Undesirable contrasts

by Anja Albrizio (France)

Making a local connection India

I was so blinded by bright colours and the shiny smiles of those three days that I had not seen the hopeless dark just beside me. Living abroad for the past three years from my home country - Italy - gave me the pretentiousness to believe that I am open minded and embracing cultural diversity. Until I was swept up by the plethora of chaos, aromas and crowds that reigns Mumbai. It took a while at first, but its vibrant spirit and relentless motion conquered me fast. I was sitting on a couch at Amarson in Bandra, a nice fancy traditional clothing shop, next to my trip mates, realising how even buying clothes turned into a unique experience here. I was surrounded by ten shop assistants that would propose to me the most beautiful dresses to wear at the wedding which I was going to attend two days after. Even though I was aware of their selling objective, I couldn’t help but feel so honoured and privileged of the warm welcome that this country had given me. After five hours of trying out outfits that we surely overpaid, we felt ready for our friends’ celebration of love. If you’ve ever been to an Indian marriage, you must know that it’s one of the most overwhelming and extraordinary experiences that you could possibly have. The concept of measure is totally left aside and replaced by too much of everything: food, dresses, dances and jewels. It is the most explicit and sincere celebration of life. We left Mumbai in two buses that took the 50 European guests to the wedding location, Lonavala, a hill spot encircled by green valleys around two hours away from Mumbai. Sequences of skyscrapers and office buildings that were rapidly took over by an expanse of miserable neighbourhoods showed to our eyes in its purest and naked form. I felt guilty, sorry and powerless for that unfair disparity. Yet, it felt far away, like I was watching it from a movie. We got to the resort where most of the wedding’s celebrations were going to take place and we were welcomed by professional dancers, drummers and family members that were dancing all over the places. Astonishingly beautiful and radiant as never before, our friend wife-to-be walked down the stairs to give us the official welcome. This was the beginning of three days that I will never forget. The first celebration included us dancing for the bride with a Bollywood dance that we learned in a 30 minutes training session with the wedding’s choreographer. Needless to say, we were embarrassing compared to the locals whose moves and sense of rhythm was so instantaneous and harmonious. Then, women had their hennas done and they taught us that the darker it gets on your skin, the more your future husband is going to love you. We then ate and danced, again and again until we got to the day of the real religious celebration. In the most stunning and elegant dresses, all the guests got transported by the dances welcoming the groom who was making his entrance on a horse. Our friend’s family gifted each single one of us with a pashmina to symbolise the welcome and love of their family for us. Then the ritual began where our two friends walked in circles around the Holy Fire, committing to one another for 7 lives. After the first few moments in which tears took over joy as the bride’s family members were contemplating her breaking boundaries with her own family to join a new one, dances began again and lasted until our feet could not stand our weight anymore. While we were finally walking back to our hotel room, we turned our heads to the other side of the balcony, and there they were, the waitresses, receptionists, dancers and whoever worked to make our days so special, sleeping on the nude floor wrapped up only in a thin layer of a sleeping bag, kissed by the subtle and tender moon-light. Here it was, the crude reality that my eyes saw but my heart kept rejecting, as closer as ever, living and breathing ten meters from our four-star apartment room.