The Wedding's Splendour — or the Burden of Debt?
Last week I attended a wedding at a grand marquee in Rawalpindi. Outside, colourful lights; inside, a stage dressed with flowers, and so many dishes on the food tables that counting them was hard — and in the crowd every guest was saying, “What magnificent arrangements!” In that same crowd, the groom's father stood in a corner, quietly telling someone: “God willing, may this loan be paid off by next year — otherwise the instalments will run for five years.” A smile on the stage, and the worry of debt in the corner — two faces of the same wedding.
This scene is no longer the story of one household; it has become the common picture of our society. A wedding used to be an occasion of joy; it has now become an arena of competition. If someone's wedding had ten dishes, we will have twelve; if someone's stage was simple, ours will glitter like gold; if someone invited five hundred guests, we will invite eight hundred. And who is paying the price of this competition? The father who spends years of savings in a single night on his daughter's wedding, the brother who takes a loan to see his sister off, and the family that keeps paying instalments for years after the wedding. We have made borrowing for joy a routine — and then we wonder why there is no peace in our homes.
Think: what have we lost? We have lost the simplicity of nikah — the simplicity in which there was blessing. Nikah was meant to be easy; we have made it the hardest contract of all. How many daughters are there whose weddings are delayed only because the family is saving money to put on a “proper show”? How many young men are afraid of nikah only because they think marriage means spending hundreds of thousands? And in the walima's guest list, the poor relative's name is struck off because “there is little space” — while chairs keep being added for wealthy guests. We have tied joy to show, and show never brings joy; it brings only exhaustion and debt.
How sternly our religion has viewed this very showy invitation can be gauged from a single saying: the Prophet ﷺ said, “The worst food is the food of the wedding feast to which the rich are invited and the poor are left out” (Sahih al-Bukhari: 5177). A feast from which the poor are excluded is not food worth eating — so what are we gaining by spending hundreds of thousands on it? People's applause? That applause ends on the wedding night, but the loan's instalments run for years.
The solution here too is not difficult; it only needs courage and a little sense. Three small habits can make a wedding joyful again. First: keep the nikah simple — nikah in the mosque, close relatives, a simple walima. Spend according to your means; never put on a show with borrowed money. How can there be blessing in a marriage that begins with debt? Second: put poor relatives first on the guest list — they are the most deserving of sharing in your joy, not only those from whom the relationship brings some benefit. Third: give up the competition — leave the worry of “what will people say” and take up the worry of “what will Allah say”. Do not delay your daughter's wedding, and do not frighten your son away from nikah; simplicity is not something to be ashamed of — simplicity is blessing.
Remember: a wedding's splendour does not come from the number of guests or the number of dishes, but from the happiness of hearts and the blessing of Allah. The splendour bought with a loan has to be paid for over years — and a night on which the heart is heavy is not a night of joy.