Last Week,Gay couples wedding with perents approval hawan and priests in delhi.The grooms had sent out shimmering wedding invitations weeks in advance, had handembroidered shervanis shipped all the way from India, and took their vows before a hawan or ceremonial fire. They spent around 18 months preparing for the day and Joe’s mother Rita Govender said the larger family had been extraordinarily supportive of the plan.
The grooms had sent out shimmering wedding invitations weeks in advance, had handembroidered shervanis shipped all the way from India, and took their vows before a hawan or ceremonial fire. They spent around 18 months preparing for the day and Joe’s mother Rita Govender said the larger family had been extraordinarily supportive of the plan.A year ago, a Mumbai-based IT professional married his white boyfriend of five years in a boisterous ceremony in Seattle. They too had the shervanis and hawan. Around 450 people attended, many of them uncles and aunts from Mumbai. The boy’s parents initially had serious reservations about making their son’s sexuality public. “But by the end of it, his mother was in mother-in-law mode,’’ laughs one of the guests.
These warm, happy stories may sound unbelievable given the stream of stories of social hostility against gay people, but the fact is that same-sex marriage ceremonies have been performed in Indian households, rich and poor, and in cities and small towns alike. While the hawan nuptials may not have legal standing, the ritual is remarkable in a country where homosexuality is still considered a criminal act punishable by up to ten years in the clink. Ironically, the police cannot bust a same-sex marriage because a ceremony cannot prove homosexuality as defined by Section 377.
A Mumbai activist from Gay Bombay confirms that there are reports of marriages every week, whether it is a lesbian couple in Punjab or Kerala or gay men in Gujarat or Delhi. Ashok Row Kavi, who pioneered the opening of the closet in India, says he knows several couples who have tied the knot. “There’s one big plus-point about Hindu priests,’’ says Kavi with a straight face. “They’ll forget about everything if you show them a few bucks.’’
Same-sex marriage ceremonies are not an entirely new phenomenon, although they’ve largely stayed under the radar. Sixteen years ago, when Aditya Advani told his parents he was gay, his mum first hugged him and then suggested that he put in a matrimonial ad in a leading Indian newspaper for a suitable boy. Two years later, in 1993, he brought Michael Tarr home to meet the family. It was on this visit that Aditya complained about having to attend yet another family wedding. “I don’t know these people, why do I have to go to the wedding? They would never come for mine,’’ he griped. To which, his mother, a lawyer who, in Aditya’s words, “tends to shake the premise of things’’, said half-jokingly, “Why not? Let’s have a ceremony for Michael and you.’’ ‘Whose house will the baraat leave from?’
In the drawing room of the Advanis’ Sundernagar home in Delhi, Aditya Advani and Michael Torr exchanged garlands and took the pheras around a cluster of lamps in the presence of two bronze idols of Lord Hari Hara, a deity that represents the union of Shiva and Vishnu. The family’s spiritual mentor, Swami Bodhananda, presided over the simple but radical ceremony. The hall was strung with marigolds, coconuts were cracked open and like good Hindu grooms, Aditya and Michael showed up in sparkling white kurtas. “I don’t think there were pagdis, we just forgot about it. The ceremony was so spontaneous that there wasn’t any time to plan,’’ says Aditya’s mum Kanta, who raised a toast and recited her favourite couplet in the presence of 40 family members and friends. The couple, says Kanta, was ecstatic. “We were all so happy in their happiness, but in all fairness, I left out friends and relatives who I thought would harbour negative feelings about it.’’
The grooms had sent out shimmering wedding invitations weeks in advance, had handembroidered shervanis shipped all the way from India, and took their vows before a hawan or ceremonial fire. They spent around 18 months preparing for the day and Joe’s mother Rita Govender said the larger family had been extraordinarily supportive of the plan.
A year ago, a Mumbai-based IT professional married his white boyfriend of five years in a boisterous ceremony in Seattle. They too had the shervanis and hawan. Around 450 people attended, many of them uncles and aunts from Mumbai. The boy’s parents initially had serious reservations about making their son’s sexuality public. “But by the end of it, his mother was in mother-in-law mode,’’ laughs one of the guests.
These warm, happy stories may sound unbelievable given the stream of stories of social hostility against gay people, but the fact is that same-sex marriage ceremonies have been performed in Indian households, rich and poor, and in cities and small towns alike. While the hawan nuptials may not have legal standing, the ritual is remarkable in a country where homosexuality is still considered a criminal act punishable by up to ten years in the clink. Ironically, the police cannot bust a same-sex marriage because a ceremony cannot prove homosexuality as defined by Section 377.
A Mumbai activist from Gay Bombay confirms that there are reports of marriages every week, whether it is a lesbian couple in Punjab or Kerala or gay men in Gujarat or Delhi. Ashok Row Kavi, who pioneered the opening of the closet in India, says he knows several couples who have tied the knot. “There’s one big plus-point about Hindu priests,’’ says Kavi with a straight face. “They’ll forget about everything if you show them a few bucks.’’
Same-sex marriage ceremonies are not an entirely new phenomenon, although they’ve largely stayed under the radar. Sixteen years ago, when Aditya Advani told his parents he was gay, his mum first hugged him and then suggested that he put in a matrimonial ad in a leading Indian newspaper for a suitable boy. Two years later, in 1993, he brought Michael Tarr home to meet the family. It was on this visit that Aditya complained about having to attend yet another family wedding. “I don’t know these people, why do I have to go to the wedding? They would never come for mine,’’ he griped. To which, his mother, a lawyer who, in Aditya’s words, “tends to shake the premise of things’’, said half-jokingly, “Why not? Let’s have a ceremony for Michael and you.’’ ‘Whose house will the baraat leave from?’
In the drawing room of the Advanis’ Sundernagar home in Delhi, Aditya Advani and Michael Torr exchanged garlands and took the pheras around a cluster of lamps in the presence of two bronze idols of Lord Hari Hara, a deity that represents the union of Shiva and Vishnu. The family’s spiritual mentor, Swami Bodhananda, presided over the simple but radical ceremony. The hall was strung with marigolds, coconuts were cracked open and like good Hindu grooms, Aditya and Michael showed up in sparkling white kurtas. “I don’t think there were pagdis, we just forgot about it. The ceremony was so spontaneous that there wasn’t any time to plan,’’ says Aditya’s mum Kanta, who raised a toast and recited her favorite couplet in the presence of 40 family members and friends. The couple, says Kanta, was ecstatic. “We were all so happy in their happiness, but in all fairness, I left out friends and relatives who I thought would harbor negative feelings about it.’’
Aditya and Michael were extremely lucky that their family priest, Swami Bodhananda, agreed to preside. “He thought about it for a few days, and then said he understood me and that we could have a ceremony in the presence of Lord Hari Hara,’’ says Aditya. Other gay couples have been less fortunate. “One couple had to eventually be married by a recorded tape which chanted the mantras,’’ says a Mumbai-based software engineer. The Mumbai IT professional in Seattle had to get a white Isckon priest because no other priest was ready to officiate. In Joe Singh’s case too, the Durban priest who presided over the ceremony invited anger from many Hindus in South Africa. Arvind hopes the new generation of gays will get its blessings more easily.
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These warm, happy stories may sound unbelievable given the stream of stories of social hostility against gay people, but the fact is that same-sex marriage ceremonies have been performed in Indian households, rich and poor, and in cities and small towns alike. While the hawan nuptials may not have legal standing, the ritual is remarkable in a country where homosexuality is still considered a criminal act punishable by up to ten years in the clink. Ironically, the police cannot bust a same-sex marriage because a ceremony cannot prove homosexuality as defined by Section 377.
A Mumbai activist from Gay Bombay confirms that there are reports of marriages every week, whether it is a lesbian couple in Punjab or Kerala or gay men in Gujarat or Delhi. Ashok Row Kavi, who pioneered the opening of the closet in India, says he knows several couples who have tied the knot. “There’s one big plus-point about Hindu priests,’’ says Kavi with a straight face. “They’ll forget about everything if you show them a few bucks.’’
Same-sex marriage ceremonies are not an entirely new phenomenon, although they’ve largely stayed under the radar. Sixteen years ago, when Aditya Advani told his parents he was gay, his mum first hugged him and then suggested that he put in a matrimonial ad in a leading Indian newspaper for a suitable boy. Two years later, in 1993, he brought Michael Tarr home to meet the family. It was on this visit that Aditya complained about having to attend yet another family wedding. “I don’t know these people, why do I have to go to the wedding? They would never come for mine,’’ he griped. To which, his mother, a lawyer who, in Aditya’s words, “tends to shake the premise of things’’, said half-jokingly, “Why not? Let’s have a ceremony for Michael and you.’’ ‘Whose house will the baraat leave from?’
In the drawing room of the Advanis’ Sundernagar home in Delhi, Aditya Advani and Michael Torr exchanged garlands and took the pheras around a cluster of lamps in the presence of two bronze idols of Lord Hari Hara, a deity that represents the union of Shiva and Vishnu. The family’s spiritual mentor, Swami Bodhananda, presided over the simple but radical ceremony. The hall was strung with marigolds, coconuts were cracked open and like good Hindu grooms, Aditya and Michael showed up in sparkling white kurtas. “I don’t think there were pagdis, we just forgot about it. The ceremony was so spontaneous that there wasn’t any time to plan,’’ says Aditya’s mum Kanta, who raised a toast and recited her favourite couplet in the presence of 40 family members and friends. The couple, says Kanta, was ecstatic. “We were all so happy in their happiness, but in all fairness, I left out friends and relatives who I thought would harbour negative feelings about it.’’
The grooms had sent out shimmering wedding invitations weeks in advance, had handembroidered shervanis shipped all the way from India, and took their vows before a hawan or ceremonial fire. They spent around 18 months preparing for the day and Joe’s mother Rita Govender said the larger family had been extraordinarily supportive of the plan.
A year ago, a Mumbai-based IT professional married his white boyfriend of five years in a boisterous ceremony in Seattle. They too had the shervanis and hawan. Around 450 people attended, many of them uncles and aunts from Mumbai. The boy’s parents initially had serious reservations about making their son’s sexuality public. “But by the end of it, his mother was in mother-in-law mode,’’ laughs one of the guests.
These warm, happy stories may sound unbelievable given the stream of stories of social hostility against gay people, but the fact is that same-sex marriage ceremonies have been performed in Indian households, rich and poor, and in cities and small towns alike. While the hawan nuptials may not have legal standing, the ritual is remarkable in a country where homosexuality is still considered a criminal act punishable by up to ten years in the clink. Ironically, the police cannot bust a same-sex marriage because a ceremony cannot prove homosexuality as defined by Section 377.
A Mumbai activist from Gay Bombay confirms that there are reports of marriages every week, whether it is a lesbian couple in Punjab or Kerala or gay men in Gujarat or Delhi. Ashok Row Kavi, who pioneered the opening of the closet in India, says he knows several couples who have tied the knot. “There’s one big plus-point about Hindu priests,’’ says Kavi with a straight face. “They’ll forget about everything if you show them a few bucks.’’
Same-sex marriage ceremonies are not an entirely new phenomenon, although they’ve largely stayed under the radar. Sixteen years ago, when Aditya Advani told his parents he was gay, his mum first hugged him and then suggested that he put in a matrimonial ad in a leading Indian newspaper for a suitable boy. Two years later, in 1993, he brought Michael Tarr home to meet the family. It was on this visit that Aditya complained about having to attend yet another family wedding. “I don’t know these people, why do I have to go to the wedding? They would never come for mine,’’ he griped. To which, his mother, a lawyer who, in Aditya’s words, “tends to shake the premise of things’’, said half-jokingly, “Why not? Let’s have a ceremony for Michael and you.’’ ‘Whose house will the baraat leave from?’
In the drawing room of the Advanis’ Sundernagar home in Delhi, Aditya Advani and Michael Torr exchanged garlands and took the pheras around a cluster of lamps in the presence of two bronze idols of Lord Hari Hara, a deity that represents the union of Shiva and Vishnu. The family’s spiritual mentor, Swami Bodhananda, presided over the simple but radical ceremony. The hall was strung with marigolds, coconuts were cracked open and like good Hindu grooms, Aditya and Michael showed up in sparkling white kurtas. “I don’t think there were pagdis, we just forgot about it. The ceremony was so spontaneous that there wasn’t any time to plan,’’ says Aditya’s mum Kanta, who raised a toast and recited her favorite couplet in the presence of 40 family members and friends. The couple, says Kanta, was ecstatic. “We were all so happy in their happiness, but in all fairness, I left out friends and relatives who I thought would harbor negative feelings about it.’’
Aditya and Michael were extremely lucky that their family priest, Swami Bodhananda, agreed to preside. “He thought about it for a few days, and then said he understood me and that we could have a ceremony in the presence of Lord Hari Hara,’’ says Aditya. Other gay couples have been less fortunate. “One couple had to eventually be married by a recorded tape which chanted the mantras,’’ says a Mumbai-based software engineer. The Mumbai IT professional in Seattle had to get a white Isckon priest because no other priest was ready to officiate. In Joe Singh’s case too, the Durban priest who presided over the ceremony invited anger from many Hindus in South Africa. Arvind hopes the new generation of gays will get its blessings more easily.
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