Story Brunch
Raju stood near the wedding entrance in his fancy sherwani, wiping sweat off his forehead. He felt awkward in the heavy outfit.
“This looks like a magician’s robe,” he muttered.
His granduncle, Panditji, overheard him and laughed.
“Magician? In our times, the groom wore a simple dhoti-kurta. It was airy, comfortable, and more befitting our climate. But times have changed, beta.”
Beside them, old Aunt Sumitra looked at the colorful lights, flashing DJs, and the small crowd. She sighed.
“I remember when the whole village would march in the groom’s procession. We even had to bring extra buses for the barat. Now there are so many cars, but barely enough people to fill them.”
Raju smiled politely. He had heard stories of weddings from older days. Yet, seeing the modern chaos around him, he felt this wedding was already too crowded
Satyendra, Raju’s elder brother, still recalls the day he traveled with his entire village to attend his uncle’s wedding in a distant hamlet in Bihar. He says with a smile,
“Back then, we never worried about the distance. We all just piled into buses and cars, singing songs and making merry.”
Indeed, in those days, the groom’s work was often farming or some job in or near his hometown. The bride usually stayed home after marriage, so traveling hundreds of kilometers to in-laws place after marriage once in a while was not an issue as couple lived in the hometown, unlike many today.
Changing Landscape of Weddings in North India
Over ten years ago, it was common for families in Bihar to find matches in Uttar Pradesh (UP), and vice versa. Joint families formed a huge kinship network that made it easy to do background checks, even if the bride or groom lived far away.
“One relative knew another, who knew another, and so on,” laughs Sumitra, the elderly aunt who grew up in a village near Gorakhpur, UP but was married to Raju’s uncle in Bihar.
“It felt like we had relatives everywhere.”
But times have changed. Now, because women work in different cities and men, too, often have jobs far from home, most families prefer marriages within a small radius—100 kilometers or so. This makes visits to each other’s homes possible during short holidays.
Barat (the wedding procession) itself used to be a grand picnic. People treated it like a vacation, a break from daily life. They enjoyed folk music, danced to local songs, and cheered on their favorite performers. Nowadays, many attend weddings out of a sense of duty—what they call “Nyot pura karna,” or returning the favor of attendance.
Earlier, cultural programs were polite and joyful. Well-known local singers performed folk songs. Dancers didn’t need security barricades, because there was respect and decorum in the air. Today’s dance orchestras play loud and vulgar Bhojpuri or Magahi songs on high-decibel DJ systems, with scantily dressed girls performing on the makeshift wooden stage. Hooting, eve-teasing, and chaos are not unheard of, sometimes ending in brawls and fist fights. The simple, heartfelt performances of old have been replaced by noisy displays.
The Vanishing “Marzad”
Years back, families hosted the barat for an extra day known as “Marzad.” Delicious mutton and local delicacies were served. It was an opportunity for guests to rest and get to know the bride’s village. With people now having busy jobs in distant cities, there is no time for this tradition. Plus, marriages usually happen in urban halls or hotels. An extra day means extra cost, which most families cannot afford. So baratis often leave the same night, sometimes even before the ceremony is over.
The old joint families once provided ample helping hands, ensuring every barati was served with affection. Today, nuclear families hire caterers and waiters with no emotional bond to guests. Big weddings once involved the entire village, with neighbors pitching in. Now, disputes and smaller family sizes have turned weddings into private affairs.
Traditional local brass bands have mostly been replaced by DJs.
The bands employed many musicians and knew people’s favorite tunes—like “Jimmy Jimmy,” “Ye Desh Hai Veer Jawano Ka,” and the classic “Nagin” melody that made baratis roll on the ground in mock snake dances.
With modern DJs, the charm of live music and personal interaction has vanished. The old bands lost their livelihood to loud, pre-recorded tracks.
Brides once wore bright red sarees popularly called the “lal joda.” Grooms dressed in simple dhoti-kurta or pyjama-kurta. It felt traditional. Now, brides pick elaborate designer lehengas of every color imaginable, inspired by Bollywood. Grooms opt for heavy sherwanis that often feel like costumes in the hot weather.
“We looked real,” Panditji quipped. “Now, it’s like everyone is auditioning for a movie role!”
Many years back, there were only a few cars, maybe one or two buses. Everyone squeezed in, and it felt like a grand adventure. Youngsters preferred to sit on the top of the buses. Today, there are enough SUVs to fill a parking lot, but sometimes too few Baratis to occupy them. Weddings that once drew 100 or more people now see fewer than 50 traveling in the barat.
In the end, it’s hard not to miss the joy, color, and warmth of olden-day weddings in Bihar, UP, and nearby states. The ever-changing market forces, hectic jobs, and growing preference for nuclear living have chipped away at the communal spirit. Joint families are rarer, and with that has gone the close-knit bond that once made these weddings grand affairs. Traditions like Marzad, live folk music, and neighborly support have mostly vanished. Though modern weddings may be more comfortable, we have lost something precious along the way—the sense of true community, genuine excitement, and the simple happiness that once surrounded these celebrations.
