A good friend of mine went to the Gupta wedding. She agonised for weeks over what to wear – there were so many functions and each one needed a different outfit.
Should she go eastern – a salwar kameez for the Sagaai, when the bride to be arrives at the groom-to-be’s place with a matli, a gift that is meant to represent good luck?
Costume jewellery had to be bought; more had to be borrowed. Quick calls to a Durban cousin, a recent bride who’d recently been to India to buy her wedding clothes
Of course the bride’s arrival took place at Sun City, that fake lost city in a fake kingdom resort – which is somehow apt, don’t you think?
There was much hmmmming over whether a lehenga choli was appropriate for the Garba, the night-before-wedding party that usually means a lot of dancing.
A green saree for the Mehendi, in which inticate patterns are drawn on the bride, and her girls, hands in henna.
A heavily beaded one for the main wedding.
The Pithi, the Madap Mahurat, Griha Shati, Baraat, Ponkvu... all needed outfits.
Then of course you can’t wear western jewellery with your Indian garb.
Costume jewellery had to be bought; more had to be borrowed. Quick calls to a Durban cousin, a recent bride who’d recently been to India to buy her wedding clothes. Of course she’d had a kilogram of gold jewellery made, but for the lesser wedding ceremonies, costume was acceptable: Kundan jewellery, polki jewellery.
Ornate nose rings attached to an earring; strips of jewelled glass in gold that ran along a centre parting in hair. Toe rings, anklets with bobbles of gold. Jangly bracelets in a miriad colours.
Its serious business dressing for an Indian wedding. And you can’t overdo it. The more glitter and glitz and sparkles the better.
Great excitement reigned in her household. Everyone was shown the invitation. Her best girls were called into her bedroom for dress try ons and advice about shoes
My friend was in awe when the Gupta wedding invitation arrived. A bible thick box of invitations – all of them with venue, times, theme, meal plans, maps. Embossed. A book.
I’m thrilled, my friend said. We’re so looking forward to it. 'We' meaning her and her husband, who’d done some business with the Guptas and was therefore included on the exclusive wedding guest list.
Great excitement reigned in her household. Everyone was shown the invitation. Her best girls were called into her bedroom for dress try ons and advice about shoes and make up and quick changes between events.
She came back with pictures and tales of the food and the colours and the smells and the astonishing lavishness and excess. Aaaaah, she sighed.
She told rumours (with anger, of course since she abhors racism of any kind) of the Guptas asking that only white waiters serve their guests.
She spoke about magical ceremonies, some of them around fires, in which intoxicating scents rose from the flames: sandal wood and fresh forest smells.
Then the news broke of private Gupta planes filled with Indian wedding guests flying into the Waterkloof military base, not having to go through customs.
It was the start, for me at least, of the large scale Gupta skulduggery that would follow. And follow. And follow.
Then came the claims of state capture: ministers being decided on in the Gupta Saxonwold compound; the price paid to compliant ministers…
My friend and her husband began to justify their attendance. We didn’t know then… she spluttered turning red. Of course, if we’d known…
Houses in Dubai, the Bell Pottingers making up the fame term White Monopoly Capital.
Suddenly my friend was appalled and more than a little embarrassed to have been a guest at the Gupta wedding. Now she didn’t want anyone to know. The pictures mysteriously disappeared off her Instagram account.
At a dinner party a mischevous friend asked: Darling, didn’t you and X go to the wedding?
My friend and her husband began to justify their attendance. We didn’t know then… she spluttered turning red. Of course, if we’d known…
People are distancing themselves from the poisonous Guptas.
And those who are taking them on in the media, exposing them – like Peter Bruce, the hapless former editor of Business Day and brilliant columnist who was the victim of a mob attack outside his home – are suffering the consequences of their words.
Then this week, that bastion of trusted institutions, the auditing firm KPMG collapsed in a sad heap because of its association with the Gupta-owned Linkway Trading - implicated in laundering R30-million in public funds to pay for the 2013 Sun City wedding my friend so happily attended.
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This week, former KPMG chief excutive Moses Kgosana, who attended the Gupta 2013 wedding, resigned from his post at Alexander Forbes where he was due to take up the position as the group’s chairperson early next month.
Any connection to, or association with the toxic Guptas is proving poisonous.
A line really has been drawn in the sand.
People are having to rationalise their connection to or association with the Guptas. I’ve never seen people rush to deny any alliance with this noxious family.
I was at a lunch a few months ago when one handsome young guest announced that he was part of the team of legal counsel for the family.
There was a silence around the table. Now of course everyone is entitled to counsel. Saddam Hussein was represented; as Hitler would have been if he hadn’t killed himself in a bunker.
But who wants to be in a room with someone who gets paid to defend that family? They have so deeply undermined the very fabric of this country and caused such division that it’s really not surprising that people are putting more than arms length between themsleves and the Guptas.
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