Parsi Wedding Traditions: Rituals and Customs
- Editorial Team
- May 15
- 7 min read
I went to my first Parsi wedding last month. My college roommate Zarina finally tied the knot with her boyfriend of six years, and boy, was it different from any wedding I'd attended before. For starters, they don't call it a wedding – it's a "lagan." And it's not just a day-long affair but a week-long festival of rituals that made me realize how rushed most modern celebrations feel.
These Zoroastrian traditions date back thousands of years, brought to India when Parsis fled Persian persecution in the 10th century. They settled mainly in Gujarat and Mumbai, carefully preserving their customs while adapting to Indian life. With their community numbers dwindling (there are fewer than 60,000 Parsis left in India), each wedding feels like a cultural triumph – a statement that they're still here, still celebrating as their ancestors did.
The unofficial engagement kicked off with women from both families visiting each other's homes. Zarina's aunts showed up at Rustom's place carrying silver coins and gifts, while his female relatives did the same at her house. They call this the Rupia Peravanu – basically women handling the engagement while the men stay out of the way (smart, if you ask me).
Before any formal engagement, there's an auspicious date-setting ritual called Akdni. I missed this one, but Zarina explained that the families consult priests to find the most favorable wedding date according to both Zoroastrian calendars and birth charts. Once set, no changing allowed – apparently, Parsis take their celestial timing seriously.
Then came what might be my favorite part – the Madhavsaro. Both families planted small trees in pots and placed them at their front doors. Every morning, someone waters this little plant, which stays there for a week after the wedding. When I asked about it, Zarina's mom just smiled and said, "Relationships need daily nurturing, just like plants." No elaborate explanation needed.
Four days before the wedding, Zarina disappeared for the Adarni ceremony. Her future in-laws arrived with clothes, jewelry, and gifts while her family went all out with the food. Her mom had been cooking for three days straight. The spread was insane – dhansak, patra ni machhi, sali murghi – I couldn't pronounce half the dishes but devoured them all.
I also learned about a pre-wedding ritual I didn't witness called Murat. In this tradition, invitations are placed before the sacred fire at the fire temple (their place of worship) to receive blessings before being distributed. Each invitation comes with a small packet of dried fruits and sugar-coated fennel seeds – a symbol of the sweetness to come.
The night before the wedding, Zarina's family hosted the Mahurat ni Maachi, where her maternal uncle presented her with a new set of clothes and jewelry. She told me this gesture symbolizes her maternal family's lasting connection despite her moving to her husband's home. That night also saw the Divdo Baravanu ritual, where oil lamps were lit in both homes, meant to stay burning until after the wedding – a symbol of divine presence guiding the couple.
The day before the wedding came the messy part. During the Supra Nu Murat, five married women took turns smearing Zarina and Rustom with turmeric paste. Everyone was laughing as they turned increasingly yellow. Zarina told me later that turmeric is supposed to purify and bring good luck, but honestly, it seemed like a good excuse for family members to make the couple look ridiculous while having a blast. After being thoroughly yellowed, they took the Nahan bath to wash it all away.
This bath isn't just any shower, though. It's a proper Parsi purification ritual with prayers and special water. Zarina said her grandmother recited prayers in ancient Avestan language while pouring the water over her. The ritual is meant to cleanse not just the body but also the soul before entering marriage. Rustom underwent the same ritual with the men in his family. The wedding day itself was a riot of white and red. Zarina wore this gorgeous white saree called a Para Gara that her grandmother had worn 60 years earlier. No designer boutique shopping for her. The only color came from those red bangles her new mother-in-law had given her. Rustom looked sharp in his white Dagli coat and black Fetah hat – reminded me a bit of a penguin, but I kept that thought to myself.
Before heading to the venue, each family conducted the Torano bandhavanu – tying a string across the entrance of their homes with a lime and leaves hanging from it. I asked what it meant, and someone told me it creates a protective barrier against negative energies. Nobody enters or leaves the house without touching it for luck. The ceremony started with both moms performing this protective ritual called Achu Michu. They circled trays filled with rice, coconut, raw eggs, and water around their future in-laws, then tossed everything away. When I looked confused, Zarina's cousin whispered, "They're throwing out any bad luck." From the determined look on the mothers' faces, no bad luck would dare stick around.
The actual wedding ceremony, or Ashirwad, took place under a stage decorated with flowers and fabric in white and red – colors representing purity and prosperity. Priests called Dasturs presided, wearing white from head to toe with distinctive white caps. Instead of one officiant, there were two – apparently doubles the blessing power. Then came the stage show. Zarina and Rustom sat facing each other with a white sheet between them. Seven married women walked around them seven times, wrapping them with white thread. I was trying not to laugh when the priest handed them both rice. Suddenly, they were throwing it at each other over the divider! Everyone cheered when Zarina threw first – apparently, that means she'll be the boss at home. Rustom looked genuinely disappointed, which made it even funnier.
During this time, the priests were reciting the Ashirwad – sacred blessings from the Avesta texts. The prayers went on for almost an hour, sometimes in Persian, sometimes in Gujarati. I couldn't understand a word, but the rhythmic chanting created this hypnotic atmosphere. The priests showered the couple with rice and rose petals at specific intervals, marking different stages of the blessing. The most solemn moment came when they performed the Nahan ritual – joining the right hands of the bride and groom and wrapping them seven times with raw thread while reciting prayers. Zarina's grandmother explained that this symbolizes their souls being bound together. Everyone fell silent during this part, even the usually rowdy kids.
After exchanging rings seated next to oil lamps, they were officially married. But that's when the real entertainment began. Zarina's sister refused to untie all the ceremonial threads until Rustom paid up. She literally had her hand out until he forked over cash! Then she made him dip his hands in water while she performed some cleansing ritual – though it looked more like she was enjoying watching him squirm. Her sister-in-law was even worse. She threatened to pour milk all over Rustom's shoes unless he gave her money too. The poor guy was reaching for his wallet all day. I asked if this was normal, and someone told me that tormenting the groom is practically a competitive sport at Parsi weddings.
Then came a ritual I wasn't expecting – the egg and coconut game. Rustom had to break a raw egg with his right foot and crack open a coconut. According to tradition, if he succeeds on the first try, their firstborn will be a boy. He managed the egg but took three whacks at the coconut. Everyone had their own interpretation of what that meant for their future children.
Before the reception, the newlyweds visited the fire temple, where they placed rose petals on oil lamps to extinguish them. No blowing out candles here – everything has a touch of elegance, even putting out flames.
The fire temple visit wasn't just a quick stop either. They performed the Machi ceremony, offering sandalwood to the sacred fire and receiving blessings from the head priest. Only Parsis were allowed inside the inner sanctum, so I waited outside, but Zarina said it was the most spiritual moment of the day – when they officially became husband and wife in the eyes of Ahura Mazda, their god. The reception that followed mixed tradition with modern fun. It started with Achumichu by Rustom's mother at the entrance of their home, but then transitioned to a proper party with both Parsi and Western music. The food was another education – traditional dishes like Sali Boti (meat with potato straws), Berry Pulao (a rice dish with tart berries), and Lagan nu Custard (wedding custard) served alongside continental options. Zarina's uncle insisted I try everything and explained each dish's significance at Parsi celebrations.
What struck me most about the whole thing wasn't the food (though it was amazing) or the outfits, but how everyone knew exactly what to do without rehearsals or wedding planners with clipboards. These rituals have been performed the same way for generations – no Pinterest boards needed. The day after the wedding brought the Bahana ceremony, where Zarina returned to her parents' home for lunch with Rustom. Her mom prepared a feast featuring fish (considered auspicious for newlyweds) and sweet dishes. Four days later came the Chharum, a formal dinner hosted by the bride's family, marking the completion of the initial marriage period. And on the ninth day, they held the Navroz Salamati, a formal visit to elder relatives for blessings.
In our world of Vegas elopements and Instagram-perfect ceremonies, there's something refreshingly stubborn about Parsi weddings. They're doing things exactly how their ancestors did – and they don't seem interested in "updating" anything for modern sensibilities. As we were leaving the reception, I asked Zarina's 85-year-old grandmother if weddings were different when she got married. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Not a single thing has changed." She sounded proud of that fact. And honestly, I get why.