On Christmas Day I led a marriage procession through the streets of Baroda while dancing with a Gujarati midget in a clown suit.

Second random encounter of PLC reunion 2005, India: Ravi Patel is visiting his family in Baroda, so we dropped by to see him and attend his cousin's wedding. After all, we were in the neighborhood.

On day one we hit the town to buy appropriate attire. A few dollars and hours later, we're both thoroughbred Indian - especially given my moustache to complement my new Corta (sp? name?). We zip back to the house where we feast on the first of a zillion meals in the next few days. Delicious as they were, I very much deserved the reputation I gained for myself for eating so much at every opportunity.

The overall experience has a prerequisite of explanation. Ravi's family largely lives abroad, be it in the US, Canada, or England. Thus, the quality of English was a godsend; a respite from the usual "you coming from?" that could mean any of several different things, all of which are wrong. The somewhat more in-depth conversations with Indian emigrants yielded interesting views on life (or on time, space, being). For instance, the near terror and complete amazement that we were capable of transporting ourselves around the city in auto-rickshaws was something to inspire awe. All the family members (Ravi, mostly...and Ashesh from Ahmedabad) speak fluent Gujarati, yet some do not venture on their own for lack of confidence in a land so ridiculously opposite the West. Furthermore, the overall experience of India that they have versus what we experience is night and day. While we spend hours on trains, eat at local stands, mingle with passers-by in the street, etc.; they fly from town to town, avoid street food for fear of sickness, and rant "don't talk to strangers!" What's more, the lessons learned and knowledge of the world gained is almost polar: "Sacrifice Goats?! No, we DON'T do that in Hinduism." Ummmmm, guys...

This brings up again a conversation on mindset and the ability of such to change the world. Or at least to change your world. If I were, for example, to return to the United States but maintain my current mindset of openness, of learning lessons and meeting people where lessons and people are available, what would I learn? If I actually stopped in Lincoln, Nebraska next time instead of flying through it, what would I find? Which brings us back to the issue of the new interstate system here - at such a speed, oxcarts and tribesmen can easily be missed unless one is constantly aware. On the old roads, the steady, slow pace forces observation of surroundings. At 60 miles per hour, rice paddies can seem as distant as wheat fields of the Mid-West. What aspects of diversity in India will be buried further as Bombay professionals gain more speed in mobility? What detriments of development will emerge alongside self-beneficial wealth?

Anyhow, wedding night one we spent one of the celbration grounds dancing in a giant circle in the traditional Gurba that precedes any proper Gujarati wedding celebration. Oh, and we ate a feast as well while marvelling at the kaleidoscope of color drifting through the crowd - the saris and cortas of red, orange, pink, blue, and every other imaginable color give a visual nirvana not present in the black and white of American weddings. All of this while dodging falling firework debris from the unceasing display directly overhead - no safety regulations here.

Day two brought requests for blessings on the home from Lord Ganesh, as well as a groom covered in Tumeric to make him fairer for the wedding (here I'll mention that when Jenny and I purchased "Fairness soap with fairness beads," we thought it simply another ridiculosity of Indian English. The correlation between Fairness and Whitening was not made.) Also, we feasted.

That night, we lined up in the street in the typical style - surrounded by flourescent lights, band in front, horse-drawn carriage in the middle complete with an aunt of the groom shaking a sack of coins behind his head to keep him awake (a remnant of the days when the groom would commonly be six years old) - and danced through the streets under another slew of fireworks. Then, we feasted.

On the third day, Christmas, we whiled away the morning before heading for the chartered bus to Nadiad. Jenny and I sat in relative silence while a travel game involving lyrics to Hindu songs was jubilously played. We arrived and were welcomed by the father of the bride at his home for tea and snacks. When Pritesh, the groom, came down dressed in typical turban style, we loaded him into a mercedes, fired up the band, and hit the streets one last time. Here, the lights surrounded a crowd (women in back of the car, men in front of the car) somewhat reluctant to get started. The typical alcohol starter available at American dances is absent, in Gujarat, so another kick was required.

That kick? A midget in a clown suit. An INDIAN midget in a clown suit. And me. You see, the midget quickly set his sights on the white boy and demanded that I dance alongside him at the front of the pack. Every time I slowed even somewhat, he grabbed me again and showed me how. Of course, those in the back of the crowd could not see the green-suited, silver-hatted small person at my side, so surely thought Ravi's white friend was simply insane dancing by himself in a wedding where he doesn't really even belong. Eventually, the crowd got going perhaps due to the continuing fireworks.

At the wedding of 1500 spectators, perhaps 300 watched the ceremony while the rest, what else, feasted. 4 hours or so later the arranged marriage was complete, everyone who wished had given money to and taken a photo with the bride and groom, and the fireworks and band died down. The bus was decidedly quieter, and we headed to the hotel in Baroda before the couple could come home for the first time as a married pair and meet more celebration.

The next day, we sat at a table alongside both bride and groom with what could have been the calm attitude of any other day. We then hit the park, ran around with some tigers at the zoo, and finally jumped a train.

Unfortunatly, there's no ham in this Delhi.