I adjusted my camera lens to capture the spectacle of the wedding ceremony. The sacred fire lay in the center of the stage. Hot ribbons of light danced in synchronization with the rhythm of the feet marching around it. The bride and the groom held hands. Her hand-embroidered crimson ghaghra (ornamental skirt) and his embellished ivory kurta (collarless shirt) were tied together by a thread as they went seven times round the fire, each one signifying a different marital vow. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the groom attempting to trip the bride. She reciprocated by subtly stepping on his foot. Of course, all that the camera captured was the seamless marriage ceremony.

At the same time, the pundit’s (priest) chants reverberated through the tall ceilings of the hall. I zoomed in on his wrinkled face, adorned with his long, white beard. The creases on his forehead deepened and a vein popped in his neck as he recited mantras with conviction. In the Sanskrit language, he prayed for the lifelong well-being of the couple. Clearly, he had performed this ceremony a thousand times. Guests watched him reverently. Hidden beneath the pile of flowers was a piece of paper with the words scribbled on it. I watched attentively as the pundit eyed it every so often to ensure he was sticking to the script. No one else paid attention.

They say that a Hindu marriage is between two families, rather than two individuals; the 1200-person turnout attested to the truth of this. As relatives and companions conversed amicably, I captured wide grins, firm handshakes and warm embraces. Behind the cordiality of public faces, I spotted not-so-subtle scowls, cheeky tittle-tattle, exasperated eye-rolls. In a hall full of people who are outwardly affectionate to each other, who is to know how many mothers had to explain to their children that the woman they just hugged is their father’s second cousin’s daughter-in-law?

I took a wide-angle shot of the buffet before the crowd moved off in different directions: children at the pasta counter, twenty-year-olds at the chaat (street food) counter, old diabetic men at the dessert counter. With a shallow-depth-of-field shot, I captured the chicken tikka which looked cooked to perfection, its edges slightly burnt. When families look through wedding photos years hence, the quarrelsome vegetarian grandmother who demanded a pristine, meatless pan be used to cook her food will be nowhere apparent. 

It was time for the bride’s private photoshoot. I focused my camera to capture the intricate mehendi (henna tattoo), reaching from her fingers to above her elbows. Somewhere hidden in this design was her husband’s name; it is said to be good luck if he can spot it. Large sets of red and white bangles clung to both her wrists. If only I could capture on film the tension I felt in the room. The bride had just emerged victorious from a yelling contest with her stylist: they could not agree on which way to pin up her dupatta (ornamental scarf). Camera at my side, I watched silently as the stylist left the room, his face flushed with anger.

 I spotted the dynamic duo who was behind this entire ceremony: the wedding planners. The one-woman-one-man pair covered all the bases. Dressed elegantly in western formals, they held a glass each of Bombay Sapphire on the rocks. Eyes gleaming with pride, they watched as their designs became reality. Gracefully, they bridge the gap between the world in front of the camera and the world behind, for one cannot exist without the other. They had delivered what they’d promised, a spectacular production, one that both families would relive, thanks to the photo albums passed down from one generation to another. I looked more closely. The knowing looks on their faces concealed the series of calamities leading to this grand event: countless arguments amongst family members, constant haggling with the caterers, multiple altering sessions with the designers. 

Mediators between the disparate worlds on the two sides of the camera lens, the wedding planners witness all aspects of Indian culture: the most infuriating and the most exciting.