The morning sun covered the city with its yellow glare. The leaves’ scents spread across the room, and the birds’ chirps could be heard over the noisy Bengaluru traffic. The front gate screeched when it opened for the newspaper boy. He threw one newspaper to the door on the first floor and a second to the one on the next floor. Dangling lights hung from the terrace to brighten the house at night. Two scooters were parked on the gray concrete floor in front of the house. The pink metal grill gate opened for the maid, who began cleaning the house. Chunks of henna were scattered across the tiled floor, leftover from the previous day’s ceremony. I was asleep atop an old red rug in the living room as my relatives’ chatter steadily stirred me awake. I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m., as it was the day of my sister’s wedding, the day she would begin her new life with the man she loved. I was late.
I took the quickest shower of my life and hastily put on my yellow half-saree. It came with a skirt and blouse and was complemented by a pink drape with a border of shiny gold and white sequins, which was worn across the body. I found a pair of gold and pearl earrings to match the outfit to finish the look for the big day.

My family and I rushed to the wedding hall, fearing that we were too late and that the ceremonies had already begun; they hadn’t. The hall we entered through was decorated with lights from the ground to the roof. An idol of our god was placed in the center of two staircases that split in two directions. Up the stairs was the door to enter the hall which was filled with chairs and a stage at the other end of the room. The two hallways located on either side of the stage consisted of doors leading to numerous rooms. The right hallway was reserved for the bride’s family and the left one for the groom’s. The workers were winding flowers across the four poles on the square stage as we entered. My aunts were speeding from one room to the other, already dressed in their authentic outfits and preparing for the event.
A few hours later, the ceremonies began. The first one entailed the groom riding a horse to the temple and back while his relatives danced throughout the journey. My soon-to-be brother-in-law looked terrified the entire time. He was elegantly dressed in a cream sherwani with a red turban on his head.

The drummers played the authentic Indian wedding beat for his relatives to start dancing. However, they were extremely shy and hesitant. My cousin and I started dancing on the tar road in order to get the procession started. This was unusual because the only people who were supposed to dance were the groom’s family, while the bride’s family waits. After 10 minutes of my cousin and me embarrassing ourselves, the relatives finally began dancing like a typical rural Maharashtrian.

After the procession, the rituals for the wedding began. My sister walked into the room sporting a red veil that covered part of her pale face and a yellow saree complimented by golden jewelry that shined in the light of the video cameras. She resembled a shy princess ready to attend a ball. As she stepped forward to enter the stage, the photographer insisted that we take a family photo. My parents, sister and I posed for a last family photo before she began the ritual to a new life. The thought of my sister becoming a part of another family made me feel uncomfortable. The next time we would take a family picture, it wouldn’t just be the four of us, but five of us.

Minutes before the groom tied the knot, the bride had to change her saree one last time, as per tradition. She walked back into the room wearing a blue saree. It was time for her Bidaai, one of the rituals of the Hindu culture establishing that after the wedding, the daughter’s first family will be her husband’s family; her family hands over her responsibility to the husband, who must protect her for the rest of their lives.
A melancholy mood spread across the room as it became time to officially say goodbye. I could see my dad’s eyes watering, tears only held back by the force of his strength. On the other hand, tears burst out of my mother’s eyes like the water of a broken dam while she hugged her daughter. I felt hurt, shattered. My sister was unable to lift her head up, as her face was covered in tears. Our family created a path for her to walk through while hugging her aunts and cousins. I could see my family break down one by one, uncontrollable emotions soaring across everyone’s faces. My sister walked patiently as the elders blessed her for a happy life. The men of the family tried to act austere but were ultimately unable to completely ignore the fact that she was going to be part of a different family. I stood by myself, watching the scene and before I knew it, tears began to roll down my cheeks.

I started remembering the memories I had created with my sister, lives filled with the petty arguing any siblings would succumb to. As far as I could remember, there wasn’t a day we hadn’t fought over a remote, water bottle, or even candy. Being eleven years apart made it hard for us to bond, hence the daily arguments. I neither understood nor tried to understand my sister’s personality up until that very moment. Before the wedding, I had always imagined having the room to myself and the ways I could embellish it. I pictured watching TV without fighting for the remote and eating all the candy by myself. I had concluded we could never truly bond or share our secrets like normal sisters. I was sure that her wedding wouldn’t affect me emotionally because we never understood each other, because I awaited her departure. Only then did I realize, overcome by emotion, that I truly would miss my sister.

I ran toward her as sadness struck my whole body. I hugged her one last time, unable to release her. I did not want her to let go and leave me. But, as it’s always said, life must go on. She walked toward the stage for her final ritual and got married on June 22, 2014.

My sister’s wedding taught me to understand relationships differently. People might think that their relationship with a loved one doesn’t matter or that it won’t matter if a loved one leaves. However, when the time is right and feelings are truly evaluated, one can easily see the value of a relationship. My sister’s wedding made me recognize the bond we shared. There was this voice inside me that day which made me realize that I loved her. After the wedding, our relationship grew stronger and closer. We were no longer just sisters, but friends.