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The Lavish Weddings Where Crashers Are Welcome—for a Fee
Couples in India are offering total strangers access to their multiday ceremonies. For tourists, it’s “like being Beyoncé for a day.”
NEW DELHI—Jay Singh wanted to find the perfect wedding present for his older sister. He figured jewelry was too common. Ditto crockery or perfume.
Instead, the 28-year-old photographer secretly registered the couple on a website that invites tourists to attend Indian weddings—for a fee. On his sister’s big night, Singh proudly presented her with two American sisters as the star guests.
“I surprised her with the gift of American people and foreigners,” he said. “She was happy.”
Indian weddings have become a source of global fascination, thanks in part to TV shows like “Indian Matchmaking” and “Made in Heaven.” Last year, India’s richest family made headlines worldwide with an eye-popping wedding extravaganza serenaded by Rihanna and attended by Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates.
Couples are capitalizing on the spotlight by selling access to total strangers, and demand is soaring to crash the lavish, multiday events. A foreigner visiting India can pay $150 to join for one day, or $250 for multiple days of festivities.
Katerina Bacevicius, a hardcore fan of weddings, decided to pony up for the festive New Delhi affair to experience a wedding in the country known for weddings.
As a trip planner for a travel company, the 37-year-old said quirky escapades are “on brand” for her during frequent trips abroad. She has partied with U.N. peacekeepers in Jerusalem, attended a cat video festival in Canada and admired spells at an Icelandic witchcraft museum.
She and her sister Kima decided to add crashing an Indian wedding to the list. “I thought, what a fun random adventure,” said Bacevicius, who lives in Burlington, Vt. “We are in it for the plot. We are in it for the memories.”
Join My Wedding co-founder Orsi Parkanyi bills the startup as the “Airbnb for weddings.”
“This is something money can’t buy because you need to know someone, you need to get a special invite,” she said.
For tourists, she added, a wedding is the best crash course on the core elements of a culture: “The music, the food, the outfits, the clothes, what people believe about love.”
Parkanyi, a Hungarian-Australian who has dabbled in startups for years, decided to fill the niche. A friend suggested starting with India, which was already famed for spectacular weddings. Facebook groups, local friends and social-media influencers helped create sparks between couples and tourists.
Paul Rodrigues, a 42-year-old farmer from Shropshire, England, dropped $300 to attend a wedding with his partner during their monthlong Indian holiday.
At a hotel bar in New Delhi, they heard about the startup from a friend and booked a wedding for the next day. The pair likes off-the-beaten-path capers while traveling, Rodrigues said. Crashing a wedding fit the bill perfectly.
“This doesn’t happen in the U.K.,” he said. “You don’t turn up to someone’s wedding if you don’t know them.”
They found appropriate outfits after a frantic rush through a local market. He wore a traditional knee-length shirt called a kurta and slippers that dramatically curl at the toes. His partner, Samantha Morrison, picked up a silk sari.
They were a bundle of nerves stepping into the venue, he said, but other guests immediately put them at ease. A group of men pulled Rodrigues into a circle to adjust his headdress. The bride and groom invited them onstage for photos.
“It felt like being a celebrity, like being Beyoncé for a day,” he said. “It’s glitz and glam.”
Weddings are listed on Join My Wedding like dating profiles, with photos, back stories and heartfelt invitations. Parkanyi vets every submission, weeding out couples who appear rapacious for money, or those who demand a specific type of foreigner.
“Sometimes we get, ‘Oh, I want Russian girls at my wedding,’” she said.
Interest has boomed in recent years. Registered ceremonies will double to about 10,000 this wedding season, which runs from November to February, from a year ago, Parkanyi said. Paying guests will also double to about 500.
Orsi usually caps guests at five per wedding. “Couples don’t want to become a tourist attraction,” she said.
The entry price also serves as its own screening, keeping out travelers who might treat a ceremony like a cheap all-you-can-eat buffet.
Like with any wedding, there are mishaps. Couples change their minds about hosting strangers, sometimes with little warning. Most Indian nuptials are alcohol free, and perhaps as a result, some celebrations are sober affairs. Foreigners are occasionally swarmed by locals eager for photo ops.
The Bacevicius sisters, dressed in silk saris draped and pinned by maids at their hotel, got backstage access at the New Delhi wedding they attended. They sneaked into a bedroom set aside for the bridal party, taking iPhone shots of the women primping while photographers snapped photos of the bride, Ranjana Singh, dressed in a heavily beaded red skirt and blouse.
Singh, a 32-year-old makeup artist, said her brother dropped the news the previous night that two Americans had paid to attend her wedding. She paused from dolling up her mother to greet them with a hug.
“I had no idea what my brother was saying,” she told them, “but you are not strangers, you are guests.”
Back outside, a crowd surrounded the sisters, but held back until one woman sidled up to the pair and whispered “Photo?” When they agreed, dozens lined up.
“I like Americans, they are so beautiful,” said Aman Gautam, a 23-year-old hookah parlor owner who patiently queued.
Sanjay Singh, a 24-year-old cousin of the groom, compared foreigners at an Indian wedding with a circus act—a novel entertainment that livens up the party. “They don’t care if you’re American or European or African,” he said. “It’s something new, something intriguing. They want to take a picture.”
The night took a dramatic turn.
As Kima Bacevicius, 36, admired the energetic dancing surrounding the groom’s arrival in a horse-drawn carriage, a pickpocket stole two phones out of her purse.
The Boston resident, who works as a brand manager at an alcohol distributor, spent the next three hours speaking with cops and examining surveillance footage frame-by-frame while jammed inside a tiny guard’s room. She wept about losing her work phone.
“I guess it adds to the story,” she said. “It adds to the plot.”
Write to Shan Li at shan.li@wsj.com
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