I overcame my ‘sari angst’ for my niece’s lavish Indian wedding

I said yes. A heart-leaping “yes” to my niece’s request to play a meaningful role at her Indian wedding. It was a marrying of two tasks: the first, carrying an oil lamp, symbolically initiating the couple’s new path with love and light; the second, to wear a sari. 

Indian weddings are rarely a light affair. Even I, a sworn minimalist, only managed to impress a minutia of my ideas for an insouciant, cool ceremony when I married 15 years ago – and yes, there were terse conversations of defining “cool” with my father.

My wedding took place in Kerala, India at my grandmother’s charming, slightly tumbledown, regal ancestral temple, enveloped by a lush cornucopia of paddy fields, banana and palm trees. I wore a traditional Keralan cream cotton sari with kasavu border work (hand-loomed with gold thread), my grandmother’s floral pearl-encrusted necklace, ruby and diamond chandelier earrings paired with heirloom pearl and gold hair chains and jasmine flowers delicately entwined into my loose chignon.

Our brief ceremony was witnessed by a cherished few. That should have been it. But it wasn’t. A few days later, our formal wedding entered the picture: 300 (half were unknown to us) guests, a jasmine-laden gazebo, a seven-course sumptuous lunch served on banana leaves, five bridesmaids, an excitable Indian percussion band, Beckham-like velvet thrones and a bejewelled elephant. Then there was a reception involving a similar number of guests – although no elephant this time.  

This will sound excessive to most, but it’s conservative to many Indians.  

These days, south Indian brides have ditched their customary one-day weddings, preferring to embrace the lavish north Indian traditions, which entail a minimum of five ceremonies. The more ceremonies, the more outfits are needed for the bride, groom, wedding party and guests. You get the picture.

Bollywood and India’s elite have dictated these dizzying expectations for several years now, especially since the pandemic. My aunt, a Mumbai society regular, attests to the following as standard – hand-delivered invites accompanied with stuffed hampers (Ladurée, truffle oil, Pol Roger champagne), luxury gifts to greet the guests (Hermès scarves or Ferragamo bags), far-flung chartered flights (carrying either guests or just supplies, such as exquisite blooms and birds). 

But it’s the wedding of Anant Ambani, youngest son of Mukesh Ambani, the richest man in Asia, and his girlfriend Radhika Merchant, herself the daughter of billionaires Viren and Shaila Merchant, which is set to raise the bar higher still this weekend.

The couple’s pre-wedding celebrations went viral in March thanks to a guest list of some of the world’s most elite names; Ivanka Trump, Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates were just a handful of those in attendance at the celebrations, which included a 40-minute performance by Rihanna for which she was reportedly paid £5.5 million, an animal parade and a vast array of 500 different food dishes prepared by a team of 100 chefs. 

This weekend’s three-day affair is set to top the pre-wedding festivities (as well as the Mediterranean cruise celebrations and the lavish sangeet ceremony at which Justin Bieber performed last weekend). It’s been reported that Adele may perform and that each guest (a list said to include David and Victoria Beckham) will receive £7,000-worth of gifts. 

At the pre-wedding celebrations alone, the bride-to-be wore a myriad of megawatt outfits, each one seemingly outdoing the other. Her sari lehenga, designed by Tarun Tahiliani, one of India’s biggest fashion names, was encrusted with gilt floral embroidery and Swarovski crystals, hand painted in rose gold and silver. 

“Upon our initial encounter with Radhika, her impeccable taste immediately captivated me,” Tahiliani said. “Her appreciation lies in the meticulous craftsmanship, evident in every detail. Aligning with the theme of the valley of the gods, her attire resembles a sartorial temple complex, adorned with intricately embroidered domes and structures in the delicate hues of peaches, corals, and sunset colours. The ensemble is elevated by a specially woven tissue veil, delicately scattered with flowers, embodying Radhika’s renowned understated elegance.” 

If Tahiliani is the chivalrous sari virtuoso (he also supports his artisans with fair pay and living quarters), then Manish Malhotra is the darling of Bollywood design. To him “the elegance of Bollywood, the intricate craftsmanship of traditional Indian textiles and vibrant cultural tapestry” serves as design inspiration. To me, he is the Baz Luhrmann of Bollywood attire, complete with a twinkle in his eye. You name it, he will make it happen, from embroidering an image of the bride’s pet dog onto her lehenga, to inscribing personal messages for Bollywood actors, Sidharth Malhotra and Kiara Advani, for their respective wedding gowns.  

My niece, Ash, also shimmered for her wedding, but without the Ambani budget. Citing Bollywood actors, Alanna Panday and Alia Bhatt as her inspiration, she bought off-the-peg pieces, as opposed to custom; a white sequin lehenga and cape by Seema Gujral and a yellow floral lehenga for the reception and sangeet respectively.

For her wedding she chose a chilli-red Kanchipuram silk sari, a typical south Indian creation made with real gold brocade. Keralan brides traditionally accessorise with family gold, a social indicator of their status – the cumulative weight is equivalent to wearing a bag of flour on your body.

And what of my own look to play my special role in my niece’s nuptials?

Ever since my own wedding, I have suffered from sari angst. I had opted for a cream design, my futile attempt to tone down the dazzling brocade. 

My fears of repeating the experience have snowballed ever since. Despite a successful career styling Hollywood stars and the fashion crowd, my sartorial spirit is easily stirred if I suspect that a social sari scenario is on the horizon. Witnessing women who carry the sari, regardless of the work and fabrication and still retain their natural essence – as Ash and Radhika clearly did – is a source of inspiration for me.  

This was my fashion birthright, to come home to a sari. The wedding date was lurching around the corner, and a series of bleak winter weekends followed, blindly researching “the sari” with my mother and mother-in-law, seasoned sari wearers, in tow. I had three fixed requisites: it had to be classic, within budget and re-wearable. 

I discovered, with my relatively slight frame, that a pre-draped sari in a light silk chiffon was the way forward. It entailed two separate pieces, the “skirt” and the drape (the pallu), which I initially thought was too ruffled for my liking, before being convinced by the sari’s designer, Ridhi Mehra, that this was a design detail which would pay off. It was a simple silhouette with no embellishments: I let the blouse shimmer with subtle resham (gold thread work) and Dori embroidery.  

This time, I was by myself draping the sari. The fit of the blouse was a little big, but I had to run with it – and run I did, because it turns out there was a catwalk of sorts for the wedding party to walk on. Familiar with the runway professionally, it was a personal first for me to walk it. 

Slightly self-conscious, I felt the gentle push of the sari, the breeziness of the ruffled pallu quietly ushering me down the aisle, slowly dissipating any trepidation – and having overcome my sari trauma, I was able to focus on my ceremonial duty, to wish the couple a happy start, as I led the way with the oil lamp.  

When I asked Mehra to comment on my near sari conversion, she replied with delight. “Knowing that a woman had her first positive sari-wearing experience with one of my designs is a testament to our mission of blending tradition with modernity, it inspires me to continue creating pieces that make women feel beautiful and confident”. I was finally safe and at home with a sari. 

Sunita Kumar Nair is the author Of CBK: Carolyn Bessette Kennedy: A Life In Fashion