Recently, I was invited to a traditional Kumaoni wedding revelry called ratiyali. It’s the night of the wedding when the women in the groom’s family gather to celebrate. An all-women affair, it is a chaotic event with all-night singing and dance.
The invitation took me back to the 80s, to my teenage years, when summer breaks meant trips to Haldwani and Almora, to be with our extended family. I have vivid memories of attending ratiyalis with my aunts and grandmother. I remember the dholak beats, the group chorus, the leading female voice, and the gusto with which the women took to the floor dancing to collective refrains. I remember finding all the songs quite similar and cringe-worthy. I think I reacted with my urban sensibility to the whole affair. The songs did not resonate with my taste, and I found them dated and distant. The lyrics were cheesy and awkward to hear, let alone sing.
When I accompanied my aunts to these soirees, it was mainly to devour the delectable snacks and many cups of late evening sweet tea. I still recall the songs the women sang. They described the beauty of the bride and the groom, alluding them to Ram and Sita. The songs had simple themes. I remember one particular song that was a musical invitation to Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, to grace the wedding with his wives. Several others were playful jibes at the bride. Everyone joined in and no note was considered out of place. A leitmotif would be greeted with enthusiastic clapping. Women would break into dance surrounded by others who cheered and made irreverent comments. All in all, it was a safe space for women to express themselves and also to let go. It was a talent show with no winners or losers. I remember old grandmoms who were barely able to get up on their own, attempting a dance with a toothless grin.
As the evening wore on, the songs would get irreverent, mocking the intrusive mother-in-law or the cocky brother-in-law. This would be interspersed with guffaws and spontaneous loud quips. The songs that come to my mind describe the sparkling wedding procession or how the bride refuses to leave her parents’ house despite being cajoled by her husband’s family. Yet another song, a staple in all weddings, was about a woman who joyfully sings details of how she plans to cast a spell on her groom using a bird’s feather, beak and eye to ensure his fidelity. To me, the lyrics seemed cheesy and an indulgence of the idea of a philandering groom, portraying it as a norm of masculinity.
As time passed, my trips to my grandparents’ place became far and few. The song and dance became a memory tucked in a corner of being. With the economy growing, globalisation and increase in disposable incomes, the metamorphosis of ratyali to an evening cocktail party seemed a natural progression. The convenience of outsourcing catering and accommodation reflected the changing times.
So, what was once a modest, fun, intimate gathering became a glitzy cocktail party and sangeet, with music being managed by a DJ and a dance floor with neon lights. Rituals got Bollywoodised and bereft of meaning or history. All wedding food began to look the same. Regional wedding fineries were replaced by pastel lehengas and glittery looks. I did not seem to miss much until I was invited to the ratiyali I mentioned in the beginning.
As the dholak beats played and collective voices from a bunch of elderly relatives soared, I grew nostalgic. My eyes welled up! I did not understand the emotion gripping me. Was it a longing for the past? Surely not. I think it was a yearning for a collective sisterhood. A feeling of belonging to your own diverse group that included wrinkled and rugged faces and so many others who you were told were your family. It was a feeling of warmth and solidarity that the rituals and the songs aroused, transcending the boundaries of time. I found myself clapping vigorously and singing the refrains with gusto.
The song about a bride putting a hex to stop her philandering groom from ogling at other women made me view my female ancestors who turned to spells to cope with oppressive systems in a more empathetic light. Under the façade of revelry and lyrical verses, the songs shared stories of arduous lives. The pre-wedding revelry provided the women much-needed solace and an opportunity to assert their agency, although in a limited way. As I joined in, I felt a part of a timeless continuum. A sense of belonging washed over me. And what seemed “cringe” some 40 years back brought in a feeling of kinship and a deep connection.
