Headline October 11, 2018/ '' 'THE BRIDAL TREE OF LIFE' ''

'' 'THE BRIDAL TREE OF LIFE' ''

MY FIANCE would find his wedding outfit back in Delhi, thanks to reconnaissance trips his parents conducted while he and I went to on a three-night jaunt to Mumbai, where I bought a blush pink Falguni Shane Peacock bridal lehanga that outshone the one from mall.

We returned to more crowded Delhi than the one we left. Two weeks into our trip, my future cousin by marriage, his parents and his girlfriend arrived, which meant there were now 11 people sharing a three bedroom apartment.

The teakettle in the kitchen started whistling started whistling at 5:30 each morning, showers ran cold after the first three.

Family breakfasts of samosas, masala scrambled eggs and many, many cups of coffee got us to laugh about whatever funny thing had happened the day before - like me telling an Uber driver, ''No habla Hindi.''

There remained the the matter of the invitations, whose production my fiance and future father-in-law insisted we check on in person. ''We can't just have them email us a proof 2''. I asked, dreading a trip back to Old Delhi.

But in addition to the invitation savants, that ancient part of the city also contained the Chandni Chowk district, where I could find an outfit for our sangeet - the night of music and dancing that precedes a Hindu wedding.

We piled back into the metro and then into rickshaws. I grumbled as we dodged mud puddles and scooters and stray dogs. Through an alley, up a dark, steep staircase, in an airless room where a  graphic-designer worked on a Windows desktop that couldn't have been made more recently that 1999, I understood.

We had to sit there and review the invitation line by line. This part pf town valued clients who who communicated in person rather than over a Wi-Fi.

Afterward, we hustled down the streets of Chandani Chowk, the American born among us is awe of the Sabyasaschi knockoffs dangling from doorways.

At Indu Fashions , where shoppers remove their shoes, sit on the floor and assess outfits that salesmen unfurl in front of them, I brought the first thing I tried on : a peacock-colored gown with  a mesh back and gold embroidery that felt scratch but looked too regal to return to the rack.

Our invitations would arrive a month late owing to a fire and subsequent strike that derailed business in Old Delhi; they'd cost more to main than they had to produce. I'd have second thought about the  Chandani Chowk gown because it required heels that made me an inch taller than my husband-to-be.

But a funny thing happened abroad that continued back home. After years of calling my fiance's parents Uncle and Auntie. I started calling them Chacha and Chachi, which I thought meant 'uncle' and 'aunt' in Hindi. I was so proud of myself.

The day before my May wedding, my best friend from college, who's more versed in Hindi that I, pointed out that ''Chachi'' is actually a term reserved for for your dad's younger brother's wife. My usage was incorrect on so many levels. I was horrified.

The day after the wedding, I apologized to my mother-in-law. She laughed and said ''I thought it was  kind of funny, but then you kept doing it and it sounded nice.

I didn't want to be inaccurate. I asked her what I should call her, now that I was officially her daughter-in law.

Her answer : MOM!

With respectful dedication to all the *would-be-brides and grooms* in India, and then the world over. See Ya all ''register'' on wssciw.blogspot.com - The World Students Society and Twitter-!E-WOW!  -the Ecosystem 2011:

'''Brides & Grooms'''

Good Night and God Bless

SAM Daily Times - the Voice of the Voiceless