Marriages are Made in Chennai

You don’t realise the value of what you have until you start missing it. This is not a phrase out of a Robin Sharma but a deep-seated emotion of a Chennaite living abroad and missing Chennai. Am sure, the phrase ‘missing chennai’ tickles many a thought amongst us, but what struck me now was a wedding invite from my friend in Bangkok addressed  for the function.

The card was simple and worded in Thai. Hence, the invitation to us was more verbal. The card, I presume must have read who weds who and the mention of venue, date and time with a small note inviting us for the lunch thereafter. I could guess this from the placeholders and nothing more. It did not have the multi fold, bi linguistic double shaded pinkish yellow mix of a typical Muhurtam card that am used to at Chennai. The long wordy lineage of the couple to be, interspersed with the blessings of the chosen Gods were equally missing. Even more conspicuous in its absence was the white outer envelope with a caricature of Meenakshi Sundareswarar. Many a time, this cover doubles up as an envelope for the Moi, thereby saving the cost of a gift envelope in our marriages!!

With all these missing intricacies but still upholding the respect it deserves, we held the card as we reached the wedding hall on the D Day. A traditional ‘Sawadee’ (Welcome in Thai) greeted us as we entered the hall. Missing were the Panir and Karkandu. Dressed in exquisite Thai silk were the ladies whose ears were missing the Vaira kal’ that makes many a Chennai aunty enough reason to start a conversation of interest (not common though) with her husband. The background music was Thai instrumental and I missed my Nadaswaram. The hall was silent except for the music. Loud in silence were the wonderful gossips that add music to the background in our weddings. Gossips that many a time revolve around the ‘Just back from States’ (a syndrome as I would put it) amongst the ladies or the topic on skyrocketing Chennai real estate amongst men, many of whom are sitting on ‘Housing board goldmines’. No sight of beautiful young girls in pavadai or the boys playing cricket outside. Missing too were the delightful bothering of hosts who keep asking us Tiffin sapitacha or Kapi kudichacha more than half a dozen times making our lips give way for a half hearted acceptance even as it yearns for a second helping.