Rupai and Joyeeta: Promises, Journeys, and a Wedding in Bengal
Amid overcrowded buses, strings of marigolds, trays of sweets, saris and raw fish, we accompanied Anweshon – or “Rupai”, as is called in family" – upon returning to the village where she grew up, in West Bengal. Her marriage to Joyeeta fulfills old promises and reveals the intimate and collective choreography of marriage–Hindu : days of rituals, family gatherings, humor, unexpected events, and affection.
“This place is who I am,” said Anweshon, in the same wayheard throughout India, where the most profound phrases are tossed out like crumbs from the table after lunch(or, in the case of the young Bengali, instories stories most herethermalstories and psychoispsychics, although infrequent). “Nodon’t forgetto to say namaste when you enter my parents’ house,” he asked right after, before speeding off on his motorcycle. Clinging to him, the late-afternoon breeze finally began to dry the sweat from a day of traveling on overcrowded buses.
The place is Kenduadihi, a village in Bankura, in the Indian state of West Bengal. It was here that Anweshon grew up, and it is here that he returns to get married.
When I received the wedding invitation, that’s how I imagined the reunion: my friend and his motorcycle Yezdi by the side of the road, waiting expectantly amid the late-afternoon traffic. The sunglasses“ “retro” – I came to discover that it was because of them that I was recognized by the neighbors in the village – and the way he winks once, before answering in English.
The stress of months of preparation had temporarily hidden his mischievous smile. Perplexity is his default state, he already knew that, but why is was he looking at me so completely lost—had he always been like this? Six years ago, in New Delhi, would I have been too lost to notice? I hugged him.
The Anweshon was the first person I met in India. We were in the same dorm room, and he was the one who thought of using the earring hook to insert the new SIMSIM card (“You’ve been robbed. Do you want me to go to complain?”) on my phonephonephone.
It took us, on our first tuk-tuk, to eat our first masala dosa and visiting the Red Fort onDelhi, on a night when the moonlight on the cwasmade everything seem even more unreal. Three days later, he wanted to take us to Bankura, but two inexperienced travelers couldn’t justify the change of plans atis cat Andthis. When we say goodbye, it was with a promise: “Let’s go when you get married.”
"He never forgot," he said, in the middle of a voin which he was trying to convince us to make Uber the trip of the year kilometerfromfrom Calcutta in early 2025. The train was stopped at the same stationo hfor hours. “Noisgoing to sell you a bus ticket to Bankura. When you have to call a taxi, call me so I can negotiate,”, he said. I reminded him of a cheesy quote he once wrote, stolen from a song by Bollywood classic:Bollywood classic: “Musafir hoon yaaron. “‘I’m a traveler, friends,’ he replied, quoting the price of a ride in a comfortable black car, which we were supposed to get into.”
The men at the bus ticket counters seemed to have been given clear instructions to deny the existence of any destination, and it was the drivers who shuttled us from bus to bus over the course of seven hours of shrill honking.
A Maa Jashoda Lodge, the inn where Anweshon had reserved for the family’s guests, was far enough closecloseclose to his parents’ house to facilitate transportation for meals and celebrations, and strategically located to avoid guests arriving at odd hours.
On the nearly deserted road between the two, you pass a rural market and a clay cricket field, surrounded by multi-story houses with painted purple and green, protected by families of gods painted on tiles at the entrance.
It seems like a nice place to grow up, even with all these boys practicing throwing balls, wandering in pairs through the grass and among the street food, only dream of leavingto Dubai, Qatar, Germany or Canada. “India is great, but the Ggovernment is corrupt.” “India is great, but we have to be entrepreneurs because wethereenough jobs for everyone.”
The Anweshon never wanted to leave India. For him, India is great. “‘You could travel around here your whole life and never see the same thing,’ he says. There, everyone calls him “Rupai”, “silver coin” (the is “Sunai”, “gold coin”).
Bengali, middle, with parents who have a college education, the subcontinent has never seemed seemed neither too big nor too small. It is just the right size for a comfortable life in a cramped apartment in Kolkata, a job as a mechanical engineer at an oil company, and, now, a talkative and ambitious fiancée copywriter who lives for her work, writing hundreds of articles how to and 5 things you need to know for blogs byEnglishEnglish-language
The two met in 2023 in Kolkata, and their banter is their language of love. I only found all this out on the third day, after a family bus trip to meet the bride’s family, Joyeeta.
Atthere there, the days in the village of Anweshon were peaceful, spent between meals in the makeshift outdoor kitchen, rituals to prepare the groom and conversations with young people who were more dreamers than disillusioned on the cricket field.
The home of Srilekha and Arunava has walls decorated with symbols stamped using wooden blocks, the sameishandicraftartisanal technique used on cotton and silk. The traditional patterns are interspersed with paintings and embroidery made by Srilekha and by photographs of the family that is gathering here these days. The parents of Anweshon have hung strings of yellow and orange , full and auspicious flowers.
The house's facade was cladin a pink satin fabric , a practical way to create shade for the diningandand to protect the outdoor kitchen from dust. At night, thousands of tiny lights reflected the golden tones of the fabric, and the path through the dark streets isit was house in celebration was easy to spot
In the morning of haldi, the Anweshon put on a white tank top and prepared to be smeared with a paste of turmeric, water and milk, which his uncles and neighborscarefully spread overskin, amid the stifled laughter of his friends and cousins.
When the bowl containing the paste-like mixture, said to have purifying properties, fell into the hands of Suman Gorai, he dipped his fingers in it and threw it right in his best friend’s face. “Let the party begin!” he shouted, and took off running across the terrace, clutching his right side of his stomach.
Gorai isalmost the color of saffron. Because of the wedding—and the waiting lists at local hospitals—the young engineer had to wait for his appendectomy, downing cocktails of antibioticstoto ease the pain.
The groom's best friend is one of the most extreme examples of what it means to be invited to a wedding in India. Not all bosses are understanding about the number of days off preparationand ceremoniesó,, says one of the cousins, who, since starting work, only takes time offdaysto go to weddings.
Perhaps that is why, no onewasparticularly impressed with our trip. But we could still feel it in our back muscles when we set off on a road trip to familyatto toto meet his fiancée.
The uncles were waiting with their bags of party clothes next to the minibus, which was gradually being loaded with trays of gifts: candies arranged like hearts, sarisfolded into the shape of a swan, jjewels, jew,, a raw fish with its mouth open, a miniature carriage reminiscent of those that used to transport brides tois tothe new houses.
The more than 40 trays (tatwas) were wrapped, numbered, and listed by the groom’s father, who was clearly proud of the works that covered the floor and bed of the Anweshon.
It was them I thought of every time I hit a pothole during the six-hour drive with three stops to chai. At11 p.m., the minibus stopped at an unassuming hotel, and the guests were assigned rooms to freshen up and get dressed.
We had done a good job negotiating for kurtas and a shiny dupatta on our first day in Kolkata. Enterwillenter into labyrinthmaze New Market with a set budget, and we left the century-old market—which has over 2,000 shops and just as many pushy vendors—with what seemed to us to be suitable clothing. They fit well, atis under the white light of the hotel room.
As we went down the stairs, all the guests were already carrying their bags. The rooms were just for changing clothes. We had to bring everything, and we were already late, declared the groom’s mother, holding another fresh raw fish in her hands. We rushed to stuff everything into our backpacks and get back on the minibus.
For Hindus, weddings last for days, but not just any days. The almanac of celestial movements astrol, the PP, set at 2 a.m. as thefor the groom to reach the bride, explained Ricky, the photographerphotographerwho served as the voice off-screen to give us context.
It’s not about upsetting the bride’s family—although this isisa strong reason for the septuagenarian uncles to finally start getting a move on. In March 2025, these were the days for an auspicious wedding, and in case of delay, notiswithout would would risk to move forward.
In the salt, , the bride and groom were reunited afteronlys having pseparate days apart, and instead of múmusic and dancdancing, as in ,, a long photo session and gift-giving ceremony took place, which would be repeated a day later, in the groom’s village.
Most of the roughly one hundred guests—even those who had traveled for hours just to be there for a few brief moments—didn’t seem very interested in what was going on; they merely approached to casually comment on one detail or another before returning to the buffet of diamond fish fry, a specialty at restaurants in Kolkata, such as the popular Mitra Café.
At4 a.m., the bride and her mother were crying in each other’s arms. “It was the groom’s family that gained a new member today,” explains Ricky, with his cameras packed away and ready to return to Bankura. After the trip through the early morning, and while we slept at the inn where wespent five nights, the mother of “Rupai’sprepared the house to welcome “the new daughter.” In the room where the two will sleep, he laid out food and clothes, a symbol that they would now be the ones to provide for the bride’s basic needs. In the end, the two break their fast with rice and eat together from the same plate. The next closest watched everything perched on top of the bed.
As he said his final goodbyes, his older uncle got into the car and sighed: “Indian weddings, hmm? What a waste of time..”
