New Delhi: In a capital wired for chaos, a big fat wedding is usually a handy escape. But Delhi is now obsessing over a whole new variant of it. Fake weddings, where no one gets married but everyone shows up, are breaking the monotony with dhol, drama, joota chhupaai, and zero consequences. Sweaty faces glow under fairy lights, strangers dance together like old friends to Bollywood bangers, and vodka pani puris add a rebellious twist. It’s the latest Delhi distraction, offering the young and the homesick an escape from city loneliness into the familiar chaos of a loud desi wedding. And it’s a new business for wedding planners and event managers.
As Indian celebrity weddings grow ever more extravagant, with designer lehengas, destination mandaps, and Reel-ready sangeets, the dream has also gotten bigger. But even if you can’t have a real Deepika-Ranveer, Priyanka-Nick, or Sidharth-Kiara-like wedding, you can always attend a fake one that clones the experience. It’s the full fantasy: all the spectacle, none of the pressure. And there are no nosy relatives asking, “When’s your turn, beta?”
What started as a playful trend in metro cities like Delhi, Bengaluru, and Mumbai has quickly snowballed, crossing borders to reach Indian student communities at Cornell, Frankfurt, and campuses across Canada. And these parties don’t just copy-paste Indian rituals; they add fun twists, from Haldi splash zones to ramp walks. They’re part theme party, part cultural remix, and all joy.
“Everyone dreams of that Bollywood shaadi (wedding)—the glamour, the grandeur, the larger-than-life vibe straight out of Karan Johar films. We all want that ‘big fat wedding.’ But in reality, most Indian weddings are smaller, middle-class affairs—lovely, yes, but limited in scale. There’s no grand performance or DJ dance show where you can truly live your Bollywood fantasy,” said Srishti (23), at SoHo Club, fixing her makeup with her friends before diving back into the 2 am frenzy.
Glamour, freedom, joy
Three friends hustled around—a sari expertly draped by one, while another added finishing touches to her makeup. Running late, they hurriedly booked an Uber, exchanging quick check-ins. “Does my sari look okay?” one said, waiting for her friends to reassure her. Though it’s a fake wedding, the thrill was just as real.
At the ‘Big Fat Fake Wedding’ on 10 July in SoHo Club, the space was packed for seven hours straight. The party kicked off at 10 pm and went on till 5 am the next morning. Tickets were sold on BookMyShow, and Indian ethnic wear was non-negotiable. According to Gautam, the organiser of the event, it was his first time with an event like this. He works at Team Innovation, an event management company based in Mumbai.
“What really drew me in was the shaadi vibe—I love weddings,” said Soochna, who was at the party with four friends—all of them in saris. “Since I live away from home, I don’t get to attend many, so this felt like the perfect chance to dance, drink, and let loose with friends. Plus, there’s major FOMO with these fake wedding baraat parties trending everywhere.”
She is from West Bengal and can’t go home for months. To her, the fake wedding is a way of experiencing celebrations back home that she can’t attend.
Although they’re merely an imitation, fake wedding parties remind us why weddings matter: they bring people together. But these fake celebrations offer a kind of independence that real weddings don’t. Here, you can wear what you want, without the patriarchy breathing down your neck.
“There’s no auntie ready to judge your sleeveless or backless outfit. There’s no pressure about family reputation or expectations. So much of wedding culture revolves around what a girl ‘should’ wear, but here, that pressure simply disappears,” said Srishti.
She added that while Punjabi weddings may normalise drinking, it’s often taboo in other communities. At fake weddings, you get to choose whether to sip, dance, or just soak it all in. That freedom is a huge part of the appeal.
All-female fake weddings are also making waves in cities like Ahmedabad. They’re glamorous, unapologetic celebrations of sisterhood and style, with not a single ‘rishta’ in sight. And Delhi is already buzzing with plans for an all-gay matchmaking fake weddings—glitzy, inclusive, and proudly queer.
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Reinventing Delhi’s party scene
Delhiites hit bars and clubs every weekend. But over time, even the most thrilling nights lose their spark. Enter fake weddings, the perfect antidote to party fatigue in a city hooked on spectacle.
“Weddings are forced communal gatherings—you meet not just close friends but friends of friends and relatives on both sides. I think fake weddings are less about loneliness and more about jadedness—we get bored easily. Even pleasure can become routine. People crave fresh reasons to get excited,” said Santosh Desai, columnist and social commentator.
Weddings, once solemn ceremonies, have become multi-day extravaganzas. For young people, they offer a chance to dress up in luxe outfits. And this is the element fake weddings have picked up on: glamour, style, and energy.
At SoHo Club, fairy lights flicker, marigold garlands hang low, and colourful umbrellas hang from the ceiling. The crowd is a riot of colour—shararas, lehengas, sparkly kurtas, and beer in hand. Some break into synchronised hook steps to Desi Girl, Mahi Ve, and Gallan Goodiyan, cheering when they nail the moves. Others sit still, palms outstretched, as mehendi artists draw quick, fun designs. And all of them dance through the night like they’ve landed inside a Karan Johar dream—where the spotlight follows them, and the whole party revolves around their joy.
Delhi’s first fake sangeet party was organised in February by Jumma ki Raat, an IP by creative agency AGENZ. It was a massive success, with more than 500 people turning up. It even sparked a wave of imitators.
While AGENZ has collaborated with brands like Dhan HQ and ATHER Energy, Jumma ki Raat is its pioneering effort to bring fake wedding themes to life in India.
“As storytellers, we knew how to create narratives. But in today’s AI-driven world, distribution—holding attention and building community—is what counts. That’s why we created Jumma ki Raat. Content can be automated, but community is the real currency of the future. And we’re growing ours, one unforgettable night at a time,” Shah said.
Jumma is now synonymous with safety, nostalgia, and pure fun. According to the agency, over 40 per cent of attendees stayed for more than eight hours at its fake sangeet party at Bocha, one of Delhi’s most upscale venues.
On 18 July, a group of girls squealed as Radha from Student of the Year started playing at Bocha—likely the first time Bollywood music played there for all night. Within seconds, the group was in formation, nailing every step like they’d rehearsed it for weeks. Under a mandap-turned-photo booth, a group of friends were forcing a couple into a pose. “Act like you’re getting married,” said one of them. The pair leaned in—she flashed her mehendi, he grinned sheepishly, and the cameraperson captured the shaadi-album cliché.
For some, one night of make-believe matrimony just isn’t enough. They are taking the fake wedding trend to a whole new level, turning it into a curated experience that spans entire weekends.
Cirkle, a company founded by 25-year-old Shubham Shashwat, crafts weekend-long themed experiences that go well beyond decorations and music. Their upcoming fake wedding in August will feature ramp walks, DJ sets, matchmaking games, confession booths, Haldi splash zones, and wedding-style catering. It’s impossible to get bored—even for those who don’t drink or dance.
Set in Major Dhyan Chand Stadium, New Delhi, the venue will feature a mandap and several booths. There will be safe zones to click photos and socialise.
With tickets going for up to Rs 5,000, Cirkle appeals to millennials, Gen Z, and even curious boomers.
“We’re even planning fake destination weddings in Goa—full retreats complete with beachfront mandaps,” he said.
The most intriguing part of the trend is its paradox: these hyper-social events arise not from an abundance of intimacy, but from its absence. Their popularity reveals a collective yearning to connect, celebrate, and feel alive in an increasingly digital, disconnected world.
According to Srishti, it’s all about emotion.
“Real weddings connect you to people actually getting married—there’s life, meaning, and love in it. Fake weddings? They’re like a beautiful bouquet of flowers—pretty, yes, but without the life inside.”
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)