CULTURE,WEDDINGS,RITUAL AND BROKE FAMILIES
A few days ago, a video featuring Tamil influencer Indraja Shankar, daughter of the late actor Robo Shankar, caught the public’s attention. In a candid moment, Indraja opened up about her family’s recent financial struggles, shedding light on a reality that contrasted sharply with their once-glamorous image.
According to Indraja, her father had spent a fortune on her wedding. The reason was rooted in a familiar cultural pressure: the fear of community judgment. He didn’t want to be the subject of typical taunts like, “Look at him — he couldn’t even afford a grand wedding for his only child.” Determined to silence such remarks, he hosted a lavish celebration that became the talk of the town.
The scale of the wedding suggested expenses easily running into a crore. The family’s subsequent celebrations — from her baby shower to her child’s six-month birthday — projected an image of effortless privilege. In interviews around that time, Indraja herself showcased her expensive wedding attires, casually mentioning that a single blouse cost ₹30,000.
This display raised questions. Robo Shankar’s career trajectory was inspiring but modest. He began as a bodybuilder, moved on to stage performances earning ₹150 a day, and eventually found success as a character artist in Tamil cinema. He was beloved, but he was not a superstar minting crores per film.
Behind the glitter, the financial foundation wasn’t as strong as it appeared. Most of his savings were poured into one-day affairs — the wedding and grand functions. At just 46, he likely assumed he had plenty of time to rebuild his finances. However, his health deteriorated due to drinking habits, and liver failure cut his life short.
Indraja revealed that the bulk of his earnings had gone towards his medical treatment and her wedding, leaving little for the family’s future. What once looked like unshakable prosperity turned out to be a fragile image built under cultural pressure and momentary showmanship.
Watching Indraja Shankar speak about her family’s financial struggles after a lavish wedding made me reflect on how weddings unfolded a generation ago. My aunt’s wedding in the late 1980s, for instance, was a far cry from the extravagant affairs of today.
The ceremony took place within the premises of their village household. Professional cooks were hired, but the ingredients — including every spice and masala — had to be provided by the family. My mother recalls how back then, blenders and mixers were rare in village homes. All the masalas were hand-pounded in a large உரல் (mortar). It wasn’t easy work, but it brought the household together.
The bride’s home would start buzzing with visitors and activity a month before the wedding. Relatives from near and far would arrive early, not as mere guests, but as helping hands. Pounding masalas, arranging provisions, and assisting with countless chores became a shared family ritual.
When I looked through the old wedding photographs, I was struck by their quiet elegance. The bride radiated beauty without layers of modern makeup — just a touch of talcum powder, a rich silk saree, and simple jewellery with minimal workmanship. My late maternal grandfather, a man aligned with the then progressive thinkers’ movement, chose not to involve priests. The ceremony was simple, heartfelt, and wrapped up in a single day.
By the time my mother married a few years later, weddings had started to evolve. Hers was held in a wedding hall, with a small reception added to the day’s events. Yet, even with her parents’ comfortable financial status, the affair remained elegant but restrained. She wore her wedding saree for the reception too, that is the generation that didn't know of lehengas
Contrast this with the spectacle of modern weddings, amplified by social media. What was once a familial, organic celebration has transformed into a public performance, often driven by image rather than intimacy.
Many of these so-called rituals and cultural practices evolved in a time when society was rooted in agrarian economies. Back then, weddings were naturally simpler. Families relied on community support, local resources, and collective labour. The rituals suited the social and economic fabric of their time.
In today’s context, however, those customs have been amplified and commercialised, often out of proportion to people’s actual financial capacities. The scale of spending has skyrocketed — lakhs and crores are poured into elaborate weddings that last a few days but can leave a lasting dent on family finances.
The truth is uncomfortable but simple: the same money could be invested elsewhere — in building assets, securing the family’s future, or funding education and health. Guests come, bless, enjoy the food, and return home. Social media users like, comment, and scroll on. But once the lights go out and the music fades, the only thing that remains is the bill.
A wedding should be a moment of joy, not a financial gamble or a race to impress. When culture becomes a performance, it risks turning into waste disguised as tradition.
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