On weddings, aunties, and the quiet erosion of culture

The beat of the dhol starts, a frantic, infectious rhythm that vibrates right through the floor. The air is thick with the scent of cardamom from a thousand cups of chai, and a dozen aunties, chachas, and mamus are weaving through the crowd, their laughter and old-people-humour filling the spaces between conversations. This is the texture of a real wedding. I’ve been thinking a lot about these moments, and how they seem to be fading. A different kind of celebration is taking their place, one that feels tidier, quieter, and altogether more legible to the outside world. The white wedding, with its clean lines and predictable schedule, is replacing our own sprawling, vibrant functions. On the surface, the logic is seductive. It’s novel. It feels less messy. There are fewer intricate formalities, fewer people to call, a simpler script to follow. We tell ourselves it’s modern, an evolution. But I worry it is something else entirely. When we dumb down our ceremonies to their most entertaining parts—the bits a non-brown person can easily consume without context—we are not sharing our culture. We are performing a sanitised version of it. We are sanding off the edges, removing the parts that feel inconvenient or difficult to explain. And in doing so, we are signalling that our own traditions are less aspirational, less valid than the Western ideal. This, for me, is the quiet erosion of culture. It’s the loss of the specific magic that happens when our people come together on their own terms. It’s the magic of the women’s rituals, of love being transferred from one generation to the next, of a community witnessing a union in a language that it deeply understands. These things simply cannot be itemised on the wedding Excel sheet. The richness is found in the unplannable moments. The spontaneous dance-off between uncles. The specific shade of a grandmother’s sari. The collective sigh during a prayer you’ve heard a hundred times. These are the threads of our heritage, and they are lost when the primary goal is to create an event that is easily digestible for everyone. In our current climate, holding onto these pieces of ourselves feels more important than ever. Not as formalities to be suffered through, but as living, breathing expressions of our identity, brought to life with care and intention. We have an opportunity to add our own layer of magic for the next generation, rather than trading it all in for a borrowed fantasy. This isn’t about blaming couples, who are under immense pressure. It’s about recognising that culture is a collective project. Every single person who attends a wedding has agency. The couple dictates the celebration, yes, but the family and friends who show up decide what to celebrate, and how. We choose whether to lean into the beautiful chaos or to run from it. We choose what to keep alive.