During my last few weeks of my time in India I had the great pleasure of being invited to a wedding by my friend Jay, a cook at the yoga shala. One day Jay approached me and handed me the most lavish invitation I'd ever seen. It was bright red with golden lettering. I still have it tucked away in my "things from around the world" box that I've saved over the years. Jay approached me:
Jay: "My brother will have beautiful wedding and you are invited.
Confused I said: "...but Jay, I've never met your brother, why is he inviting me to his wedding?"
Jay: " It doesn't matter. This is how we do it here. Everyone can come. We invite whole city!
Me: Alright, but I only have my yoga training clothes to wear, is that ok?
Jay: No problem
...and just like that, I accepted what would be an invitation to a wild and memorable evening.
Many of my friends were invited also. In total there were 9 of us from the shala that would be going. Our only obstacle was transportation. How would we get there? Our friends, the local boys who ran the yoga shala were not perturbed. They managed to wrangle together 3 scootys. 3 each per scooty. Normally, this was't a completely crazy idea. Throughout my time in India I piggy backed on scootys with people all the time, only having had a few minor accidents. Furthermore, the locals were pros. Many times I saw whole families of 5 on one scooty. It was like the classic "How many clowns can you fit in a car" gag, only in real life, happening all the time. What made this particular scooty ride different and more dangerous was the fact that we'd be leaving the city and its small safe roads, taking to the highway. 3 people per scooty, no helmets, and each scooty a driver that seemed to have a death wish.
Personally, I'm not much of a speed demon. Unfortunately for me, my driver was an insane boy who needed to prove his bravado. We were zipping in and out of traffic, making formations with the other scootys, clapping hands with the other scootys, and played a version of scooty tag - all the while flying down the highway. It was all so irresponsible and definitely crossed over the line of out right stupidity. There'd be no dangerous crashes on this journey, but a few weeks later one of the crazy drivers ended up having a bad crash while my friend was riding. Their bodies were riddled with cuts and burns from having fallen and sliding on a rock filled asphalt. Half of their bodies were scabbed over. It was an unsettling sight. But anyways, no bad crashes on this night.
We arrived at the wedding severely underdressed. I had not considered any clothes for a wedding. None of us did. At this point in my travels I was ultra minimalistic, having only brought about 10 shirts and a few pairs of shorts. A suit for a wedding didn't make the list. We arrived in our training clothes while the other guests were dressed in their best. No one seemed to mind our lack of preparation though. Entering the grounds of the wedding was like entering an improvised city that was in the midst of celebration. It was a spectacular sight. Many decorations popped with bright colors, the music constantly tantalized the body into moving, and there was tongue tingling foods of all kinds. My guess is that there was many hundreds of people in attendance.
After having sampled each and every food, it was time to dance myself clean. After entering the dance floor, I'd end up remaining there in an ecstatic state of dance without pause the whole night. It was as if I was stepping into a vortex that I couldn't escape. A vortex of movement, ecstasy, and smiles. I kept wanting to take a break but couldn't manage to pull myself away. The energy was too good. Everyone was in the same joy filled mood. Everyone was celebrating without reserve. I remember thinking, "Damn, Indian people know how to party." I still stand by those words.
We danced and danced and danced. In the end, my friends and I couldn't keep up with the wedding goers. After hours of dancing, there seemed to be no end in sight. I was drenched in sweat and my energy waning. The locals didn't seem to be slowing down. As midnight approached some of them seemed to just be starting. There came a moment where all of my friends and I, panting from exhaustion, made eye contact and signaled to each other that it was time to go. We had used all of our energy and now wanted, no - needed rest. After all, we had to wake up and embark on another intense day of yoga training. There ain't no rest for the wicked. The ride home was the opposite of the ride there. Everyone was dead. There was no talking or wild scooty maneuvers. Just the silence of the night and the hum of the scootys as we buzzed back to the city of Rishikesh exhausted and fulfilled.
On the way home, my friend Cole and I ditched the others and headed to the Ganges river to finish our evening. It was past midnight. The normally noisy and chaotic sounds of the city were at bay. Just the lull of the river. I lit up a "bidi" (an Indian cigarette) and shared a moment of reflection with Cole. We shared our hopes, our dreams, and all the things in between. Time would tell that Cole and I would share many more intimate conversations and that India wouldn't be the last country that we'd explore together. For us, this was just the beginning...
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