One Wedding, One Empty Chair
The night before the wedding, the house was silent. Just six of us moving around, quietly finishing last-minute tasks. In that silence, his loss thundered through me: my father should have been here.
Happy. Overwhelmed. Tired. Mildly grieving. That’s what last month felt like.
In a wild-card entry for the year, my younger brother got married. A fast-tracked wedding that went from idea to execution in what felt like minutes, but stretched across thirty days of non-stop lists, phone calls, late-night planning, and emotions spilling out of every corner. Figuring out venues, menus, clothes, and cultural landmines on the go.
It was beautiful. It was exhausting. And woven into every moment was one thread I couldn’t ignore: my father’s absence.
If He Had Been Here
How he would have rejoiced. How he would have cried too.
I kept imagining him at every turn. He would have known what to do. He would have told us what was worth worrying about and what wasn’t. He would have cut through the unnecessary rituals that kept landing in my lap: like the endless debates over whether a particular ceremony required turmeric, sandalwood, or how many plates were to be presented for each event. He would have laughed, maybe argued, but mostly he would have led.
And he would have gotten along well with the in-laws. That’s what struck me the most. My brother’s father-in-law reminds me so much of him—the same gentleness, the same warmth. Watching him move through the wedding with such grace made the gap in my own family feel that much sharper.
There’s a strange loneliness in standing in for someone who should have been there. I found myself performing roles that weren’t mine but became mine by default — financial decision-maker, cultural negotiator, reluctant authority figure — in a state where women aren’t expected (and often aren’t allowed) to handle money or authority… that’s a feeling I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully describe.
It was equal parts pride and grief. I wanted to do right by him. I wanted to be the daughter he raised—capable, steady, fair. And yet at every step, I found myself asking: if Dad had been here, how would he have done it?
The Village That Didn’t Show
There’s a myth about weddings—that they bring families together. That everyone shows up, sleeves rolled up, ready to contribute.
The truth? Only a handful of people really carried the weight.
Besides me, my solid partner, the groom himself, and one cousin brother who turned up with both muscle and loyalty. The rest floated through in a haze of opinions and demands, offering very little else.
The house should have been buzzing with cousins running errands, aunties decorating, uncles setting up. Instead, the silence was broken only by the scrape of a chair, the rustle of tissue wrapping bangles, the steady whirr of the washing machine. Six of us were holding the centre, when there should have been twenty. I couldn’t help but imagine what my father must have thought, watching over us.
My Hero
And here’s where I have to pause and give credit where it’s due. My backbone. My pillar of strength. My punching bag and cuddle machine. My partner.
Without him, I could not have done this. Full stop.
He sustained me through this whirlwind of emotions and logistics — between wedding planning, my consulting job, sleepless nights, and sudden curveballs. He managed the lists, the small fires, the constant fatigue.
V doubled up as carpenter, electrician, and errand boy for both the small chores and the big ones. He fixed, calmed, and held. He didn’t lose his cool, and more importantly, he helped me keep mine (most of the time).
Standing beside me through this chaos, he reminded me once again why I cannot do life without him.
What Weddings Teach
A week full of functions. Events stacked one on top of the other. High tensions, missteps, sharp words, and all the forgiving that followed. That’s what weddings are made of, really: the frictions and the soft landings. And a whole lot of good food and coffee to help us get through it all.
And then the moment came: my brother at the mandap, his bride beside him. His smile was one I hadn’t seen in years. Her warmth wrapped the room, softening everything it touched. And for the first time in weeks, I felt the weight in my chest ease.
Now back at my base, the house is quiet again. Bills stacked on the desk. Clothes from the wedding are still waiting to be unpacked. My body is tired, my mind still replaying the what-ifs.
But when I look back, I feel something close to peace even though I may not have processed it all yet.
I hope I carried him with me that week, in the way I made decisions, in the way I tried to hold steady, in the way I tried to lead without bitterness. And I hope, wherever he is, he was smiling when the garlands were exchanged, and when the music played.
In the end of it all, we managed. We celebrated. We laughed. We remembered. We missed him. And we welcomed joy into our home again. And learnt, too, that love can multiply even when one chair at the table stays empty.
