Experience The Magic Of Shillong's Traditional Weddings: A Must-See
Shillong functions as the capital of Indian northeastern state Meghalaya and receives the 'Scotland of the East' nickname because its natural beauty resembles Scottish landscapes with its gentle rolling terrains. Shillong stands out because of its cultural heritage that illuminates wedding ceremonies throughout the town. Traditions and cultural practices of the Khasi and Jaintia and Garo tribes dominate these prominent ceremonies held by the residents of this area. The traditional wedding ceremonies in Shillong transform into an all-encompassing experience which combines music and dance elements together with true rituals and delectable dietary experiences to create something truly exceptional.
1.The Matrilineal Society: A Unique Foundation
In Shillong traditional weddings take shape from a matrilineal society structure that remains strong among residents of the Khasi tribe. In this social structure, lineage and inheritance pass through the mother's side, making women central figures in family life. The wedding ceremony exhibits significant impacts from this practice as it determines both family agreements about alliance formation and split of responsibilities. Traditional wedding functions in Shillong see the bride's family leading the event organization although both families participate actively. The understanding of traditional family roles deepens our experience of traditional weddings when attending them in this region.
2.Pre-Wedding Rituals: Building Anticipation
The Shillong tradition of marriage starts with various cultural rituals leading to the main wedding festivity. Both families gather for Pynlong Kaba as elder members meet to finalize marriage terms. The gathering represents the critical role of shared respect and shared consensus which drives the community forward. Wedding traditions in Shillong include the exchange of presents as a custom which demonstrates intimate family links between both households. These initial ceremonies build up excitement among family members as they solidify family relationships just before the major celebration starts.
3.The Main Ceremony: Vibrant and Meaningful
On the actual wedding day guests witness a display of traditional customs which combine vibrant colors with profound emotional tendencies. Traditional Shillong weddings differ from Western traditions because they avoid using church ceremonies together with white gowns in their celebrations. Traditional weddings choose straightforward expressions rather than formal ones while emphasizing genuine heritage representations.
4.Attire and Decorations
Traditionally bridal parties choose between Jainsem or Dhara as wedding attire which are handmade with intricate patterns across the garments. The outfits are enhanced through wedding jewelry crafted from gold and silver metals to showcase the artisanal skills of this region. Grooms normally wear dhotis as their main garment along with embroidered shawls and jackets. The celebration space features flowers and bamboo structures along with multi-colored fabrics which generate an atmosphere that matches the happy event.
5.Key Rituals
The central tradition in this wedding ceremony appears when the groom's mother's brother ties the turban as a symbolic gesture during the 'Ka Pnong Tung' ritual. The transfer of both obligations and blessings travels from oldest members to their succeeding generations during this ceremony. The bride receives blessings from both sides of her family when her maternal uncles participate in the ritual which demonstrates the importance of maternal bonds in Khasi customs.
Sharing 'Kyat' represents an essential wedding tradition because it involves drinking sacred rice beer brewed from rice. Kyat, which people drink from bamboo cups, symbolizes the positive relationships between different families during the wedding ceremony. Guests conduct this tradition which strengthens their community bonds.
6.Music and Dance: Celebrating Life
Every wedding celebration in Shillong requires both music and dancing performances to be legitimate. The atmosphere becomes celebratory when people play traditional music through drums and flutes. Traditional cultural celebrations can be observed through performances of the Nongkrem Dance together with the Lahoo Dance which showcase local dance energy. This traditional entertainment holds religious value because it establishes powerful connections between wedding guests and their family traditions and ancestors.
7.Feast and Hospitality: A Taste of Meghalaya Cuisine
Food holds complete importance during every Shillong wedding ceremony. Multiple traditional dishes prepared by local cooks with great affection form the feast dining options. Traditional Meghalaya cuisine brings together the mouthwatering flavors of Jadoh rice with pork and Doh Khleh salad and Tungrymbai fermented soybean curry. The celebration receives its sweetness through Pukhlein which consists of sweet fried bread. The cultural hospitality extends liberally to all wedding guests in demonstration of traditional community values.
8.Post-Wedding Traditions: Strengthening Bonds
Following the primary wedding rituals both couples and their distant families remain connected through additional wedding traditions. Following their marriage rites the newlyweds will pay visits to their loved ones for both blessings and to express their joy. Families through these gatherings keep building the union's importance by showing support for the newlyweds to people outside their primary family group.
What Makes It Special?
A traditional wedding in Shillong develops its distinctiveness through multiple essential factors.
All wedding elements in this region showcase its traditional cultural heritage by demonstrating genuine indigenous practices to visitors.
Traditional weddings in Shillong bring communities together as members progressively work together in all ceremony stages to build a powerful bond among participants.
The weddings operate through a matrilineal system which differs from traditional Indian customs because this system redefines traditional family structures through unique perspectives about gender dynamics.
Such marriages often create a beautiful image by using Shillong's natural landscape scenery.
Very friendly reception accompanies each visitor to create space where strangers quickly transform into cherished members of the community.
Conclusion
Traditional Shillong weddings unite two souls but also showcase local heritage while connecting people to longstanding cultural practices. Every stage of a wedding celebration belongs to tradition as proper rituals surround both namtara and post-ceremony activities. Pure observation of these liaisons offers all visitors definitive knowledge regarding how Meghalayans exist and approach the world. The event demonstrates that traditional customs can live alongside contemporary society because they allow preservation of cultural heritage and accommodation of modern developments. Hold any such event dear to your heart because your experience will create an unshakable inner impression.
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Mint
4 hours ago
- Mint
Meet Morningstar Khongthaw, the man who grows bridges
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Together, they formed a span that felt like the forest folding in on itself to offer passage. 'This one," says a voice ahead of me, 'is still learning to walk." Also read: Amid conflict, the lessons we can learn from the humanism of forests Morningstar Khongthaw, 29, is crouched near the bridge's edge, touching a pale, new root lashed to the bamboo guide. The founder of the Living Bridge Foundation, a community-driven initiative focused on preserving Meghalaya's living root bridges, points a few steps further to an older, hardened line of root now fused deep into the body of the bridge. 'That one, maybe 300 years. We don't build them. We raise them." Barefoot and slight in frame, Khongthaw moves with the precision of someone who knows every knot and creak. He explains how roots are selected, how they're fed with compost from the forest floor, how each one is trained over monsoons and winters, checked, re-checked, then left to grow in its own time. He isn't a scientist or a civil engineer. He is a Khasi conservationist. A guardian of knowledge that lives in the hands and memory of a fading generation. 'I was six when I crossed this bridge for the first time," he says. 'Back then, it was just one root and two bamboo poles. My father carried me on his back." That same bridge still stretches across the gorge—but it's no longer a single line. It has thickened with Khongthaw adding three or four new roots every year, each cared for until they fused into the structure. Now others cross it without hesitation. Tourists pose for photos. It's on the tentative Unesco world heritage site list. But he still remembers that first crawl: the way the root trembled, the river's sound below, and the quiet strength of his ancestors, and it's what drives him to save these living bridges. QUIET INHERITANCE As India nears its 100th year of independence, plans for highways, smart cities and bullet trains dominate the future narrative. But in the hills of Meghalaya, another blueprint persists; one dependent on strong roots. For generations, the Khasi and Jaiñtia tribes have grown bridges, living structures coaxed from rubber fig trees and passed down like heirlooms. But that quiet inheritance is at risk. Tourism moves faster than the roots. Policy arrives from the top down. And the knowledge— passed from uncle to nephew—is fading. Khongthaw is trying to hold the line. He set up the foundation in 2018 to care for the root bridges, preserve knowledge of living root bridge construction, which he calls 'living architecture", and help young Khasis appreciate their heritage of interconnectedness with nature. The foundation has around 10 core members, mostly volunteers from local Khasi villages. They fund their work through small grants, community contributions, and occasionally, support from organisations like UNDP India. 'Root bridges are perhaps one of the most elegant examples of ecological intelligence and cultural heritage intertwined," says Sameer Shisodia, CEO of Rainmatter Foundation, which supports community-led conservation projects across India, but does not fund Living Bridge's work. 'Morningstar's approach shows us that meaningful innovation often lies in quietly enhancing traditions rather than forcing external solutions." Also read: Social reform amidst a sea of poppies Root bridges are just one expression of a wider tradition. Depending on the terrain, Khongthaw and his community shape living ladders up cliffs, tunnels through the forest, and swings woven into the canopy. 'If it's a rock face," he says, 'we don't need a bridge. We build something to climb." In some places, the aerial roots become scaffolds for play—suspended like vines from a Tarzan story. 'It's not just engineering," he says. 'It's adaptation." A single bridge can take 25 years to mature, and once formed, it grows stronger, some lasting centuries. Today, more than 100 of them exist across the Khasi and Jaiñtia Hills. It begins with a Ficus elastica sapling—an Indian rubber fig—chosen for its aerial roots that descend from branches and seek the ground. If the terrain allows, trees are planted on either side of the stream or gorge. 'First, you look at the stream," Khongthaw says. 'If there are no trees on either side, you plant." In the rainy season, when the roots are soft, they are gently bent and guided across the span using bamboo scaffolds, hollowed areca palm trunks or ropes. The bamboo structures are replaced annually as they decay. The roots are lashed in place with whatever is available: natural fibres, plastic cords, even aluminium wire. 'You don't touch the roots too early," he says. 'They'll snap. Three or four months old, they're too fragile. One or two years— that's when they become candidates." Guiding the root is not a one-time action but a sustained relationship. The team returns each monsoon to weave, check growth, and layer compost. 'Rotten leaves, branches, old wood… we place it under the roots like something precious. That's how we feed it." There are no blueprints. No manuals. 'One uncle to another," he says. 'You grow up near a bridge, you start helping and grow more of them." Also read: A new book takes a deep dive into rubber's living legacy A bridge is never finished. It may take 10 years before it holds weight. Twenty-five to be strong. Fifty to endure. 'We don't stop weaving," Khongthaw says. 'Even after you walk on it. Even after it holds." Every bridge is a collaboration—not just between roots, but between people. One person starts. Another finishes. 'It's inheritance." In Khasi myth, there's a golden bridge of roots, jingkieng ksiar, which once linked earth to heaven. Khongthaw gestures toward the trees. 'It's in the stories," he says. 'When a bridge grows weak, we plant a young ficus on top of the mother tree. When she dies, the child is already growing." Even endings, here, are designed to carry on. TURNING POINT In 2013, when he was still a school student, a Doordarshan crew arrived in Rangthylliang to film the elders and their stories. Khongthaw was asked to help. For the first time, he saw the bridges through a different lens. They weren't just crossings. They could be destinations. Other places were already being promoted—the double-decker in Nongriat, the one in Mawlynnong. 'I thought we could do the same here," he says. But the more he explored those tourist sites, the more unsettled he became. The noise. The footfall. The bridges roped off and rotting under crowds. The visitors who came for photos, not stories. 'It became a turning point," he says. 'Before we promote, we need to learn how to protect." He started visiting elders again—for instruction. How did they guide the roots? How did they feed them? 'I learned the ficus is a keystone tree," he says. They help the water table, prevent landslides, and act as both anchor and climate shield. 'Even a lone ficus supports life—birds, squirrels, insects, people." From a boy chasing a tourism dream he became a quiet conservationist. 'I wanted to protect what we had," he says. But it all came together sometime in August or September 2018 when he heard about a bridge that had fallen. The tree in Pynursla, a neighbouring village, belonged to Ba-Bli Khongthani, nearly 90 and bedridden. Since the bridge had fallen, they were considering cutting the tree. Khongthaw knew what he had to do. He drafted an agreement to formally transfer ownership of the tree and had it typed up. That evening, Khongthaw, a village elder, and Willem Betts, a Canadian friend, walked to Ba-Bli's home. Khongthaw described his vision—to nurture the tree as a symbol for future generations. 'If you really want to take care of the tree, then it's yours," Ba-Bli said with a smile. Without ceremony, Khongthaw presented the agreement. Years later, he would laminate this document and preserve it like an heirloom. That day Khongthaw felt a profound sense of relief. Yes, a bridge had fallen— but something deeper had been strengthened. Ownership had passed from one generation to another, with a promise and trust. Also read: This women farmers' network envisions a feminist future for agriculture Another giant ficus has changed his life. 'It was going to be cut for charcoal," he says. The tree was over 400 years old. Its aerial roots had been guided into two bridges. But the family that owned it needed money. 'I couldn't let it go." He borrowed ₹5,000. 'That's all it cost. A sacred tree. A living bridge." The canopy now hosts a bamboo ladder that rises into the branches—a vertical scaffold, temporary, handmade. This time, the roots won't be guided down into a bridge. They'll be shaped inward, into a circle. 'Not for people to look at," he says. 'For us to stay. Sleep. Live in." He calls it his 'Avatar Tree", in reference to the Hometree in James Cameron's Avatar. THE CHALLENGES Despite the community's involvement and understanding of their unique heritage, there are challenges. He recalls one bridge being cut down because a man didn't want it near his farmland. In another clearing, a half-grown bridge was slashed after a feud between neighbours. Khongthaw doesn't argue. He returns with stories. He sits with the elders and asks, 'What did the bridge do wrong?" He reminds them to watch the forest more closely. How roots seek each other, how they grow stronger by holding. 'The bridge never divides. It connects." The loss of his mentor was another hit. 'Jalong Khomola dedicated his whole life to root bridges," Khongthaw recalls. Their relationship began in 2015 at village meetings near Khomola's orange orchard. 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He asked them to look at the bridges and the way they grow. 'No root dominates. No hand forces. We all weave." To make his point, he referenced the jingkieng ksiar story every Khasi child knows. 'This isn't tourism," he says. 'It's memory. It's instruction. It's ours." Officials called him difficult. Some said he was politicising trees. But Khongthaw wasn't against recognition; he was against erasure. 'We don't want fences," he says. 'We want responsibility. That's what makes a bridge last." COMMUNITY EFFORT Khongthaw bends over a sapling barely a foot tall. Around it, bamboo scaffolds rise like skeletal bridges-in-waiting. This is where his Project 2047 begins. Project 2047 is Khongthaw's vision to plant and nurture 30 new root bridges across Meghalaya by 2047, when India will mark 100 years of independence. He involves the larger community—village elders, students and volunteers—in planting, maintaining and documenting these bridges, aiming to pass traditional knowledge to younger generations and revive Law Kyntang, the sacred groves protected by community law and oral memory. 'It takes 25, maybe 30 years (for a root bridge to mature)," Khongthaw says. 'So we start now. When India turns 100, these bridges will be strong." Since 2022, 30 bridges have been planted and raised with the help of village elders, students and barefoot engineers. Khongthaw calls it 'design, build, grow". A phrase he repeats often, sometimes to schoolchildren, sometimes to funders sceptical of a project whose return lies decades ahead. 'The bridge doesn't belong to me," he says. 'It belongs to the child who will cross it when I'm gone." He's working with local schools, encouraging students to adopt nearby bridges, guiding them through root weaving, asking them to track growth and sketch what they see. 'Not everyone will stay," he says, referring to migration from the region for work and studies. 'But some will. And that's enough." Traditionally, only old, unmarried men were allowed to plant ficus trees. 'You had to be over 50," he says. Khongthaw ignored it and planted 25 saplings. 'Belief is important," he says. 'But belief in yourself is more important. My legacy is the belief that young people can shape tradition. That we don't have to wait until we're 50 and alone to start planting trees. We can begin now—and someone else will finish." He walks the hills almost daily—sometimes alone, sometimes with visitors, often with a bundle of bamboo tied over his shoulder. He greets elders. He checks saplings. Project 2047 is a slow, quiet defiance in a world too quick to build and too reluctant to tend. 'When they ask what development looks like," Khongthaw says, 'we can point to this. A root in the ground. A bridge above a river. Still growing." Pankaj Mishra is a journalist and co-founder of FactorDaily, reporting on the intersections of technology, environment, and culture. Also read: A new exhibition spotlights the impact of heat stress on informal workers
Hindustan Times
5 hours ago
- Hindustan Times
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7 hours ago
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