This British Vogue Editor’s Pink Wedding Dress and Heirloom Jewelry Nodded to Her Bengali Roots

I never saw myself being an entirely traditional Indian bride. For one thing, my now husband, Conor, and I weren’t planning on tying the knot while a crowd of hundreds watched on. We’d settled on a guest list of just 30—our closest family and friends, who would come to watch us make our commitment to each other at our local registry office in south London, before walking over to the Camberwell Arms for drinks, canapés, and cake.

But I was stumped when it came to what I’d wear. My mum had gotten married in a sari, of course, but that didn’t feel quite right for me. I love wearing them on special occasions and when visiting family back in India, but for my own wedding, it seemed a little too traditional. Then again, so did a white wedding dress—a garment that felt far too “western” for me, as if I was somehow cosplaying a British bride. Having been born in Kolkata, in north-eastern India, and raised in London since the age of seven, I’d always felt somewhere in the middle of those two things—both British and Indian, a diehard Londoner who grew up playing football and going to Bengali singing classes, watching Bollywood epics and ’90s rom-coms, switching between languages at home and at school. Whatever I wore, I wanted it to capture these contradictions.

That’s when I settled on pink. And not just any pink, but a particularly bright shade of hot pink which I grew up calling “rani color.” “Rani” means “queen” in Bengali, and this is a regal hue. Many Bengali brides I knew had gotten married in red and gold saris, the most traditional choice, but some had gone for “rani” pink and gold, too. That felt right.

I realized I wanted to wear a dress, but finding one in this color was tricky. I’m quite partial to a poufy Molly Goddard number, but that princess-y silhouette combined with the pink felt a little too sweet for me personally. (Though countless Vogue brides have looked absolutely stunning in similar looks.) I wanted something sleeker, where the color would be the focus. Then I came across a floor-length silk Alaïa slip dress that fit that bill perfectly. Given I’m about 5’5, it just needed to be shortened (shout-out to my friend and longtime British Vogue colleague Emily Chan, who recommended Atelier Colpani, who did an excellent and speedy job).

I paired it with strappy gold heeled sandals from Reformation, a bouquet of peonies from Sage Flowers, and jewelry passed down from my ancestors—gold jhumka earrings from my great-grandmother, and gold bangles from my grandmother. The latter wore these exact bangles every day of her married life, up until her death a few years ago. She loved weddings but didn’t live to see any of her grandchildren get married. It felt important, on this day, to have a piece of her with me.

Conor continued the colorful theme with a sage green suit, and was honestly a hero to keep it on the whole day, despite the 97-degree heat. (A terrifying and also very Kolkata-appropriate temperature.) We were worried about our guests but, despite some transport issues, every single person made it, and, with the aid of many a handheld fan, remained standing by the end of the day.

My favorite thing about the wedding was how intimate and personal it all felt—a small enough gathering that we were able to properly spend time with every guest, and end the afternoon sitting together in the corner of the pub, hand in hand, as all the people we loved the most mingled and laughed and cried.

I also loved how quintessentially London it was. Conor is a born and bred Londoner, from Pimlico, and, after being served each other’s profiles as our “most compatible” match on Hinge four years ago, our first date was a drink outside the National Theatre. (Conor works there part-time, alongside being a playwright and teaching screenwriting.)

Since then, I’ve always considered us to be a very south London couple—we live in Bermondsey, and Conor previously lived in Forest Hill; we had our first kiss at a grotty bus stop just south of Tower Bridge; and can most often be found ambling down Bermondsey Street, eating in Borough Market, drinking at the BFI bar, watching plays at the National Theatre, films at Peckhamplex and spending weekends at the Horniman Museum or wandering through Sydenham Hill Wood.

We also have a soft spot for Camberwell: Toad Bakery, Nandine, Lala Books, Theo’s. One Sunday earlier this year, we were having a roast at the Camberwell Arms when we heard their upstairs room was available for private hire. We took a peek and knew instantly that this was where we wanted to bring everyone after we got married. We could have had a far-flung destination wedding, but there was something special about doing it all on our doorstep, knowing that we’d come back here for hundreds of meals in the decades to come and get to reminisce about our wedding day.

The best moments, though, are always the ones you can’t plan for. On the short walk from the registry office to the pub, Conor and I, trailed by our friends and family, passed a huge crowd of school kids who were waiting at a bus stop. Spotting my bouquet, they burst into a spontaneous round of cheering and wild applause. It was like something out of a rom-com—and the most London thing we could possibly imagine.

Catching up with my friends Naomi and Alice outside the registry office.

When Conor took my hand, it finally started to feel real.

Shocked we weren’t both bawling at this point.

A moment with my mum, who’d flown all the way from Kolkata to be with us.

Don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much before in my whole life.

Cutting our cake (pandan sponge and coconut cream, made by my very talented friend, Amy) upstairs at the Camberwell Arms.

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