Kishore Singh: Foreign bodies, Indian wedding

You don't expect quiet when you come to India but the Jansens and Schmidts got rather more than they had bargained for when their half-week at a Goan resort coincided with that strange hybrid called an Indian wedding. Celebrations spilled on to the beach where the sun-lotioned and barely clad hotel guests found themselves outnumbered amid startlingly overdressed (and over-jewelled) wedding celebrants. Those few who "dressed down" for a Goa wedding in skirts and shorts still managed rather more sparkle and Swarovski than might be considered appropriate on a beach, but it was the music that had the Jansen and Schmidt ears protesting.
 

"I'd like ear muffs," I'd heard Mr Jansen ask at the front desk - hardly surprising given that the poolside where the mehendi had been organised "strictly between 12 noon and 2 p m" was the source of loud music that appeared to have been imported, along with the DJ, straight from Delhi. We met the woeful Jansens while checking in at 4 p m when, from the sound of things, the party was just warming up. Lunch was still laid, the music was going full blast, members of the wedding party were dancing, or singing, or both, making the European guests in their deckchairs marvel at their extraordinary energy, and hospitality, for they, too, were being plied with cocktails and platters of "snacks", so you couldn't be cavalier about the music while partaking of the spoils.

For the record, "lunch" morphed into "cocktails and dinner" at a lawn further away but still on the beach. It was a mystery how the wedding guests found the time to change - which they did, the outfits now more ostentatious - leading the Schmidts to wonder how many changes the guests had carried with them. Someone had thoughtfully lent them jackets and stoles, and they seemed torn between recording the bacchanalian revelries and looking on awe-struck as endless booze and food continued past midnight (when the first group of oldies drifted away), then 4 a m (when a few decided to check out whether the pool water was cold or warm, still fully dressed in their finery), and, finally, wound up around 6 a m in a couple of adjoining suites.

You'd think everyone would be wasted, but the roll-call for breakfast counted all heads plus a few more, the Jansens and Schmidts now a part of the bride's entourage. A few other hotel guests had joined the party but remained strangers to us, presumably being from the "boy's side". There were some rituals to be observed during the day for the bridal couple, so before lunch was served, most guests decided to meet up at any of the several bars spread through the resort, the youngsters preferring to pool together the resources of all the guest room minibars to make an evil punch. Typically, the Jansens and Schmidts were punctual to a fault (though somewhat oddly dressed) when it was time for the sunset wedding ceremonies to begin. They remained as bewildered when, a couple of hours late, it seemed entire families were getting married, if their presence beside the bride and groom on the mandap was any indication.

Elsewhere, of course, the feasting was on, and a tipsy Mrs Schmidt declared she hadn't eaten as much food during her entire Indian holiday as she had on that evening alone. Mr Jansen winked and asked if the entire clan intended to accompany the bride and groom on their honeymoon. His earmuffs, neglected since that first afternoon, lay flung carelessly in an adjoining chair.