A Hindu ceremony in the morning and a civil one after lunch, which meant two sets of clothes, two sets of family expectations, and no time at all in between. On paper it is the hardest kind of day to photograph. In practice it was one of the easiest, because nobody was waiting for anything.
The mandap went up in the garden at six in the morning. By nine there were forty people around it and Priya’s aunts had taken over the kitchen entirely.
Two dresses, ninety minutes apart
The change happens faster than anyone expects and it is worth building fifteen minutes around it. Priya came downstairs in ivory to a room that had last seen her in red and gold, and the noise the room made is the reason I photograph weddings.
The speeches
Tom’s brother had written eleven minutes and delivered about nineteen. He had to stop twice. Priya’s father spoke for ninety seconds, in two languages, and finished before anyone had decided how to feel about it.
I shoot speeches from the side of the room, never the front. What you want is not the speaker — it is the table.
