The Longest Day... Part III (Electric Boogaloo)
I thought the 21st of
June was the longest day of the year. Scientifically, it is. The sun hangs
around like a guest who’s forgotten their car keys. But that, my friends, was
merely a dress rehearsal. A warm-up act for the main event. Because on Sunday, the
8th of February 2026, we had the 'Lagan and Pheras' of Didon, the jewel of the
Misri clan.
One of my critics told
me that my writing of the above italicized para had no meaning.
My reply to him:
My dear critic,
I
wish you well. This is a beautiful and poetic way of describing a very happy
occasion. Let me break it down piece by piece for you, Mr. critics.
First, let me address my scientific
point. I think I am right. Do you agree? The 21st of June is the summer
solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, the day with the most daylight hours. It
is, scientifically, the longest day of the year. O.K.
The writer acknowledges this fact
("Scientifically, it is.") but then uses a metaphor to diminish its
importance.
The Metaphor of the Sun
"The sun hangs around like a
guest who’s forgotten their car keys."
This is a wonderful image. Think about
a party that's winding down. The guests are leaving, but one person lingers.
They're not leaving because they can't find their keys. They've overstayed
their welcome just a little bit. The atmosphere is a bit awkward; everyone is
ready for the party to end, but this one person is still there.
In the context of June 21st, the sun
is like that guest. It's the longest day, so the sun is "hanging
around" longer than it does on any other day of the year. But the writer
is saying that, in hindsight, that long day was just a "dress rehearsal"
or a "warm-up act."
The Main Event: Didon's Wedding
The writer then reveals the true
reason for this poetic preamble:
Because on
Sunday, the 8th of February 2026, we had the 'Lagan and Pheras' of Didon, the
jewel of the Misri clan.
- 'Lagan and Pheras' : These are key Hindu wedding
rituals. Lagan refers to the auspicious time for the
wedding, and Pheras are the seven sacred circles the
couple takes around the holy fire. So, this was Didon's wedding ceremony.
- Didon, the jewel of the Misri clan: This tells us that Didon is a beloved and
precious member of the Misri family, like a shining jewel.
Putting It All Together
The writer Sham Misri is using
a powerful hyperbole (exaggeration for effect). They are
saying that the actual longest day of the year (June 21st) felt short and
insignificant compared to the joy of Didon's wedding day.
The meaning is this:
For the people celebrating this
wedding, the 8th of February 2026 felt so incredibly joyful, so full of love
and happiness, that the day itself seemed to last forever. The sun, in its
happiness, lingered in the sky even longer than it does on the summer solstice.
It wasn't an awkward guest who had lost its keys, but a happy guest who simply
didn't want to leave the wonderful party.
In short, it's a poetic and heartfelt
way of saying that Didon's wedding day was the happiest and most
memorable day of the year, feeling longer and brighter than even the
scientifically longest day.
…
Dear critics,
You are trying to divert
my attention. That day didn't just have extra daylight; it had extra emotion,
extra colour, and an extra helping of love so large, it needed its own seat.
...
Now let me take you back, if I may,
To the longest, loveliest, looniest
day.
The 8th of February,
twenty-twenty-six,
When pink turbans played all sorts
of tricks!
We gathered at camp, so relaxed and
so free,
When suddenly came the command:
"Get Ready, quickly!"
Socks were mismatched, shirts
buttoned wrong,
But we marched to the venue like a
wedding song.
…
The venue! Oh, the venue!
Chanakyapuri's pride,
Vikram's official residence, doors
opened wide.
Flowers everywhere, such colours,
such grace,
Even the bees formed a queue at the
gate!
And there stood the mandap, majestic
and grand,
The four pillars of life, you understand.
Food, strength, happiness,
generosity too—
Wait, that's the pheras... I've
mixed my review!
…
The day began with a
flurry of activity at the CRPF camp. All of us male guests were lounging
around, perhaps discussing the important things in life—like whether the paneer
at lunch would be soft or not—when a message zipped through like a lightning
bolt. ‘Get Ready Quick.’ It wasn't a request; it was a command. You could feel
the testosterone-fueled panic in the air. Socks were hunted, shirts were
buttoned askew, and there was a general air of "hurry up and wait."
Entering the venue in Chanakyapuri
was an experience in itself. I had been there earlier, but it was not like
this. It was the official residence
of the bride's father, which meant it was well-protected, well-guarded, and you
half-expected to need a retinal scan to get past the gate. But once you were
through… oh, my God... Heaven must be taking notes. Flowers. Everywhere. Of
every hue and colour, perfectly sized and combined with the kind of precision
usually reserved for a military parade. I don't know how many floriculturists
lost their minds orchestrating this, but the result was a standing ovation for
Mother Nature.
Facing the Mandap, a lovely
permanent structure on one side of the garden, were U-shaped hangings of floral
wreaths. The fragrance hit you from a distance, a gentle, perfumed slap saying,
"Yes, you are in the right place. This is a wedding."
Now, every male from the bride's
side was hastening to the venue, but we soon found out why we had to be quick.
It was for the turban ceremony. An experienced, lean, middle-aged man
stood with a bundle of brand-new, perfectly pressed pink turbans. He was the
turban ninja. In seconds, he’d have one expertly wrapped around your head.
I, Uncle Sham, was one of his
victims. He took one look at my bald head, a terrain I’ve lovingly maintained
for years, and saw it as a challenge. He wrapped that pink cloth so tightly
around it, I thought my eyebrows would be perennially raised. But I wore it
with pride! Soon, the garden was filled with us—Sanju, Suneel, Sandeep,
Ashwani, Billu, Pintu, Mintu, Pavanji, and the rest—with the tails of our
turbans fluttering in the breeze. We must have looked like a flock of confused,
pink-tailed kites.
Just as the Baraat reached the main
gate, I heard Vikram’s voice, clear and urgent: "Where is Bairaj? Where is
Bairaj?"
A jolt of electricity
shot through me. Bairaj. That’s me! A forgotten superhero summoned for a
mission! My rosy, red cheeks, which in my youth rivalled apples, flushed with
rejuvenated pride. I was to put a shawl and a wreath around the neck of an
elderly gentleman from the groom’s side. This I did with the solemnity of a
diplomat signing a treaty, with folded hands and immense respect. My job was
done. I had served my purpose. I could now relax. Veena is sitting in a chair
to welcome the groom.
The band played, the bhangra
thumped, and the thrill continued until the groom reached the Mandap. I had a
front-row seat. I saw the groom remove his shoes, a moment of profound
symbolism… and in a flash of lightning faster than any diplomatic cable, Pranav,
the bride's younger brother, swooped in like a ninja, snatched the shoes, and
vanished. What happened next—the negotiation, the ransom, the eventual return
of the footwear—is a mystery lost to the annals of wedding history. All I know
is that a good time was had by all.
It was a true Celebration of Love
and Tradition. As the eldest in the family, I felt a profound sense of
gratitude seeing our kin, some of whom’d travelled across oceans, all gathered
together. Their presence was the greatest gift.
The Varmala began.
First, the bride, with the grace of a dancer, placed a garland around the
groom. Then the groom, in a moment of pure, universal husbandry, puffed out his
chest and twisted his non-existent moustache, before placing the garland on his
bride. It was a public declaration, a beautiful blending of two families into
one vibrant garden.
As the Pheras began, I
felt a tap on my shoulder. An exceptionally fair lady sat beside me. She sat to
my left side. She introduced herself as Vikram’s close associate. I didn't
quite catch all the titles—something about Bhutan, earlier, and a chairmanship
now—but she was clearly important. She pointed to the sacred fire. "What
is this fire there?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Ah! My moment! I transformed
myself from a simple guest into a cultural ambassador. I explained the seven
pheras, each one a pillar of a happy life.
"With each step," I said,
warming to my theme, "they make a vow. First, to provide. Second, to grow
strong together. Third, to be generous. Fourth, to find happiness and trust.
Fifth, to pray for their family. Sixth, to stay together through thick and
thin. And the seventh… to be lifelong companions, bound by friendship and
faith."
She was absolutely captivated, her
excitement a beautiful reflection of the ceremony itself. It was a wonderful
reminder of how special our traditions are, seen through fresh eyes.
In between the vows, the
Who’s Who of Delhi walked in. The Defence Minister, Raj Nath Singh, arrived
with his own security detail, the famous ‘black cats’. He gave his blessings.
Minister Jyotiraditya Scindia, Foreign Minister S. Jaishankar, Ajit Doval, Dr
Jitendra Singh—the list went on. It was like a who’s who of the government, all
there to shower the couple with Ashirwad, the collective blessings of the
community.
In the middle of this hubbub, of all
this high-profile glamour, my daughter Sanjla’s mother-in-law appeared. She had
her younger son, Sachan, and her grandson with her. The DJ played some
fast-paced Bollywood music, and she started nodding her head. That was all the
invitation I needed. I am, after all, Sham Misri! How could I resist?
I danced. Oh, how I danced. I shook
my hands with the enthusiasm of a man trying to dry them with no towel, my feet
moving in directions they hadn't explored in decades. A crowd started
gathering, forming a circle of encouragement. It was glorious. It was my
moment.
And then, dear Vikram, my beloved
nephew, appeared. He had that sincere smile on his face, the one that precedes
a gentle let-down. He leaned in and said, "Bateh Khove." (Enough,
Uncle).
In diplomatic terms, it was a clear
signal. A polite but firm "Cease and desist." But he didn't know that
I, Sham Misri, had lectured to IAS trainees in Mysore! I know that officers
talk less and work more. So, I took the wise signal. I gracefully (or as
gracefully as one can) wound down my performance. Otherwise, who knows? It
might have swelled into an unmanageable, all-night dance-a-thon.
Soon after, the ceremony concluded.
Guests began to leave, preparing for the next battle—The Reception. My stomach
was full of the most delicious food, my heart was full of joy, and my head…
well, my head was finally free of the turbo-turban. As I walked out, looking
back at the twinkling lights and the happy faces, I knew one thing for sure:
this day, the 8th of February 2026, was officially the longest, happiest, and
most love-filled day of the year.
And to Bushan, watching from above,
I hope you enjoyed the show. We all felt you there, smiling the widest.
Sham
Misri
