Our first day as Mr. and Mrs. Dutta

The day after we got married we all flew to Ahmedabad, to visit my hubby’s paternal home. A big reception party had been planned for the same evening to celebrate our wedding. It was a day of firsts for me. It was my first visit to his house and the first day of our life together as husband and wife.

Early in the morning I dressed up in the heavy red zari bordered banarasi silk saree which I had worn for our wedding and left for the airport. It felt weird to be at the airport in my wedding saree and as can be expected I was attracting more attention than I ever wanted to. After some flight overloading drama half the family managed to board the direct flight while the rest had to take a longer flight from Delhi to Mumbai and then to Ahmedabad.

 
A lot of guests were waiting to meet us at the house. My mother-in-law gave us a warm welcome, greeted us as per traditional customs. I still remember the cheerful voices, laughter, the fragrance of the flowers and us standing at the door with my feet soaked in alta (red liquid), holding a fish in one hand and my brother-in-law helping me with the saree. I found it funny standing at the entrance with a dead slimy fish in one hand. Although I had been a fish eater throughout my life, the look of the fish made me giggle and sensing my thoughts my mother-in-law started giggling too.

Close family and friends were invited for a special meeting with the ‘nayi bahu’, followed by lunch. “Boubhat” is of special significance for us Bengalis, which marks the first meal of the new bride at her in-laws house. From this day on the husband promises to take responsibility of his wife’s needs of food and clothing. As per the custom my husband gifted me a saree and offered my first rice at his house. My lunch included various Bengali delicacies but I could not eat much.

After lunch I got up to wash my hands and my husband was keen to escort me to the bathroom and in the process show me the room in he had occupied as a child. He was keenly describing each item present in the room and the modifications done to welcome me into his life. His single bed too had a partner now in the form on another single bed which were joined together to make a double bed.

 

He showed me his wooden study table, which he had used during his school years. He told me how he had once gathered a lot of stick on tattoos (the ones free with boomer chewing gum we bought as children) and instead of pasting it on himself, he had pasted them all to his study table which was fairly new at that time. Fearing that he would get scolded for doing so he tried to remove the tattoos by scratching them off with a sharp object but had failed miserably leaving behind ugly scratches. I noticed the scratches and a few colourful superhero tattoos which a lot of us had collected and boasted about when we were children. 

He was so engrossed in telling me about his childhood (and of course he could not take his eyes off me) that he never realized that he had actually walked into the bathroom with me. I washed my hands, still listening to his stories and we were about to step out when I heard voices from his bedroom. My side of the family including my parents, uncles, aunts and cousins who were expected to arrive had arrived and poured into the room to place all the wedding gifts from my family to his family. I could hear my family asking where I was (naturally curious to know how their newly married daughter was doing).

 

We looked at each other, standing still in front of the washbasin, now quiet and listening to the commotion outside the door and wondering what to do next. Stepping out of the bathroom together would have looked odd but hiding inside the bathroom was also not an option. So without wasting another moment we stepped out. To my husband’s disadvantage my father happened to be standing just outside the door and being the unabashed person that he is, he asked my husband what we were doing in the bathroom to which my embarrassed husband just replied that he had taken me to get my hands washed. My father did not look too convinced by the explanation since his daughter had been very independent and did not need anyone’s help to wash her hands.

 

Not only was it a day of firsts for me, but also for my husband, having become the son-in-law to a strict but loving father. It’s no easy joke to marry the only child of a fiercely protective father. Kudos to you Mr Dutta!

 

P.S. Till this day, whenever we get home from my parents place at night, my husband sends a text message to my father to inform him that we have reached home safely.