<p>The wedding season made me think about our Great Indian Aunty: our biggest influence on the business of briding and grooming. We have all met her. Our very first glimpse of her caused us to burst into tears, with inconsolable wails. This is when her beaming face appeared over the cradle as we lay in newborn form. She knew right away that the modern name Zoya or Yuvi your parents chose for you was all wrong. “NO names beginning at the end of the alphabet!” And you probably got named Aayushmati (with two As) or Aaayushmaan (with several As) ensuring you were always first in the class register, first to get into IIT, and first to get married in your gang. In fact, she’s probably opened her own matrimonial website called aunty.com — to match her nieces to other people’s nephews faster than you can match a 2x2 blouse piece with your new Kanjeevaram saree.</p>.<p><strong>Meet my aunt Vijipedia</strong></p>.<p>My own family lives in awe and fear of this species of aunty, whose name is Viji, the shorter name for Vijipedia. She knows everything, everyone, to mastermind South <br>Indian weddings. A dozen cousins’ marriages may have remained illegal in the eyes of god, had Aunty Viji not intervened and placed the exact number of laddoos before the right deity at the right time.</p>.<p>She has prevented marriages from crumbling by knowing how many papads have to be crumbled over the groom’s head, as this auspicious Tamilian ceremony could determine the entire future of the couple’s happiness. She also has an immediate counter-mantra to chant, in case the bride nervously kicks the pot of rice with her left leg instead of the right, while entering a new home.</p>.<p>I dare say Western societies also have their share of aunties, probably nicknamed Meddlesome Matilda and Embarrassing Emma, trying to overrule everyone at a family wedding. But our Bollywood has institutionalised this character with hit movies like Ek Main Aur Ek Tu, devoting an entire song to this bossy lady, called ‘Auntyji, get up and dance.’ And dance they will. My aunt Viji knows amazing Bhangra moves to get even our veshti-clad thathas grooving on the floor.</p>.<p><strong>Auntyji takes charge</strong></p>.<p>I recently encountered this creation of god (yes the same god who also creates tiny rosebuds and butterflies) at a shopping mall. Shopping Maul may be a better phrase, as she was on a rampage carrying countless bags — and I’m not even counting the three natural bags in her midriff area. “Hello Aunty Dolly!” I said. “So what’s in all those bags?” “Bags!” she said triumphantly. “I got laolee imported return gifts for my neighbour’s brother’s grand niece’s destination wedding: fake Gussi bags on Sale, nice no? But only 20 I got; never mind, I’ll ask my sister in Dilli to get 300 more from Sarojini Market. Even their full price is cheaper than this shop’s half price!”</p>.<p>Aunty Dolly waddled off excitedly and it was only when I passed the Gucci showroom that the penny dropped. </p>.<p>Meanwhile, there’s little one can do at the next wedding season coming up, except swallow a strong dose of aunty-biotics, and when Aunty so commands — just get up and dance!</p>.<p><em>(He Said/She Said is a monthly column on gender issues — funny side up. Reach the author at indubee8@yahoo.co.in)</em></p>
<p>The wedding season made me think about our Great Indian Aunty: our biggest influence on the business of briding and grooming. We have all met her. Our very first glimpse of her caused us to burst into tears, with inconsolable wails. This is when her beaming face appeared over the cradle as we lay in newborn form. She knew right away that the modern name Zoya or Yuvi your parents chose for you was all wrong. “NO names beginning at the end of the alphabet!” And you probably got named Aayushmati (with two As) or Aaayushmaan (with several As) ensuring you were always first in the class register, first to get into IIT, and first to get married in your gang. In fact, she’s probably opened her own matrimonial website called aunty.com — to match her nieces to other people’s nephews faster than you can match a 2x2 blouse piece with your new Kanjeevaram saree.</p>.<p><strong>Meet my aunt Vijipedia</strong></p>.<p>My own family lives in awe and fear of this species of aunty, whose name is Viji, the shorter name for Vijipedia. She knows everything, everyone, to mastermind South <br>Indian weddings. A dozen cousins’ marriages may have remained illegal in the eyes of god, had Aunty Viji not intervened and placed the exact number of laddoos before the right deity at the right time.</p>.<p>She has prevented marriages from crumbling by knowing how many papads have to be crumbled over the groom’s head, as this auspicious Tamilian ceremony could determine the entire future of the couple’s happiness. She also has an immediate counter-mantra to chant, in case the bride nervously kicks the pot of rice with her left leg instead of the right, while entering a new home.</p>.<p>I dare say Western societies also have their share of aunties, probably nicknamed Meddlesome Matilda and Embarrassing Emma, trying to overrule everyone at a family wedding. But our Bollywood has institutionalised this character with hit movies like Ek Main Aur Ek Tu, devoting an entire song to this bossy lady, called ‘Auntyji, get up and dance.’ And dance they will. My aunt Viji knows amazing Bhangra moves to get even our veshti-clad thathas grooving on the floor.</p>.<p><strong>Auntyji takes charge</strong></p>.<p>I recently encountered this creation of god (yes the same god who also creates tiny rosebuds and butterflies) at a shopping mall. Shopping Maul may be a better phrase, as she was on a rampage carrying countless bags — and I’m not even counting the three natural bags in her midriff area. “Hello Aunty Dolly!” I said. “So what’s in all those bags?” “Bags!” she said triumphantly. “I got laolee imported return gifts for my neighbour’s brother’s grand niece’s destination wedding: fake Gussi bags on Sale, nice no? But only 20 I got; never mind, I’ll ask my sister in Dilli to get 300 more from Sarojini Market. Even their full price is cheaper than this shop’s half price!”</p>.<p>Aunty Dolly waddled off excitedly and it was only when I passed the Gucci showroom that the penny dropped. </p>.<p>Meanwhile, there’s little one can do at the next wedding season coming up, except swallow a strong dose of aunty-biotics, and when Aunty so commands — just get up and dance!</p>.<p><em>(He Said/She Said is a monthly column on gender issues — funny side up. Reach the author at indubee8@yahoo.co.in)</em></p>