Summer idylls that do not end well and apathy in the face of a world of so many matches. The general feeling of the guests upon arriving in the city of Agra, in India, summed up a certain unease regarding current relations, especially after the vibrant summer months. However, none of us had the spell of the raatba.
In a world where there are thousands, even millions, of words that define a unique feeling linked to a culture or territory, few are as dreamy as raatba, a word of urbu (Arabic) origin widely used in India to define “a unique connection.” and inexplicable between two people.” The same one that these days has united Nakul (Indian) and Natalia (Spanish), two friends who decided to forge their union in Agra in front of all their friends, family and the domes of the most romantic monument in the world: the Taj Mahal.
Everything was ready: there was no shortage of celebratory drums, a decorated float and clouds of confetti. At the entrance, the priest (purohit) waited wrapped in a robe the same orange color as the garlands of marigold flowers hanging from the statues of the god Ganesha. An echo, a mystical song. Draw the bindi - or third eye - on the bride's forehead while the future husband contemplates the scene from the stairs, happy and proud. Those present dance, the incense surrounds us and from the whirlwind of emotions colors that do not yet exist are born. All the chairs are ready in front of a pavilion, photos here, Coca-Cola for everyone - no alcohol, it was Friday - and plenty to eat.
Soon after, the sacred Homa fire whispers over the altar. Around them are fruits such as bananas and apples, as well as native leaves and aromatic herbs poured into the flaming bowls. The ground becomes a sea of rose petals that floods everything, and the color of so many saris and kurtas displays an exuberant watercolor.
People gather around the bride and groom, waiting to make all the offerings and vows. A look, seven turns (or Saptapadi) around the fire and a tie between both their outfits to seal the union. Suddenly, there is silence, only interrupted by some crying. If this is not love, let Cupid and Kamadeva come down to see it.
Everything seems unreal, looks merge and the union between Spain and India finds new bridges around a celebration that whispers eternal promises. And in the background, spy the always imposing Taj Mahal. Even the most important mausoleum in India, built almost 400 years ago for the love of a prince for his deceased wife, seems to bless this union.
It is the magic of the universe and a passion that knows no borders. Of a raabta that, for several hours, floated in this part of India more than in any other corner of the world. Someone shot confetti and we all forgot those last bad dates we had in the West to smile. To regain hope.
