What if my idea of a ‘big day’ isn’t a wedding?

Why do we assign some personal milestones more value than others? A perennial bridesmaid demands that we reassess the definition of a ‘big day’
wedding big day
A still from Jab Tak Hai Jaan (2012)

One Sunday morning a few months ago, I was awoken by the persistent ding of WhatsApp notifications. Bleary-eyed but curious to nail the culprit who had dragged me back to the world of the living at 7am on my day off, I glanced at the screen, then almost launched my phone into the wall. I’d been added to yet another bridesmaids group chat.

I’ve spent the better part of my twenties as a bridesmaid, a willing sacrificial lamb at the altar of my friends’ big days. Months in advance, I was conscripted into the chaotic trenches of choosing every outfit in their wedding trousseau, accompanying them to every dress fitting, curating complementary jewellery—basically becoming their personal stylist. I have been on the unofficial planning committee of more weddings than I can count, prepping and planning, discussing details and dress codes alongside deciphering the quirks of different family members to ensure everyone feels important. I didn’t mind. This momentous, priceless occasion in their lives was their ‘thing’ and I felt honoured to be a part of it. It felt like the ultimate litmus test of a friendship—one that I was determined to pass with flying colours.

First came the engagement parties and gifts. Then bridesmaid’s duties. Followed by bachelorette trips. Wedding outfits. More gifts. Then, like clockwork, we moved on to baby showers. Kids’ birthdays. You get the drift.

By the end of my twenties, when this cycle had been repeated around 15 times, a 27 Dresses-shaped thought began to form in my mind. What if I never have these moments? What if the love, time and money I had poured into these occasions would never be reciprocated just because a wedding isn’t my idea of a big day?

I recently bagged the dream job every one of my schoolmates knows I’ve been gunning for since I was 10. They watched me go from starry-eyed and sanguine to stressed and struggling, riding the ups and downs of a capricious career in fashion. If there was ever a moment for me, it was this. My milestone. I worked harder for this than I ever would for some guy I might marry. But beyond the standard congratulatory texts and five-minute phone calls, where was the fanfare? I’ve had to uproot my life, move cities and start over. If anything, this milestone warrants an air fryer or a mixer grinder, especially since I haven’t coalesced into a single unit with a double income.

Not getting my own parade reminded me of the Sex and the City episode in which Carrie goes to a friend’s baby shower, only to have her beloved Manolos stolen. When she politely asks for compensation, her friend baulks at the idea, acting like it is absurd to feel so strongly about a pair of stilettos. But Carrie points out the logic: she had spent thousands of dollars celebrating this friend’s life choices over the years—engagements, weddings, baby showers—yet when it came to her own moments, they were trivialised. That’s how I felt.

Until a few decades ago, a wedding was considered the biggest milestone in a woman’s life, a crucial step into adulthood that marked a new beginning. It meant she was officially ready to learn the ways of the family she was marrying into and listen for the imminent call of motherhood. But what happens now that so many women are actively choosing to remain single and identifying as anti-natalists? Will the spotlight ever be on me if I don’t marry or produce babies? For a while, the lack of pomp and circumstance around my career update made me angry and resentful. But then I started to wonder: how often had I shown up for my friends’ significant moments outside of weddings and babies? Maybe someone’s first marathon was their Roman Empire and I should’ve been standing with a box of cookies at the finish line. Perhaps showing up with a meal and a smile when a friend was going through a depressive episode was the gift. Would I ever be as excited for a friend announcing her exit from a bad marriage as I would have been had she announced that she was marrying the man of her dreams? Maybe I ought to be more like Jharkhand-based Prem Chand, who organised a baraat to celebrate the homecoming of his daughter after she divorced her abusive husband.

I’ve always been frank with my friends about how much material gifts matter to me. Those saccharine cards (“Your presence is the only present desired”) are a lie. For me, it has always been the opposite. I gauge affection based on how much thought has been put in to a gift. It might seem impolite and materialistic, but to me, it’s a tangible reflection of how well my friends know me and how much they care. I love my possessions dearly, never for their price but for the journey they took to get to me. There is now a running joke in my friend group that I’ll be sending out a gift registry for my 30th birthday.

In all honesty, it’s wonderful when someone you love shows up for you, but it’s even better when they come bearing gifts. It’s about anticipating needs, about undeniable physical evidence that says: ‘I see you, I get you, I’m with you.’ And to me, nothing says it like a Delonghi Magnifica Start ECAM220.60.B Fully Automatic Coffee Machine in steel grey.

This story featuring appears in Vogue India’s January-February 2025 issue, now on stands. Subscribe here

Also read:

Before the wedding, I asked myself—am I marrying for love or for social media?

Not invited to a wedding? There’s a proper way to handle that with the bride or groom

How many bridesmaids should you have? A guide to creating your perfect wedding crew