In one of the many videos of Sonam Kapoor's wedding function, she can be seen attempting to tie the varmala (garland) around groom Anand Ahuja's neck. Her kalira gets stuck in his sherwaani while doing so. She, in an evidently happy mood, apologises. "Babu, sorry," she says affectionately. However, someone present at the wedding function isn't too pleased. As can be heard in the video, an instruction soon follows, "Babu nahi, aap bolo aap." (Don't call him babu, give him respect).
Moments later, when Anand is trying to tie the varmala, there's a bit of confusion about how to hook the garland with so many accessories and the pallu covering her neck. She suggests, "Andar se (through the inside)." He does it. But then again, someone, an elderly female voice, asks her to stop giving directions. In an evident attempt to salvage the situation, Anand says that he asked her. Snap comes the response, he is "getting too protective".
Starstruck fans have gone gaga over the gesture of the actress, calling him babu and jumping chirpily to garland him first. But it made me uncomfortable, not the gesture itself, but the reaction to it that came from the background—to her not acting coy or shy.
This isn't the first time I have come across something like this. Having spent quite a few years in north India, I have seen many weddings where the groom is free to do whatever he wants, but the bride has limitations. She can't have her own opinions, even on things that affect her. In this case, Sonam had just asked Anand to tie the garland around her neck, and not the pallu. She would have known better what was comfortable. But then, she is a bride, and she is supposed to act like one and not say anything at all.
It reminded me of my own wedding last year when a husband's relative asked me not to laugh during my pheras, or to address him aap instead of tu/tum that we usually use, in front of the guests. "You can call him whatever you want in your personal space, but not here," she had told me. There were no instructions for him. He could call me whatever he wanted.
I thanked my lucky stars that it came from a relative who I wouldn't meet again. But over the last year, I have met many other relatives—his and mine—who have questioned me about the missing mangalsutra and sindoor, pestering me to append my husband's surname. I haven't. Not because I want to prove to the world that I'm a feminist, but because my name has stayed for 30 years, and I feel changing it would be like changing my identity.
Sonam, however, hours after all the wedding functions got over, changed hers. There's an Ahuja added to her name on Instagram and Twitter now. It's completely her choice. Probably, that is what makes her happy. But, having seen those reactions in the small clippings from her wedding function, I just wonder if it is just her own choice, or, as is the common practice in India, a societal pressure to which she had to succumb. I just hope it is the former.