Queen for a Day

My mother took out her Kandyan bridal jewelry yesterday. 

I have had no interest in weddings or of being a bride, ever in my life. In my childhood, while every girl dreamed of their fairy tale wedding and playing happy families with their Prince Charming husband, I trained myself in self defense and dreamed of ridding the world of injustice, that was, when I wasn't nose-deep in a book in some corner. I had attended hundreds of weddings with hundreds of Kandyan brides but never had I taken even a second glance at their attire. And up to this point, I had regarded all the going-ons around me with something next to indifference, it was just something that I had to do. But yesterday, everything changed. 

My mother opened up the sizeable wooden trunk that contained these precious jewels as I regarded the delicate tissue that enveloped them with the weary disinterest of a cat being nudged out of its nap. But as my mother gently unwrapped those little delicate bundles and laid each piece out carefully before me, my interest grew, albeit a little reluctantly. As I let my fingers run over their cool surfaces, their  elaborateness, their magnificent details, their sheer majesty struck me perhaps, for the very first time. As I took each piece and turned them over in my hand, the sheer craftsmanship of it really took my breath away. For a while I was speechless.

My mother gathered my unruly hair in one hand tied it away from my face as I stared at the delicate beauty spread out before me, still very much breathless. She took each piece of jewelry and placed them lovingly and delicately on me - all seven necklaces; the swan necklace, the dragon necklace, the red swan, the pendants, the agate necklace and the pethi (flower petal) necklace, the elaborate and heavy headdress, the exquisite hand bracelet with rings, the assortment of bangles, and bracelets, the sun and the moon and the marvelously designed waist adornment (hawadiya), each piece handcrafted with painstaking care. With each piece of this regalia - for these were the jewelry of the Sinhala royalty, with each piece of these adornments a symbol of a different kind, I felt myself transformed. The majesty, the grandeur of it all. I truly felt like part of something very special, almost sacred, so surreal. 

I get to be, Queen for a Day.

To be a Kandyan bride is a marvelous thing. Besides, which bride in the world gets to wear the sun and the moon in her hair and a dragon at her throat as part of her traditional attire on her wedding day? (Ok, maybe except for Daenerys Targaryen). 

I don't think any other bride in the world, except perhaps the Indian bride, gets to feel like this on their wedding day. The bride starts dressing at an auspicious time, the placing of the headdress by the bride's mother, performed with much ceremony at an auspicious time as well. I think for the very first time in my life I felt what it is like being a bride. So majestically splendid, depicting strength and steadfastness yet everything so delicate and feminine. My wrists, my hands, so magnificently elaborate as I've never seen them before. As I turned away from the mirror, still very much breathless from the resplendence of it all, I saw tears glistening in my mother's eyes. A moment of torrential tumbling emotions, deeper than the deepest seas. An untouchable moment, a moment that you wouldn't comprehend even if you had devoured all the books in the world and learned from the most learned men on earth. 

It was a moment that belonged to humanity and humanity alone. But no male shall ever know it. It was a moment that belonged to mothers and daughters alone. 

For the first time in my life, I actually wanted to be a bride. To overlook my trivial inconveniences of restricting attire, long rituals and be a part of a greater, much grander thing. Tradition. Heritage. Roots. A sense of belonging to something ancient and blindingly glorious. For the first time in my life, I actually knew what all the fuss was about. For the first time ever, I was excited to be a bride. And you know what the best part is? The best part is that I get to do it all beside the man that I have chosen to share my life with - my partner in crime, my soul mate, my biggest critique and biggest fan. I get to do it with my best friend.

Random ranting

My brain.....is numb. It's had a trying hectic week and it's going to have an even more hectic weekend, so I'm gonna just let it ramble on today. It needs to rant. It is overworked. I can almost see the fumes rising up, up and above, over the skull.

It's sometimes a curse to be a perfectionist. People take advantage of your inability to say no and eventually, you wear yourself out. Not good.

And why does Candy Crush become so addictive when you have an assignment at hand?

I need tea, lots and lots of tea. Milk tea. With some cinnamon, cardamom and a pinch of chili preferably. Oh I want to drown in it.

I also need a foot massage. Stress has gone to the legs. That and high heels. I wear heels because it is absolutely impossible to find a nice pair of shoes that do not have sky scraper heels. Yes, I have succumbed to the enemy, the enemy who wants women of the nation on several inches high platforms all the friggin' time.

I officially hate shoe sellers.

Yogurt is amazing. It's amazingly good to the body. I believe it is very healing.

I have been obsessed with this idea for white chocolate brownies the whole week. I have not been able to try it out though, not just yet. I planned to bake tonight, but now, I just can't be bothered. Sometime tomorrow maybe. Stress always makes me want to bake chocolaty stuff.

When I am sad I bake breads. Kneading dough is therapeutic. I like getting my hands dirty.

But tomorrow is yet another hectic day. So many things to do, so little time!

Have you ever seen the way how ladies at weddings open their mouths so very wide just get in a small bite of food just so they don't ruin their lipstick? I find this very funny. Well, they could just eat all they want and apply the lipstick again. I'm sure they must be carrying their entire makeup box inside their purses, unlike the less socially trained us.

Standards of beauty in this country are anyways very amusing. Rosy lips, fair skin, stick thin figure, straight hair - oh how boring. Funny thing is how the women folk try to achieve these things artificially. Bleaching our skin AND our hair, starving ourselves to death and applying all kinds of muck on our faces to appear just a little bit fairer. I think nature made us beautifully diverse. I think it is in this diversity that we are all so uniquely beautiful. If we were meant to look the same, nature would have created us the same. Like clones. I am proud of my imperfections. I'm chaotic, my hair is always a mess and I don't have perfect skin, but I cherish what makes me different. It makes me happy.

I remember something that someone once said to me. I was quite down and I said to him "I am a mess". "Oh yes you are a mess, you are utter chaos. But you are a beautiful mess and a fascinating chaos." he said and it instantly made me feel better. I like that idea, being a beautiful mess. A mess is spontaneous, a mess unearths certain surprising elements from time to time. I'd rather be a chaotic mess than be neat and very boring.

My ideal job would be where I would be paid to just eat stuff and maybe write about it. Or try out new recipes and write about them and I get paid enough that I can afford the ingredients for more new recipe ideas. I am a foodie and I might as well just be a "professional foodie" if ever there was such a thing. I have my own food blog anyway, so might as well get paid for my hobby. The best part is that I can even eat my job!

Having worked in several corporate environments and still working in one, certain things still amuse me a lot. I learn how immature people can be, worse than children themselves. I am amused to see how it can even become like High School - the "Cool Kids" looking down their noses at others, advising their peers not to "associate" themselves with the others because that would tarnish their "reputation". What these "Cool Kids" don't know is that the level headed ones are laughing their heads off at their retardedness. It really is entertaining.

It's all in the upbringing methinks. You have "Class" when you can freely greet everyone from a  director to the person who takes out your trash with the same warmth and friendliness, when you can treat everyone with humanity and kindness. "Class" does not come with a newly developed accent or your salary scale, it comes with your upbringing, your heart, it's in your nature. Pity that most people don't realize this.

Another thing I've realized is that, education too, makes a world of difference.

I like grounded people, level headed ones. I like honest people who aren't afraid to be who they are. I am by birth, allergic to bullshit. And over the years, I have discovered that those who try to cultivate a persona donning accents, attitudes and whatnot are actually really lost souls who have no identity for themselves. How empty their lives must feel, how dreadful. They must indeed, be pitied.

Moving on, it's almost 12 and I need to start working on my assignment. I plan to get some work done so that I can have some peace and quiet later on. Good night peeps, assignment period is officially on!