiting for our next chauffeur to arrive at eight-fifteen. He duly arrived just before nine, the time the wedding ceremony was due to start. It seems lateness is a Punjabi tradition much like the French. We eventually got to the gurdwara forty minutes later via an abortive detour to find a traditional veil for the groom. Half an hour later, the ceremonies finally began. First, milni, where the senior male relatives greet and welcome each other into the respective families. Then tea, samosas and sweets.
Then, head covered and feet shoeless, everybody eventually wandered into the temple and the wedding ceremony proper began, culminating in the "I pronounce you man & wife" moment, the passing of the happy couple four times round the guru granth sahib.
Our chauffeur for the day was also the organiser of the reception, so we left early for the venue and made an early start on the wine while he checked on arrangements. Other invitees soon started drifting in, and once all 500 odd guests were in place and making use of the free bar, the bride and groom made their entrance. They cut the cake, then we were served starters at table. Dancing entertainment followed, and then to the lively strains of Banghra, the bride and groom took to the floor for their first dance.
Then everyone else followed. Five hundred people on a dance floor the size of half a tennis court was quite a squeeze. Then again, perhaps I'm exaggerating, but it was hectic. In between times we squeezed in a delicious buffet curry main meal and the party eventually broke up soon after six-thirty. Seemed early, but there's something to be said for getting the hangover over and done with before you go to bed.
The following morning, wedding over except for the close family event of seeing the bride off from the parental home, we checked out of the hotel and were forced to organise our own transport for the first time in the weekend. The Tube into London it was, where la bienheureuse et la belle-mère spent a pleasant few hours at Camden Lock market, while I peeled off to rendezvous with JW in the pub before watching the heroes in red and white stroll to a comfortable victory in the spring sunshine.
Thence it was back to Cambridge for a Turkish dinner with most of the Meribel mob and special added ingredient, Miss H. Very nice it was too, but most were too tired to take up JeB's suggestion of jazz and half-pints of whisky afterwards in the Bun Shop. A mid-morning Monday flight got us back home the next day. The end of a lovely weekend.
