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by Akshay Gajria
ed. by Namrata Sharma
The year 2024 began with my partner Namrata and I choosing our wedding song. The song that would play when she, the bride, walked to me, the groom. So we did what we always do — make a playlist.
Making playlists feels like a natural extension of our relations
hip. Deep during the first lockdowns, unable to meet, one of our first dates was an audio/text conversation while we both enjoyed (a bottle of) wine in our respective homes and played the same playlist we’d built hours before. As the night wore on, we kept adding more and more songs to the playlist just to keep the date going. In the end, we went to bed around 6 am, giddy and giggling. That playlist is called A Little Bit of Magic.
During that date, I’d sent her a (cheesy) line about our burgeoning relationship — you be the river, I’ll be the waterfall and together we’ll sea.
Three years later, we’d reached the sea.
Tu bin bataye
Mujhe le chal kahi
Jahaan tu muskuraye
Meri manzil wahi.
Without telling me
Take me to a place
Where you smile
That is my destination.
Our wedding date was set for 4 March. Five days before that, it was cancelled.
In 2022, Namrata and I decided to move to the UK and pursue our respective masters degrees simultaneously. While she lived in Mumbai, away from her hometown in Delhi, this was my first foray into (what the youngsters call) adulting or as I like to think of it: leaving the nest. I had a lot to learn — from cooking to laundry to taking care of myself. And her. And all of this in a new country, a new culture, a new context. Her two sisters already lived and were settled in London, and
they helped us a lot — me more so — to find our feet on this new journey. Balancing (remote) work with education, while also learning how to live and function in a place where all the support systems we’d created over the years weren’t available — not easy. But unlike the London chill, the stress of juggling personal and professional growth never seeped into our relationship. We relished the experience and it acted as a catalyst, making Namrata and I each other’s support systems.
While we had planned much of the year in London before arriving, one of the things we hadn’t planned for was the proximity of our universities. Magically, they were just two buildings apart. This made for many shared lunches, study dates in libraries and other extracurricular activities. It served to bring us that much closer. We became each other’s home, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces.
After completing our studies near the end of 2023, we both applied to extend our visas and stay in the country. Our wedding date was scheduled to allow the visas to arrive. While my visa arrived in the standard 20 days, hers didn’t — we learnt later it was stuck in a tech glitch.
While a visa decision is pending, one can’t leave the country. So we waited. And we waited. We chased up the Home Office via phone calls
and even attempted to get in touch with people who worked there. But it was all in vain. 2024 arrived, January turned to February, and that shorter month seemed to fly by. We cancelled our flights but continued to hope. Maybe it would arrive at the last second like a Bollywood hero. But it didn’t. On 29 February, with heavy hearts, we cancelled the wedding.
With my visa, I could have visited India, gone home. But I did not want to leave her in London — she was my home and I was hers. 4 March came and went. We made it through the day like we did all things: together.
Jahaan hai
teri baahein
Mera sahil wahi
Right there
In your arms
Is my shore.
During the river and waterfall phase of our relationship, we’d discuss, on occasion, what our ideal weddings would look like. Not to each other, but what we expected out of a wedding.
We had many contrasting ideas.
For her, the marriage is key but the wedding is a moment to celebrate that marriage, give it a kickstart. A celebration shared with a few loved ones. But at the same time, whenever she dr
eamed of a wedding, she never saw herself as the bride. Too many eyes on me make me uncomfortable, she said. Not to mention posing for photographers immediately transformed her into her awkward best.
For me, marriage is a personal part of life where no entity other than the two partners have any right to it. But the wedding, oh! I had so many ideas. I wanted to get married on top of a mountain and look amazing while multiple drones captured breathtaking visuals and a photographer captured moments of beauty frozen in time. Namrata pointed out that in all my musings, there was no sign of a bride. I only ever described the mountains and me. Was this a wedding or a photoshoot?
I laughed but I continue to believe a photographer is the most crucial element in a wedding. They capture joy in light. And if they also make you look good, that’s a cherry on top of the (wedding) cake. Right?
When it came time to plan our wedding, we were happy to offload most decisions on our siblings and parents 
who were in a better position to make those. But alongside the music (of course we had a wedding playlist!), the photographer remained a crucial aspect we wanted to be hands-on. The wedding industry in India is a massive machine and most photographers are booked well in advance. Namrata and I spent weeks sharing photographer profiles and talking to potential photographers. After months of searching, asking for recommendations and looking everywhere, from websites to blogs, we finally zeroed in on a photographer who we not only liked, but was also available. We were thrilled.
Namrata started practising being less awkward before the camera and I started trying different smiles. But when it came time to tell everyone our wedding is cancelled, we told the photographer last.
We just didn’t have the heart to do it.
Mann ki gali
Tu Phuharoon si aa
Bheeg jaye mere
Khwaabon ka kafila
In the city of my thoughts
You fall like a welcome shower
And moisten
The caravan of my dreams.
In the meantime, my official graduation ceremony was scheduled for 22 April and my parents planned to attend it in London. With the cancelled 
wedding behind us (and still no sign of Namrata’s visa), a tentative question was raised: could we get married around that time in London itself ? We started making soft preparations with 28 April as a soft date. The wedding was planned not with hope, but caution.
But what is a wedding without a little bit of magic?
Slowly, like they were always meant to, pieces slotted into place. Family shared various contacts, friends volunteered to help. The location was set: Namarta’s eldest sister’s backyard and everyone — from friends and family living in London to those from different parts of the world — contributed in their own small-big way, cheering for our intimate DIY wedding. Like puzzles Namrata and I would assemble on date nights, our loved ones found various pieces of our cancelled wedding and jerry rigged them into a new whole, weaving the greatest spell of kindness and love.
With everyone doing their utmost to create the most perfect day, the universe decided to lend a helping hand, too.
A little over two weeks before the wedding, almost at random, I volunteered for The Moth’s Story Slam. That’s where I met Ben who was also volunteering. Once the show began, he asked the show producer Charlie if he could snap some shots. She agreed. Later, he shared with me a few pictures he’d taken that night. My jaw dropped when I saw them. I devoured his website and Instagram, looking at all the amazing candid moments he’d captured. Life caught in stasis, forever held in those gorgeous compositions. The images sang to me, they told me stories. Ben wove magic with light and shadows.
I showed the pictures to Namrata who agreed, his work was stupendous. An idea grew in the recesses of my brain and as someone who aspires to live a life of no regrets, I asked Ben if he’d like to click pictures at our intimate little wedding in a couple of weeks. He said yes and the final puzzle piece clicked into place.
Namrata jokes that her saying yes to marry me never got such a response. But I believe Ben’s “yes” was the final ingredient in our magic spell — a day after, Namrata’s visa suddenly arrived!
Early on 28 April, Ben took a train from Southampton 
to document our little wedding. It was miserably cold and rainy that morning. Despite the weather, Namrata walked to me, glowing, while the song Tu Bin Bataaye — the one we picked, what felt like years ago — played in the background.
I cried.
One of the first things we’d learnt about London was never to trust the weather. It could rain at any time. So to protect the ceremony, we’d set up a tent. That morning of the wedding, I was highly grateful for it.
Once inside, the tent protected us and the ritual fire from the rain. But we soon discovered that with its sides open, the cold wind kept barging in carrying splashes of rain. Our backs were drenched while our feet were warm thanks to the fire in front of us. Below our bare feet, the grass was moist and the earth underneath was cold. All the elements — water, fire, earth, wind — wanted to witness the union. With their blessings, Namrata and I married each other.
Once the rituals ended, we ran inside to seek shelter from the elements and grab a celebratory drink. That’s when the sun decided to appear and stay, warm and bright in the sky. Like magic.
Meethi lagi
Chakh ke dekhi Abhi
Mishra ki dali
Zindagi ho chali
Such sweetness
Like nibbling
A lump of sugar
Is what life becomes
photographs by ben allsup
a collaboration inspired by the moth
