Shaadi Ka Show Ya Pyaar Ka Glow?

Written By : Sanjay Sharma

Since childhood, I too had that filmy dream — the day our child gets married, our home would look like a Sanjay Leela Bhansali set. Strings of lights everywhere, cousins running around, relatives laughing loudly, dhols beating, and a wedding so joyful that even the neighbours’ neighbours would feel the celebration. The kind of shaadi people talk about for years: “Wah, kya grand wedding thi!” I had pictured myself walking around proudly, smiling like the chairman of the “Humare Bete Ki Shaadi Committee.”

But now, when I look at the kind of weddings happening these days, a different thought keeps nudging me. Is the true magic of a marriage hidden in the glittery show, or somewhere more subtle — in the glow?

It began casually, over tea — because most emotional revolutions in Indian homes begin over chai only. Yet I knew this conversation was like walking a tightrope. My wife and I were discussing our child’s wedding, and the direction it was taking felt… unfamiliar. And mildly scandalous by our desi society’s standards.

“A court marriage? Just like that?” she asked, her eyebrows performing a full choreography of surprise and disbelief.

“That’s what he wants,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Simple. No fuss. Just family. Peaceful.”

Peaceful — a word rarely seen in the same sentence as Indian wedding.

She stared into her tea as if it would show her the future. Then came the questions — the classic ones that echo in almost every Indian living room when simplicity is suggested:

“What will people say?”

“What about all our relatives?”

“All those who invited us — won’t they feel ignored?”

“And our social image?”

I could almost feel generations of tradition sitting on the sofa with us, judging us with folded arms. In India, a wedding is never about two people. It is a family project, society’s annual report card, reputation ki presentation, and a year’s supply of gossip — all in one.

I held her hand gently. “I know how you feel. But isn’t marriage about the couple, not the audience? Do we really need a grand circus to prove love?”

She exhaled slowly. “It’s not about size. A wedding is a dream. Almost every girl sees that day in her imagination — the lights, the dancing, the joy… that one moment to feel special, cherished, celebrated.”

And she wasn’t wrong. It’s not just about decoration or outfits — it’s the emotional significance of being seen and celebrated.

But another thought whispered: does that feeling truly last beyond the exhaustion of a big, fat wedding?

Because let’s be honest — somewhere along the way, weddings stopped being about blessing a union and turned into a competitive sport. Today, the biggest pressure is not love — it is optics. Everyone wants an “Instagram-worthy wedding.”

Invitations aren’t cards anymore. They arrive as decorative boxes so fancy, you don’t know whether to keep them, reuse them, or store jewellery in them. The pre-wedding events? Earlier, one haldi, one mehendi, one sangeet was enough. Now we have pre-haldi, haldi, post-haldi, welcome dinner, cocktail, sangeet, DJ night, retro night, denim night, neon night — by the time the main wedding arrives, half the guests need physiotherapy and the other half need glucose.

Choreographers are hired to turn families into dance troupes. “Please record from this angle, we need it for the reel.” The joy of dancing gets replaced by rehearsals, retakes, and “sync!”

The food? A global buffet that could host the United Nations. Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Mughlai, South Indian, vegan, gluten-free… People pile their plates like contestants on a food reality show, take a few bites, and leave most of it untouched. The wastage could feed a small town.

The pheras? Usually scheduled at an hour when even owls want to sleep — around 3:15 AM. By then, guests are snoring, sobering up, or plotting their escape. The bride’s 12-kg lehenga now feels like 18, the makeup is pleading for mercy, and the groom’s sehra looks like it survived a storm. The sacred vows meant to be heard by hearts become background noise to yawns.

Guests behave like attendees at a compulsory corporate seminar — five minutes of attention, followed by selfies, networking, food reviews, and exit strategies. The wedding becomes a side event at its own celebration.

We can’t blame only the hosts. We, the guests, are guilty too. We attend weddings and spend more time judging the décor, food, and clothes than blessing the couple. We forward photos with commentary — “Food was average… décor over the top… bride looked nice… venue was okay.” We don’t witness weddings — we rate them.

Now, before we blame society further, let’s look at ourselves in the mirror as guests.

And since we’re speaking of weddings, we must also look at our behaviour when we are invited. Many of us don’t attend out of genuine warmth anymore, but out of social obligation. Invitations rarely come with a personal call. Instead, they slip into a WhatsApp group between a “Good Morning” graphic and a forwarded joke. A stylish e-invite arrives, and that becomes the entire effort of inviting someone.

We accept it the same way — politely, mechanically, without question. Our first instinct is to check the venue and silently assess the scale of the event. And then begins the lifafa calculation. You know the one: “What did they give us at our family function?” “Is this a 5-star wedding? Should the lifafa match that?” We call it a blessing, but often it feels like repayment with interest.

We’ve all done this routine at least once: attend a wedding where we barely know the couple, stand in line with a polite smile, hand over the lifafa, pose for a photo, eat quickly, and leave. It feels less like a celebration and more like completing a social checklist.

The irony is, most of us dislike this transactional culture, yet we continue participating as if it’s an unwritten social contract.

Perhaps change begins with small, human gestures. If someone sends an impersonal e-invite, we can respond with warmth — a short voice note, a personal message, a genuine wish. If we choose to attend, let’s show up with presence rather than pressure. And if the bond isn’t strong enough to attend with joy, maybe sincere wishes are more respectful than a forced smile and a stressed lifafa.

Weddings are meant to celebrate connection, not maintain scorecards.

Now, imagine something different. A wedding that feels less like a show and more like a warm, heartfelt gathering.

Picture a ceremony at twilight — that gentle hour when the sky softens and everything feels more meaningful. Not in a large banquet hall, but in a garden, a courtyard, a terrace, surrounded by soft lights and familiar faces. Earthen lamps instead of neon décor. Live traditional music instead of speakers that drown out conversation. Only the people who matter — the ones who’ve walked with you through life.

As the couple takes their vows, every person present is genuinely engaged. A grandmother wiping a quiet tear. A childhood friend smiling at old memories. Parents offering blessings not by formality, but from the depths of their hearts. No chaos. No performance. No pressure to impress. Just love — present, pure, and personal.

But before we romanticise this too much, we must look inward again.

If the idea of a simple, intimate wedding makes us uncomfortable or embarrassed, then let’s be honest — somewhere, ego has disguised itself as “tradition.” We fear small weddings not because our culture demands grandeur, but because our self-worth has got entangled with the scale of the event. We want applause, validation, proof that we “arrived.” And yes — this includes me, you, all of us.

We’ve become so conditioned to measure weddings by size, scale, and spectacle that we forget: a wedding is not a festival for society — it is the foundation of a marriage.

To every bride and groom — make your wedding yours.

Not a social media showcase, not a PR exercise for the family, not a production designed for photographs. If you want simplicity, choose it proudly. If you want meaning, prioritise it. Your love story doesn’t need an audience — it needs intention.

To parents — the greatest gift we can offer our children is a peaceful start to their marriage. Not emotional pressure packaged as tradition. Not financial strain disguised as family honour. Give them the freedom to celebrate in a way that reflects who they are, not what society expects.

Years later, what will truly remain?

People won’t remember the eleven food counters or the décor theme. But they will remember the moment your daughter squeezed your hand before her vidaai, or the look in your son’s eyes when he saw his partner walk in — the human moments that matter.

Let’s accept a simple truth: The “big fat wedding culture” feeds on three things — comparison, competition, and insecurity. The display fades. The Instagram stories vanish. The gossip moves to another family. But the emotional and financial hangover stays with the people who hosted it.

What lasts forever?

Not a laser entrance or a choreographed dance.

But a quiet evening under the sky with the people who love you — truly love you.

What warms the heart even after decades?

Not five hundred forced “Congratulations” from acquaintances.

But one heartfelt blessing from someone who cares.

What strengthens a marriage?

Not four days of events.

But four honest conversations, four shared moments of truth, four promises whispered and kept.

So ask yourself — do you want a wedding or a marriage?

One entertains others.

The other nourishes you.

The grand wedding fantasy that lives in our minds may look exciting, but when we breathe and step back, a smaller, meaningful celebration often feels more real, more intimate, more joyful. One where relationships deepen, not bank balances deplete. One where the couple remembers the laughter, the warmth, and the love — not the exhaustion.

A wedding where love glows louder than the music.

If even a small voice inside you whispered, “This is about us,” then take a moment — because that voice is telling the truth we often avoid. Weddings were never meant to be a display. We turned them into one. And now, it is on us — not “society,” not “log kya kahenge,” not “tradition” — us — to bring weddings back to meaning, emotion, and love.

Can we not do this for our children?

Can we not do this for ourselves?

Later that evening, we found ourselves back where it had all begun — two cups of chai between us. But something about that chai felt different. Lighter. Warmer. Clearer. Maybe weddings don’t need larger-than-life arrangements to feel grand. Maybe true celebration is like chai — simple ingredients, made with love, shared with the right people.

We didn’t have all the answers, but we did have clarity. We looked at each other and smiled — because in that quiet moment, it felt obvious: if the marriage has warmth, the wedding doesn’t need spectacle. And if love is present… even a humble cup of chai can hold more joy than the most extravagant celebration.

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About the Author

Sanjay Shharma writes as if he’s sitting across from you with a cup of chai — warm, thoughtful, and gently humorous. He observes our cultural habits with affection (and a little leg-pulling) and blends timeless wisdom with modern life. His words invite readers to pause, reflect, and choose authenticity over appearance — one insight, one story, one smile at a time.