Bombay 'upper crust', 1967: we reached the Bombay Cricket Club without further incident. Our host’s wife was already there.
1,200 guests were invited to the wedding reception. The groom’s father had hired and flown in from New York a nine-piece jazz band. There were also Bengal dancers, and classical Indian tabla and sitar players.
Never before had we seen such glitter, such elegance, such vanity and such pride.
It was a fashion parade. Beautiful women in saris, many woven with real gold and silver threads and bedecked in precious and semi-precious jewels. A cat-burglar would have had a field day. Some wore Western clothing, Parisian ‘dernier cri’ fashions. Most of the men, as well, but more Italian-style, while some wore Nehru-style jackets.
There was a stage set up for the entertainers. The bride, (our host’s niece), was dressed Western-style as well, so too the groom. He looked just like his uncle-in-law, top hat and all.
The new vogue in those days was, “Our wedding, our reception, our party, our celebration is bigger and better than anyone else’s”. It may have been mostly a Western-style reception, but other than beer, there was no hard liquor or wine.
Food galore, delicious traditional Indian cuisine, but also Hot Dogs and Hamburgers! The celebrations on that beautiful day went on from Noon until evening.
A different India from our experience in Bihar. As different as Moon to Sun. Signing off for now, Henri