The wedding march

With the name and address of their employer embroidered on their uniforms,36-year-old Kumar and 20 others like him are walking advertisements for the wedding band they play for. They all belong to the Inder brass band in Patel Nagar in central Delhi,which has marched many a bridegroom to the waiting bride over the last 30 years.

With one ghodi,12 jhoomar lights (mobile chandeliers) and two dhols,these men come as a package deal for Rs 15,000. “We also provide fire crackers,” says Sanjay Gupta,proprietor of Inder band. “Some clients ask for the band to be dressed in a particular colour so that their dresses match with the rest of the wedding ensemble. Nowadays clients ask for all bandwallahs to be cleanshaven and in polished shoes. We have 7 to 8 bands on the streets during November to February,the wedding season,” he says.

To keep up with this demand,a thekedar or a contractor who is also the ‘master’ in the band,gets men from villages in UP and Bihar. One such master is Rajpal Singh,45,who has been with Inder Band for over 20 years. Before telling us how he finds the men who play brass band instruments,Rajpal indulges in some nostalgia. “My grandfather used to play a small trumpet,my father a slightly larger one and now I play the biggest trumpet,” he says.

It’s easy to be ignored when he is in his uniform so Rajpal is happy with the sudden attention and talks loudly.

“I get these men from the villages. Most are poor farmers,who have large families to take care of. I train and teach them how to play. I get them here,they stay right here,above the shop. Some of them are from the ‘naat’ community,which is present in many districts of Bihar. They are performers and their families have played instruments for centuries. I have brought men from Vaishali in Bihar and Moradabad in Uttar Pradesh,“ he says,pointing towards the ceiling.

What you can’t see beyond the blinding orange paint and the stationary fan in this one-table-one-chair shop are three floors of instruments,uniforms,shoes,and living quarters for over 20 men who make this their home for 7 to 8 months in a year.

“We try to help them and let them stay above the shop. They are poor and cannot afford the rent in the city. So they stay here,” says Gupta.

There is always someone new who comes from the village and he would need practice. But no one in crowded Patel Nagar or elsewhere would want a brass band practising near their windows. “We take the band one km away to a park that faces the railway tracks,we practise there 3 or 4 times a week. We have taken permission to play there,” says Gupta.

There,the train horns drown out Mere yaar ki shaadi hai,a must at every wedding,Desi girl and other latest Bollywood tracks. But the longer rehearsals are for Brasil and Saturday night that have been the most sought after English additions for that NRI groom. “We are illiterate,we get hold of the new cassette and keep hearing it till we get the tune right. I make sure that I start the song,and ask the boys to follow,” says Singh.

But band-talk is not all that Pramod wants us to indulge in. “It is difficult,” he says like an errant note. And quickly clarifies that it is not about learning a new song,or walking and playing the heavy instruments at the same time,or the stares and rowdy baaratis,but it is difficult making a living. We get paid around 4,000-5,000 a month. And it is difficult. I am a graduate,I studied in Hajipur and couldn’t find a job anywhere in my village in Bihar. I have tried hard and I took up this job to feed my family. We are poor people and I have five children.”

There are over 21 nods from different directions,their instruments shivering in their hands,there are 21 similar stories. “There is another thing,” says someone holding a euphonium,“whenever something goes missing from a wedding,even a mobile phone,they always search the bandwallahs”.

“They stay in fancy hotels but the band has to sit on the street corner,” says someone holding a tuba. “We want people to know our art. Only poor people treat us with respect.”

It is difficult to say who is talking. The uniforms make them all look the same.