I Got Married

A little glimpse of THE DAY

And life hasn’t turned upside down, as I once anticipated… at least, not yet.

Marriage has always been a daunting concept to me. It’s not just about two people, it’s two families. And that’s where things often go wrong. I had a hard time finding a family that could meet even the most basic of my expectations.

In my experience, they were either too orthodox—trapped in traditions that didn’t allow for personal freedom—or so authoritative that you’d think twice before even breathing too loudly in front of them.

And then there were the men. The less said, the better. Most of them, frankly, seemed unbearable.

As someone who’s lived a life carefully distanced from the vicinity of males, the thought of suddenly sharing my space with one was absurd.

Sharing a room? A bed? A blanket? Ugh. The idea made me shudder. I mean, how does one even prepare for that? Like? “No, God, please no”

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For years, I doubted the institution of marriage. It seemed fragile, burdened by unrealistic expectations and societal pressure. So, when the time came for me to decide, I expected a drawn-out battle with my fears. And it's not that it was the first time I was doing mental gymnastics. To be frank, it was the second time. So, I was more tense about whether I was making the right decision or I should dodge this bullet that’d make me cry for the rest of my life.

Yet, surprisingly, I found myself saying yes without much hesitation. Maybe it’s because I got lucky. My husband and his family turned out to be kind, open-minded, and understanding. They didn’t feel like strangers imposing themselves into my life but like a supportive presence, allowing me to take this step at my own pace.

But there are things about the wedding I wish had been different.

First and foremost, I wish it had been a smaller event. An intimate gathering with just immediate family, a handful of people who genuinely mattered to us. Instead, it became this grand spectacle with five hundred guests. Five hundred! Half of them were complete strangers to me. It was overwhelming, like being lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Then there were the rituals—the haldi, the mehndi, the symbolic bowl of kheer before the wedding day. I understand they hold cultural significance, but to me, they felt unnecessary. They didn’t add meaning or joy to the experience, instead they were extremely tiring. I could physically feel my energy dropping bit by bit every second with the weight of these rituals. If I could’ve skipped them, I would have, without a second thought.

And the photographers. Let’s not forget the photographers. It wasn’t just about documenting the day; it was about staging the day. Every moment felt choreographed. “Look here, smile there, tilt your head, hold that pose.” It was exhausting. I didn’t feel like a bride enjoying her wedding; I felt like a prop in a never-ending photoshoot. If I could’ve made one rule, it would’ve been: no interfering photographers.

But again, my biggest wish remains the same—I wish it had been a smaller event.

When I think back to the wedding day, it’s mostly a blur. Everything moved so quickly. I remember entering the venue around 10 a.m. From that moment on, it was a whirlwind of rituals, greetings, and endless interactions. Faces blurred together, and time slipped away without me realizing it. Before I knew it, the sky had darkened, and it was past 6 p.m.

What stands out to me isn’t the gravity of leaving my family or stepping into a new chapter of life. It wasn’t the ceremony or the vows. It was that moment when I stepped out of the venue and saw the dark sky, realizing how much time had passed. It hit me harder than anything else. My brain felt like it short-circuited, unable to process a single coherent thought. It was as if the day had been condensed into fleeting snapshots, leaving me disoriented and emotionally drained.

It’s strange, isn’t it? The moments we expect to be the most memorable often leave us with fragmented recollections. I thought I’d remember every second of my wedding day, that it would be etched in my memory forever. Instead, I’m left with flashes: the hum of voices, the weight of rituals, the chaos of last-minute arrangements, and the overwhelming sense of time slipping away.

But at the end of the day, I guess, Marriage IS chaos.