The Hindu wedding we attended this past weekend was pretty fabulous. The bride was Hindu; the groom Jewish. The word “beautiful” keeps coming to mind. I’d driven past the temple ever since I moved here years ago and it always looked lovely and intricate and fascinating. And I’m a curious bird when it comes to things new and unfamiliar to me.
We removed our shoes upon entering, placed them in the designated “shoe room” and rinsed our hands. The ceremony took place upstairs in a room with Hindu deities placed all around the perimeter. It was hot and crowded with people from diverse backgrounds but the plethora of sparking saris held my attention. So very pretty.
We sat on the floor with the majority of the others during the ceremony. The wedding itself was conducted by a Hindu priest in Sanskrit so without the aid of the handy program telling us what was happening, we would’ve had no clue.
After the ceremony, The Accountant and I walked around the temple looking at the various deities. He asked one of his Hindu friends about the significance of some of the rituals we were witnessing of other worshipers. His friend explained a bit and then made a comment about how he didn’t know every reason behind things but that he grew up Hindu and practiced it because that’s what his parents did. I found that interesting. Tradition runs deep.