Some weddings unfold over a day. Manvir and Sukh’s unfolded over a week, across two cities, with two families slowly becoming one. Sukh’s side celebrated in Edmonton. Manvir’s side celebrated here in Winnipeg. By the end, I had watched a bride laugh until she cried, then cry with no laughter at all.
Starting at home
Manvir’s celebrations began where they should, at home. The haldi was loud and bright. Her friends crowded around her in shades of yellow, smearing turmeric on her arms and on each other. There was more giggling than ritual, and that was exactly right.
The chooda ceremony brought a different feeling. The room went quiet. Manvir sat cross-legged on the floor in red while her family gathered close and slid the bangles onto her wrists. Nobody rushed it. Over her shoulder, an elder watched with her hand pressed to her chest. Moments like this are why I shoot documentary. You can’t stage that kind of stillness.
Then, just as quickly, the energy flipped. Manvir stood under the floral arch and shook her kaleere over her friends’ heads, waiting to see whose turn was next. The screams when they fell are still ringing in my ears.
Her mehndi had the same mix of beauty and play. At one point the girls all raised their henna-covered hands at once, and there was Manvir in the middle, calm and composed in deep olive green. Even the family dog got dressed for the occasion in a tiny embroidered jacket. He didn’t seem impressed, but he wore it well.
Sangeet and jaggo at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights
The sangeet and jaggo moved to the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, and it turned into a different world. Velvet curtains, a silver swing and walls of red flowers set the stage. Winnipeg Mehfil played live, and the room couldn’t sit still.
The aunties took over the dance floor and refused to give it back. Manvir, in a stunning purple lehenga, sat on the stage laughing so hard she had to hold onto the woman beside her. Before the party started, we stepped outside for a few portraits against the stone walls of the museum. She leaned back on a bench and let the lehenga spill everywhere. It was a quiet five minutes before a very loud night.
Then came the jaggo. The decorated pots went up overhead, bills started flying, and one of the elders danced right through the middle of it all with a grin that said he’d been waiting all year for this.
The barat and the door games
On the wedding day, the families met under a huge grey prairie sky. Both sides stood in long lines facing each other, hands folded in prayer, with a single dhol player waiting between them. It’s one of my favourite frames of the year. It shows how big this day felt, and how small we all are next to it.
Then the fun began. Manvir’s side made Sukh earn his bride. The door games were ruthless. Sukh had to put lipstick on his groomsmen. They had to sing and dance on demand. One groomsman actually had to get his leg waxed, and his face is something I will never forget.
The girls stole Sukh’s shoes, of course. Somewhere in the tug of war, one of them got ripped clean in half. Sukh stood there barefoot on the patio, looking down at what was left of it. Nobody could stop laughing. He paid up from the car window with a fan of fifties and a wink.
The Anand Karaj at Gurdwara Singh Sabha
Inside Gurdwara Singh Sabha, the mood settled. Manvir walked in with her family on either side, carrying her offering, eyes fixed forward. The hall was full. Under the golden canopy, Manvir in orange and Sukh in olive sat side by side before the Guru Granth Sahib.
My favourite moment came between the laavan. Sukh turned and looked at her. She looked right back, trying very hard not to smile. She lost. In a room of hundreds, it felt like they were the only two people there.
Portraits at Assiniboine Park
Afterward, we headed to Assiniboine Park. We wandered through the English Gardens, then finished just outside The Leaf. The light that afternoon was generous. I lifted Manvir’s dupatta over both of them, and the sun came through it in gold. They leaned in, foreheads together, eyes closed. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to.
These two are easy to be around. They tease each other constantly. Between frames, there was always some private joke making one of them laugh.
The doli
Every Sikh wedding ends with a goodbye, and this one hit hard. Manvir stood in the doorway of the house she grew up in and tossed rice over her shoulder, the gold of her kaleere catching the light. She kept her eyes down. Sukh stood ahead of her, holding his kirpan, giving her the space she needed.
Her brother cried. Her father cried. Her mother held her the longest. It’s one thing to know your daughter is getting married. It’s another to watch her walk out the door to start a life in another province.
Closing thoughts
Manvir has now moved to Edmonton, where she and Sukh bought their first home together. Part of me loves knowing that. After all the noise, the dancing, the broken shoe and the tears, the real story is just starting.
Manvir and Sukh, thank you for letting me into every corner of your celebration. The loud parts and the quiet ones. I hope these photos bring you right back to that week every time you look at them. Wishing you a lifetime of laughing at each other’s jokes.