There’s no stopping the wedding band
THE band culture has been part and parcel of Indian marriages since time immemorial. People engage bands to play tunes of popular Hindi film songs to entertain the baraat. Each member of the band party wears an attractive uniform. Their boundless energy is evident from their performance en route to the wedding venue. Members of the baraat joyfully shake a leg, even if some of them don’t really know how to dance. The bridegroom, seated on a ghodi (mare), watches this spectacle with a broad smile — after all, they are celebrating his special occasion.
Some members of the marriage party express their delight by showering new currency notes, many of which are handed directly to the bandmaster. He always remains alert; when the baraatis become rather generous with their moolah, he and his team continue playing the popular tunes more frequently, hoping to earn more money. In this way, the marriage procession slowly moves ahead, attracting onlookers.
The groom’s family often performs puja at a central chowk, which inevitably leads to a traffic jam. While some motorists wait patiently, others continuously honk in frustration. Earlier, marriage functions were usually held in a nearby dharamshala or community centre, but things have changed now.
Bands play two or three songs in front of the groom’s house, and soon after, the baraatis leave for the marriage palace in cars. There, the bride’s family waits for them with garlands. Once again, the groom is asked to sit on the mare, and the band begins playing filmi tunes, prompting the friends and relatives of the groom to dance enthusiastically and shower currency notes with gay abandon.
About four years ago, my daughter got married. The ceremony was held in a local marriage palace. The phere began around 2 am and continued till 5 am. I sat for the rituals with my wife, offering ahuti (oblations) into the havan kund, as directed by the Pandit. When the phere were finally over and it was time for the bidaai, the band members were ready to play the tune of the famous Rafi song from the movie Neel Kamal (1968): “Babul ki duayein leti ja, ja tujhko sukhi sansar mile...”
No sooner had the tune begun than I found myself unable to control my tears. It was an intensely emotional and painful moment for me to bid farewell to my daughter. My wife and I escorted our daughter and son-in-law to the flower-bedecked car. The band had performed its job to perfection.
