After we started the fire.I fed Aditya some pre-made laddu which is a common Indian sweet used in pujas and other ceremonies. After this Aditya stood up and promised to provide for me for the rest of my life, so, really, I didn’t begrudge him the sweet. (Also: it was way too hot to do much but sweat beside that fire. Doesn’t look like it? Read on.)

To stay hydrated in the face of the fire (or, you know, for religious religions) we were both given some water from the Ganges to drink. From our cupped hands. This may have been the only water I drank during my entire time in India that was not personally verified by Aditya or another family member as safe for my oh-so-delicate American stomach. For the record, by the way, despite a complete lack of regard on my part, I never had the slightest stomach ache while in India.

After drinking the Ganges water – most of which ended dribbled onto my sari – the whole marriage “team” started to work to get the fire roaring. The younger priest – the one who wasn’t reciting Vedic hymns to music throughout – placed pieces of kindling into the fire. Maa, Baba, and my uncle tossed in mixtures of herbs in time to the drum beat. (Uncle Mark took a few minutes to get the beat properly.) Aditya and I spooned in oil from special spoons, held in a special manner. It was all very serious, of course. Well, except for the fact that Baba appeared to be aiming his herbal throws to cover our special spoons. And Aditya kept knocking his spoon into mine in (he says) an effort to dislodge the herbs covering his spoon – I suspect he was just being a brat. The end result, of course was predictable:

It got really hot and the fire got really high. And my flowers wilted. Which made me pout. Also, people were continuing to look at me, which will make any introvert pout. Then I remembered that it was my wedding and I got to play with fire! And life suddenly seemed better.

The majority of the wedding ceremony, as I recall, was playing with fire. As I mentioned earlier, as we fed the fire our Arya Samaj head priest recited Vedic hymns. Because the Araya Samajis believe that you should know what you’re promising, every part was first paraphrased by the priest in English (Maa & Baba hunted high & low for an English-speaking priest for me) before being recited in Sanskrit. The offerings we made were meant to symbolize our joint responsibility – along with that of our families’ – to maintain the love, duty, and dignity of the marriage.

After the fire was good and roaring, Aditya’s brother, Dada, stepped in to help us pour an offering of puffed rice into the fire. Traditionally this would be done by the brother or brother-cousin of the bride, but my brother was unable to make the trip to India.

In case you were wondering, the fire at the center of the Hindu wedding ritual is considered a god in and of itself –Lord agni God of Fire. Agni, for Arya Samjis, serves to dispel darkness and ignorance while brining light and knowledge.

After pouring the puffed rice (three times), we were on to the final – and most important stages of the wedding: the vows and steps around the fire. Which is where I made my largest mistake of the entire wedding…