Shoosh and Po Yo's Wedding

This is one wedding I'll remember for a while. For one, we made it there on time. As for the other, I had the most stimulating conversation I’ve had for months.

Shoosh and Po Yo tied the knot – two weeks ago. It was a many-layered affair, not unlike their wedding cake - There was the wedding ceremony at a church in the City (to me the City is always New York City), the exchange of vows at the winery in New Jersey -- the logistics of which were handled, for the most part, by the bride and groom. Mind you, it wasn't the easiest of things, with people flying in from as far afield as Taiwan, the groom working his rotations in the New York hospital system and the bride at the Wall Street sweatshop equivalent.

Shoosh has been working really hard at this wedding, and it was just wonderful to see it all unfold according to her plan. S and I just turned up for the rosette on the cake – the charming ceremony at the winery. It was just the right weather driving in from across the Delware River – gentle breeze and cloudy bright, with no hint of the heavens threatening to open up. Po Yo was running around arranging flowers, checking to see if the champagne was chilled, making sure everything was just so! You wouldn’t think it was his wedding.

As we mingled, we realized there were very few guests – a few friends from their days at Johns Hopkins, a few close relatives, their parents and us! To the initiate of Indian ceremonies (with its few hundred attendees at the very least), this came as a total surprise.

Just then Shoosh floated in on a breeze in her wedding whites looking like a million bucks and every bit a beautiful bride -- meaning to say, nothing like my buddy from work. She seemed to be suffering from nothing like the wedding day jitters and we spoke of this that and the other before she moved on to welcome the others.

The ceremony itself was simple – Milad, with his background in divinities officiated. Shoosh has known him and his significant other, Babette, since Hopkins. She apparently took classes in Comparative French Literature taught by Babette. Milad spoke about the occasion, the couple and the ties that bind; his address punctuated occasionally by ebullient outbursts from Shoosh's year-old niece chortling over the antics of the winery's cat out on the prowl. If Shoosh had some concerns about la chat noire, she hid them well. Then again, knowing how she organized the whole thing, maybe she had some salt ready at hand.

The brief ceremony over, we repaired to the dining room, while the bride and groom took a detour among the vines… for some pictures. I've posted some taken by Babette below.

S and I mingled some more. I had the strangest sense of déjà vu -- I knew many people at the party, having heard about them from Shoosh, not the least of who were Milad and Babette, with whom we shared a table.

We had the strangest conversation over the wedding dinner ranging from the origins of Milad's name (which in Arabic means Noel), the legitimacy of the Hadeeth, whether Hinduism is indeed a polytheistic religion, to how elephants practice sex (I forget how that one started). Between Milad and I, we had poor Rik and Victoria all in splits, and poor Jean all embarrassed (I was later to learn). I never did find out what Babette thought about the whole thing. We had a raging conversation, which was all so strange (yes, even more than the oysters with shoes), for I had never met any of them before, not in the flesh anyway.

The clink of a spoon called the gathering to order. Shoosh's dad was visibly moved as he made his address – I was too. Though, I suspect, in my case it was the wine. It always tends to bring out my sensitive side. Fresh courses lubricated the wheels of conversation – we moved on to dessert and coffee, just as they opened up the dance floor.