Noises in the Gurdwara

I was at a function at the Gurdwara the other day listening to some melodious kirtan and focusing my mind to the almighty. My concentration was broken several times by the constant vulgarities being committed by the people infront of me. Keeping my eyes closed (I was pretending to be mega religious that day) I tried to use my sub-conscious to eliminate these impurities from the depths of my pure mind.

The devils managed to crack my thoughts and open my eyes with the smelliest and loudest 'PADH' (aka FART) known to man. Initially I thought it was little kids up to no good, but soon realised that it was a 50 something uncle jee. He wasn't the only culprit... his mates were all at it.. like a bhangra band rehearsing Apna Panjab Hovey. The guy next to me, who incidentally was 'in the line of fire', kept his eyes shut and recited the kirtan along with the raagi's (aka preists). But I could see a drip of sweat trickle down from the base of his forehead, along the bridge of his nose and onto the floor. The poor man was holding his breath, he was trying not to let these immature old men spoil his outing to the Gurdwara.



By now my immediate vicinity had been gassed and the not so obvious hand movements over the nose turned into full grown men stretching their sweaters over their lower face. Then came the stares... people looking at each other subconciously trying to ascertain what sub-jee these raspberry blowers had for roti the night before.

Not only did they methane gas the Gurdwara, but they starting gup shupping very loudly. Raising their voices to counter the tabla and chimta sounds from the kirtan. I'm sure they were comparing PADHS .. or having some kind of 'Who can deal the loudest' or 'Whose can smell the worst' competitions. The one uncle with a handkerchief knotted on his head, like he was on holiday in Blackpool, rocked over the right cheek and let rip onto an innocent teenager playing a game on his mobile. The kid must have had a blocked nose because he didn't flinch. The poor uncle next to him couldn't take it any longer so he pretended he was going for lungar and left hurriedly.

The uncle with the messed up red pagh said some farewells and proceeded to get up off the floor. He got up with some difficulty and bent down for his walking stick, in motion he let out the loudest padh i've ever heard in my entire life. This bought about another dose of banter from the uncle jee clan, a sign of approval of some sort.

To top it all off, a mobile phone goes off.. u know with the loud tones .. and he let's in ring for 10 minutes, so that all his mates can see he has a mobile, then answers it loudly .. and he said (this is honest) 'I'm in the Gurdwara' .. like that guy from trigger happy tv with the big mobile ... .. worst thing .. no one said anything. If that was a group of kids doing that, they would have been scolded straight away and told to respect the fact that they are in the presence of others.
Are we living in a world of injustices? Are the older generation becoming too hip and trendy? Is it indeed them who get away with murder? I think there's unequal rules here, the elders sometimes show no respect in the Gurdwara, and no one says anything to them.

( Noises in the Gurdwara © OSD 2008 )

Aunty Shiv

( b4 I get sued for deformation of character – let me state that the below story along with the names are entirely fictitious - osd only accepts responsibility for laughter, should that event decide to occur)

Why is it that my aunty Shiv is the family gossip queen and my Uncle Prem (her husband) the nicest man on earth? Why does aunty insist on being the life and soul of every family function while uncle just sits in the corner sipping his johnny walker black label? Why is Shiv aunty's voice so screechy and irritating while Prem uncle's is so mellow and soothing? Why does aunty always insist on getting her photo taken while uncle hides out of
sight of the cameras?

Why? Let me tell you why....

You see.. every one in our family despises Shiv (aunty).. we all call her 'The Sieve' .. u know
can't hold anything in.. has to let everything out. Well this is true in more ways than one..
(by the way please excuse the excessive use of dots and lack of sentences ... this is how i manage to express my feelings freely) ...



OK.. back to Shiv - The Sieve .. What can't she hold in?
Well for starters any information one passes through Shiv's ears will filtrate to her gob and down a phone to 101 relatives...

Next is her appalling sense of dress... at age 56 she has failed to realise that wearing a boob tube with a lengha just looks simply disgusting .. and as for not being able to hold anything in .. yep u guessed it .. her 3 tiered tid (belly) all hangs out .. not to mention her 10 ft long arm pit hair ..

Uncle Prem, on the other hand, is a smart man who carries himself very well .. so why doesn’t Shiv take a leaf out of his book.. in fact .. why doesn’t Uncle Prem just move back to the Pind and get away from her madness .. go on Uncle, I promise no one will hold it against you .. to be honest, I wish we could all come with you !

Also why is that ugly people think they are the best looking just because they wear layers of make up and get their hair done from a hairdressers.. Well MY Shiv aunty goes to the 'Beauty Parlour' ... I wonder which one?.. I think it should be closed down for indecency !!!! …

Everyone of my cousins hate her .. why? coz she is in every damn picture .. From when we were born right up to our graduation photos... and we can hardly ask her to piss off while we are taking the pictures now can we .. ..?

I think Uncle Prem is permanently pissed, coz it seems as though whatever badnami Aunty Shiv does .. it never seems to phase him … It’s their kids we feel the most sorry for .. they stopped going to functions with their mum about 5 years ago … Last time I saw them was at Uncle Prem’s sisters wedding … they only came coz Shiv aunty was stuck at Delhi airport and was unable to attend …

I don’t blame them really …. I was there the day they were both scarred for life … It was when the DJ at my cousins wedding decided to play the Tina Oh Tina / Power remix track … Aunty Shiv started to dancing with the kids trying to do hip hop moves … Let me tell you.. it wasn’t a pretty site … different layers of tid were in a world of their own … all the kids sat down .. but she carried on … her bindi dropped onto her nose making her look like rudolph … her mascara dripped from her eyes making her look like the lead singer of Iron Maiden…..and to top it all off .. her newly permed hair transformed her into a desi medusa ..

It was like a bollywood dance scene gone wrong… horribly wrong …. I still have nightmares !!!!

( Aunty Shiv © OSD 2008 )

The Desi Wedding (Part 5)

You contemplate whether the boys are indeed your friends or just a bunch of psychopath desi’s intent on bestowing copious amounts of humiliation on a ‘bechaara bundar’ like yourself. You stop and realise that you are indeed yourself of the same breed…. Feeding off the ‘besti ‘of others. However, this time it’s YOU who are the prey, and THEY who are the blood thirsty Jaanwar’s …..

The boyz start off with real stag classics, like handcuffing you to lampposts and spiking your beers at every given opportunity. You get totally hammered and start acting like the fool every stag becomes when his ‘friends’ ensure that his last night of freedom goes according to plan… THEIR PLAN.
You are on a constant charge with their laughter ringing in your head and the only way you can rid yourself of these evil spirits is to drink more… The more you get pissed the more they have a laugh and the more you forget … You are their desi jester.. The butt of all the jokes.. Jokes that they’ll still be chuckling about when you are all sitting in the gurdwara at your son’s wedding.

After an afternoon of mass alcoholic consumption you decide to head back to the hotel on your own to clear your head. Your stomach begins to take a ‘churn’ for the worse as you start jogging towards your room only to find that your ‘sharabi kebabi’ nasha has completely ruined your sense of direction. By god’s grace you finally manage to locate your room and indeed the taalet. You drop your pant and sit down for what you hope will be the best tatti of your entire life. You shout ‘Teri Paandi !’ at the top of your voice as you experience pain at every lerndi drop ‘splashback’. The boyz had emptied an entire bottle of domestos into the bog, without flushing and it was your ‘bund di gulley’ that was being subjected to a violent storm of abuse from your own machine gun tatti.

You slump into your bed only to discover that it’s soaking wet. You ask god to help you seek revenge on the kunjars that did this to you.. Then a bright idea comes into your head.. you swap mattresses with Jay’s (your room mate) with the added bonus of pissing on his pillow and wiping your bund with his toothbrush. In a drunken, but happy state, you fall asleep.
You are awakened by the phone, which rather conveniently, is on full volume. The Czech sounding person on the other end says ‘Hallo , Can Iz Pleash speak to Mr. Bond’ .. you respond by saying that they have the wrong number .. they insist, saying ‘No Iz Vish to speak with Mr. Bond .. Mr. BOND PATTI !!!!!’. And then you hear a chorus of desi laughing and ‘Oye Chuck De’s’ in the background. You slam the phone down and get mullered on the remaining two jack and danny bottles.



The next two days pass without much tamashaa, you begin to think the boyz have tired of their antics and just want to have a good time away from the doldrums of their West London Desi Zindagi’s. But alas, they have once again attacked your naivety and mashed your brain into a dodgy kebab roll from Glassy. They begin to play mind games, you counteract by drinking more, trying to ignore all the goings on. You finally come to your senses sitting next to a couple of rather well endowed blonde ladies. The Boyz are standing about laughing with beers in their hands and eyes out of their sockets staring at every bit of skirt that passes. The Desi radar suddenly kicks in and you realise that you are sat in a strip club…..

Alarm bells start flashing red… you break out in a cold sweat and remember when Larry was stripped totally nunga on the stage at his stag do in Dublin. You can’t move.. you feel trapped … fit women on one side and the evil boyz on the other… You quickly run to the bar and sit there for the rest of the night getting mashed. You start chatting to a girl at the bar and really hit it off.. you wonder why she takes interest in you….. then you realise she is a stripper … but you get a bit boosted and decide to get a dance .. you slip back in the chair and let the alcohol take control of your brain and the stripper take control of your buljinder … all seems to be going well… under sHE takes off his panty’s … ‘You’re a Pandi Bloke !’ you screech…. You hear streams of laughter and see Kuli standing there with a digital camera flashing…. You dread that the photos of a blokes tackle dangling over your face will be front page news over the internet in the next couple of hours… It’ll be the freakish ‘desi caught in bingra strip club’ email that’ll do the rounds across the world… You life is RUINED…

Feeling rather muttered you decide to join the boyz on a final frolick in town. All the boyz suddenly become your best mates, patting you on the back and wishing you all the best for your forthcoming wedding. The booze starts to infiltrate your khoon and you start getting all emotional and relay your happiness by saying that they are indeed your brothers and not mates. You turn around at Jas and start your religious speech. The one that they always hear when you are up to your eyeballs in the desi amber nectar. You tell him how much you respect him for being a Singh and that you trust him with your life… then you turn around at Bal and insist that he teaches you how to tie a pug like his for the wedding….. Then the next thing you know … Sunny has pulled down your pants and the rest of the boyz handcuff you to a lamp post…. You only realise your pant is down after you feel the winter chill on your meat and two veg…. Harvey then busts out the boyz boliyan at the top of his voice, accompanied by the Boyz on chorus … ‘Kartar Dee Bund Patti… Ohhh Ho ! Kartar Dee Bund Patti Aye Hai!’ starts to echo around the whole square in the tune of Malkit’s Gurh Nalon Ishq Mitha …. Passers by stop and stare at your crown jewels like you are a freak of nature .. all you can see are big grins on the faces of your best mates….. They achieved their goal .. and you have been another victim of their dreaded BESTI !

… roll on the wedding !

( The Desi Wedding (Part 5) © OSD 2008 )

The Desi Wedding (Part 4)

Seeing as your flight to Prague is in the late afternoon, the boyz decide to get together at Glassy Junction for a pre-stag drink up. You get there at 10.30 to discover that it isn’t open till 11. Jay ‘mistakenly’ gave you the wrong time, funny since they all turned up together at 11.30 with big grins on their faces.

They succeeded in getting the auntie’s walking to the gurdwara to see you in your ‘Oye Chuck De / Kartar Di Bund Patti’ t shirt standing outside Glassy like an alcoholic waiting for his daily fix. Indeed they were correct, you are spotted by half a dozen family friends who look in amazement whilst studying the text and photo on your t shirt. Then come out the mobile phones, to broadcast Kartar Singh’s besti. Suddenly at 10.55 20 auntie’s come out of the gurdwara to have a good stare. You pray to god that Manmohan ‘Bobby’ Waris opens the doors early and allows Glassy to swallow you in. Ironically, you prayers are answered as the silver doors open and you stumble in away from the crazy lunatic auntie’s.

After 10 minutes of the crudest Panjabi vulgarities known to man, you calm down enough to tell Harvey what you want to drink. You realise what a real desi sharaboo you are as all the boyz are tucking into their morning orange juices, while you are knocking back an unusual tasting double Jack Daniels. Sunny refuses to let you pay for a single round and comes back with a tray full of Lal Toofan pints mixed with ‘Kuchh Nai’ whiskey. Jas says that he can’t drink (in the morning) due to his liver problems and Larry insists that drinking before a flight makes him queasy. So Kuli, Bal, Sunny, Jay and Harvey join you in a ‘Lal - Kuchh’ toast to your forthcoming wedding.

Feeling a bit light headed you manage to scramble into the cab and get to Heathrow 5 minutes before check in closes. Kuli being airline staff has a good giggle with the fit gori behind the counter and manages to secure some decent seats on the plane. After a quick booze shopping spree in duty free you all decide on a quick desi daroo peg for the journey ahead. You knock it in one and feel hairs growing on your chest. On the way to the gate all the boyz are huddled together doing their customary ha ha’s and hee hee’s. Once on board, you discover exactly what they have been up to.

Kuli managed to secure club class seats for all the boyz……except YOU. You get the last seat at the back of the plane right next to the toilet. After a herd of abuse you settle down to your seat and watch as the boyz get pampered by a stunning looking Italian stewardess. You sulk in the corner whilst Kenny ‘the bingra’ steward pours you some tea and says ‘Oooh we’re gonna have to put a smile back on your face luvvy!’. For once in your life you wish you were at home having your mum and dad giving you constant headache about the wedding… Instead you are knee deep in some sticky tutti.

Bal walks down from Club with a massive grin on his face. You realise that he is completely wrecked after sipping tea followed by champagne chasers. He decides to frequent the toilet next to you leaving the nastiest ‘thorka’ smelling dump in history. He comes out with a smile on his face insisting that he flushed twice but the ‘lerndi’ refused to budge. The toxic tutti fumes combined with the booze from Glassy make your stomach churn, you call Kenny and ask him for a JD whiskey. He comes back in a rush and says ‘Here we go luvvy, here’s a large stiff one just for you’…. You feel as though you are part of a Desi Carry On film, you knock the shot in a hurry and go to sleep before it gets any worse.

The nightmare continues as you are stopped at customs in Prague airport. The shifty looking security officer frolics your bag to discover the Christmas edition of Asian babes, 25 packs of King Size Rizlas, pink fluffy handcuffs and a small plastic bag with some green herb looking substance. You realise that whilst you were downing your Lal Toofan’s in Glassy, the boyz were busy planting the incriminating evidence in your luggage. Your mind goes into mirch massalla mode, you see yourself in a Prague jail cell with a chunky looking eastern European woman looking man insisting that your drop your pants for an internal inspection. You begin to think that the boyz have set you up with drugs and that this he/she is about to violate your bund di gulley. You snap out of your haze when the customs officer sniffs the green stuff and says that he loves it sprinkled on his lamb curry. You look up to discover that the boyz had planted ‘saunf and elaichi’ in a weed bag. After a detailed one hour search through Asian Babes at Christmas, customs reluctantly decide to let you and the magazine go…

You take a swig from the 2 litre duty free Jack and Danny bottle and take your own taxi to the hotel ….. you wonder what tamaasha the boyz have in store for you in the next three days ……….

( The Desi Wedding (Part 4) © OSD 2008 )

The Desi Wedding (Part 3)

After much discussion you finally decide to invite 500 guests. Your little brother has invited all his sharabi uni mates and your sister is calling all her teeny bopper crew. You cast your mind back to the times when you and the boyz would gate crash wedding receptions just for a cheap night out. Now your’e hoping that your wedding isn’t mobbed by the current sharaboo’s of Southall town.

TV Repair Uncle calls to confirm that he won’t be working triple shift on your wedding day and is quite happy to do the video filming and the photography, yes… at the same time.. and all for a good discount price for his pavourite nephew. ‘Bollox’ you think to yourself, every time you’ve seen him he’s been sloshed and doesn’t even remember your name. To top it off, his son, Mintoo will be on cable duty.. ducking and diving past all those guests with the video wire. You hate each other with a passion and fear he might yank the wire out on purpose so you don’t have any memories of your wonderful desi tamashaa.

Your project manager,Asha (the fit desi that you all fancy) asks for two volunteers to work on an IT project in Dublin. Everyone else makes excuses but you offer your services just to get away from the tamashaa at home. To your surprise, Asha announces that she will join you as no one else is available. Your imagination goes into mirch massalla mode and you dream of spending many a night clubbing and drinking with her. You pray that the hotel mix up your rooms and you both end up sharing. ‘Calm down Kartar’ you think to yourself, ‘no need to get a Bulj-inder just yet’. Your mum rings and puts a spanner in the works, she wants you to take time off to pick 10 relatives from the airport on 10 different occasions. Asha is totally understanding and drops you from the Dublin project after 5 of the goray ALL suddenly volunteer to take your place. ‘Derty kuthay’ you think to yourself, you can see their eyes undressing your pyari zindagee Asha sweety, darleeng.




Your relatives start arriving from India and soon your house turns into western international market on a Sunday morning. Aunty’s gup shupping about suits and jewellery, Uncle’s knocking back neat pint pegs of Bagpiper Whiskey and little annoying cousins running around like blue arse flies. Being a typical desi, your dad orders wedding cards from his Chacha in Phagwara. Much to your disbelief, there are spelling mistakes galore. They mispell your name, instead of ‘Kartar Singh’ it reads ‘Kutta Singh’ and to top it off they even get your dad’s name wrong. ‘Don’t worry puttar’, your dad said says, ‘we can put tippex and correct them…. at least we saved 100 pounds’.



You think about having a nervous breakdown but decide to confide in old Jack once more. You get langered and ring up your mrs to be. You get all lovey duvvy and ask her to marry you in Gretna Green rather than going through all the headache of a desi wedding. She agrees with you but says that she would like to show off her wedding lengha. You suggest that you can both still get dressed up and get married at a registry office without 500 guests yapping in the background. She says that she needs at least 20 of her bhabhi’s to help her around as the lengha weighs a tonne. You put the phone down and contemplate whether she is indeed the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with. You go to the bathroom and try to rinse out the remaining drops of JD from the bottle. You look up at the mirror and decide to forget it all for a while.

Deep Mamma Ji calls you from Germany and asks if you want anything from there before he gets on his flight over. For the first time, you think to yourself, someone has actually asked what YOU want. Your Mamma Ji is probably the only non-piss head in your family and someone you hold great respect for. After your Nanna Ji died he virtually took over the running of your mum’s side of the family. He got you mum and all your massi’s married off and didn’t even think anything of it, he did it out of respect and khushi. You wonder why all that sense and sensibility of yester-year has dwindled away to make way for the current materialistic mayhem of today. For the first time you actually look forward to driving all the way up to Luton airport to collect your Deep Mammi Ji, who managed to get a superb deal on an EasyJet flight !

Harvey puts an email out asking the boyz if they can attend your stag… like mucchar to a flame.. they all reply confirming instantly. Larry and Jazz volunteer to be on desi daroo duty… Sunny and Jay take over as Stag social events organisers..whilst Harvey and Kuli assume video and camera duties….
Bal gets t shirts printed with ‘OYE CHUCK DE’ in bright orange letters on the front and ‘KARTAR DI BUND PATTI’ on the back. For added effect he managed to get a photo of you when you were 7 scanned on the front, with no front teeth and the worst basin bowl haircut you can imagine. You start having dreams of Sunny’s stag in Amsterdam, except this time it’s YOU experiencing a plethora of ha ha’s and hee hee’s and total unadulterated BESTI. Once again you reach out to your old friend the Jack & Danny whiskey bottle and realise that the stag weekend in Prague is gonna be worst time of your entire life ……….

( The Desi Wedding (Part 3) © OSD 2008 )

The Desi Wedding (Part 2)

Even though Park Ave Gurdwara is triple booked on your wedding date, your Uncle knows
the Giani who manages to squeeze you in to the upstairs hall (which has a function at the same time)
. He failed to inform you that it's capacity is only 200, so the remaining 500 guests
will either have to join the wedding downstairs or fart about outside for a couple of hours.

You all have to decide where you want to host your wedding reception. Your dad has been
on the phone to your old head teacher at Villiers asking him for a discount on the
school hall. You make the odd hint at having the reception in a hotel but
your dad dismisses the idea saying that all you need is a school hall...couple of hundred plastic
plates (with the compartments), some balloons, your desi uncles behind the bar and
a good old fashioned band.

Orh Oh! The good old fashioned band line gets you head in a chukker and castes your
mind back to last summer when your cousin Ritu got married in Featherstone School hall.
The chaos that ensued when 'Cooking Aunty' miscalculated the guest numbers and made
food for half of the guests. All you can remember is the desi uncles getting noshed
behind the bar and dad's best mate Dhamendra's band singing 'Rail Gaddi' in their purple
and green sequined tops with 'The Dinku's' printed on the back. You stop for a minute,
take a deep breath and then reach for the Jack Daniels. At least good old Jack can help you
sort out your worries. But he can't make you forget... the image of Uncle Dhamendra and
'The Dinku's' with their bellies hanging out of their 1970's tops just makes you cringe.

By this time you are one glassy away from falling off your chair when dad announces that
he has managed to secure a hotel hall for the reception. He said that he pulled out a long
rishtadari to secure the deal. At this point you bow before the Jack Daniels bottle and thank him
for his forgiving grace. You get on the phone to your Mrs to be and inform her
of the good news, she asks which hotel, at which point you put your hand over the phone and shout downstairs to dad. 'Puttar, it's de Thorncliffe Hotel, in Heston' ! Your jaw drops to the floor along with the phone...your whole world turns upside down and inside out.. you wonder why you were born.. you wonder if you are indeed the son of your parents... your train of thought is so blurred that you wish you were on tour with 'The Dinku's' rather than
stuck in the middle of this wedding ............

It's Monday morning and you wake up with the nastiest of hangovers. In normal circumstances you would ring in to work and say that you have food poisoning. But on this occasion you decide to go in just to avoid the wedding hoo ha at home. You manage to get a seat on the 8.56 from Southall sitting opposite a gori who had never seen so many desi's in her
entire life. You think to yourself that she is quite fit and that you wouldn't mind giving her a personal 'tour of southall'. You put your hands over your mouth to cough and nearly collapse at the Jack Daniels fumes which rage out. You turn to the window and see a reflection
of your rough looking face intermingled with a host of clean cut people heading to work. You resign to the fact that you are heading towards becoming a drunken desi trapped in the folds of a subculture you never imagined being part of. The gori in front doesn't even look into your eyes, she is more interested in looking at the array of turban styles on the carriage.

By the time you get into work you discover that your mum has called about 50 times leaving messages with every Tom, Dalvinder and Hardeep. Everyone's smiling at you today, and you discover that your mum invited everyone she spoke to, to your wedding.... Including Jeremy the 'bingra'. You toy with the idea of resigning but realise that the IT job market is bollocks and that your project manager is the fittest desi female you have even seen...'Asha'. Your motivation to come into work usually revolves around whether Asha is in the office or not. All the gora's at work have also fallen in love with her and are always asking you to set them up. You think that if you had the power you would set yourself up first. But Asha is outta your reach... for one she's got herself a flat in Baker Street and secondly she's shacked up with the ugliest desi you have ever seen. A guy that you always see at bars chatting up other birds.. someone who
is living off his girlfriends wealth. But she always says that she loves him and that he cares for so much... every time she says that you try to pluck up enough courage to ask her to marry you ..... but you always hold back and realise that your parents would never agree.. and plus you
doubt she can even make round rotis....

You return home to discover a Marquee in the back garden. Peter, your next door neighbour has very kindly removed his fence and allowed the tent to sprawl across his garden as well. Poor Peter, he doesn't know what he is letting himself in for. Doesn't he know that desi guests don't give a shit about other people's property. Your little cousins will destroy his immaculate flower beds and dig up his spotless lawn...... Your dad calls him Peter Sengh and describes him as an honourary Sikh... Peter is the only non indian on the street. He is probably the most tolerant person you have ever known, he has dealt with his drive way being blocked on numerous desi functions... .. he's had little kids swearing at him in panjabi ... and your mum gives him the leftover sabjee's every day.. which you are sure he dumps in his compost heap ...

So wedding booked at Park Ave Gurdwara, reception at the Thorncliffe Hotel, The Dinku's providing the entertainment and your pink wedding pug starched .. all sorted?
Don't be silly ! ... there's more to a Desi Wedding than that ... it's time for the guest list .......

( The Desi Wedding (Part 2) © OSD 2008 )

The Desi Wedding (Part 1)

It’s become big business now, it’s a time when everybody wants to be your friend, it’s when those relatives you hadn’t seen since you we 2 scrawl out of the wood work and it’s an excuse for a mighty big piss up. Yes, you guessed it .. it’s your wedding.

You decide to be ultra trendy and opt for a ‘Lub marriage’ but can’t pluck up enough courage to tell your folx that all you want is a simple registry wedding. So once all has been set and you have had ‘Chaa Paani’ at the girls house, your mum and dad go into organise mode. It’s the moment they have been waiting for all their lives. They never thought that their snotty nose son would ever find a nice desi girl let alone decide to get married. They always assumed the worst, thinking that Kartar Singh would convert to Carter Simms and that the gori you knocked up at uni will turn up at the door step demanding marriage. Their prayers have been answered and you their ‘darleeng puttar’ are now the jewel in the crown. Dad no longer calls you ‘loafer’ or ‘duffer’ instead he greets you with ‘Shera’ and mum replaces ‘idiot’ with ‘Sona Kaka’. Even those aunties who ignored you in the past are now suddenly interested, sniffing for potential gossip material about your new wife to be. Uncles start talking to you, offering ‘Patialia Pegs’ as a means of condolence. Like saying, ‘Puttar, you are making a mistake, you are too young to commit, play the field a few more years.. look at me, can’t you see how your aunty has made me suffer?’. But when aunty walks past, uncle puts on a brave face and says very loudly ‘Puttar, you will lub de married life. Look how happy your aunty has made me’.

The initial ‘pattakay’ have launched, so it’s back to work to tell your colleagues. ‘Ohhhhhhhh, how lovely, you must be so excited’ and ‘Ahhhh, I’ve heard about Sikh weddings, will there be free booze and loads of curry?’. Suddenly, even your worst enemy starts being nice to you, offering their services in case anything needs doing. And all you can see gleaming in their eyes is a pint of beer and a samosa. Yes you guessed it, they’ll do anything to get an invite for free spicy food and an open bar.

But that’s the least of your worries. You’ve now got to break the news to the ‘Boyz’. Do you ring them? Do you send a text message? Oh stuff it, send out a global email.
Let the games begin ! A plethora of emails bounce to and fro, none of which congratulate you but all of which beam satisfaction of a forthcoming session. Bal sends you an email with ‘Oye Chuck De’ as the subject and asks where the Stag weekend is gonna be. Shit! You totally forgot about that. Your whole life flashes before your eyes and you cast your mind back to Sunny’s stag weekend in Amdam. Where all the boyz totally humiliated him and where you handcuffed him to a lampost with only his ‘Kaccha’ on. Oh how you laughed and oh how you are gonna pay.
You get an email from Sunny, with the subject ‘Teri Bund Patti Yaaro’. You try to keep and brave face and send a reply back saying that AmDam was just a laugh and that you were only joining in with the boyz. Then you visualise the look he gave you on his wedding day, when he had to tie his pug extra low to cover his missing eyebrow, the one you shaved off. Bollox.. you think to yourself. You’ll only be wearing a pug during the ceremony, what about at the reception? What if Sunny decides to shave both eyebrows off?

You get home to discover that mum has bought you an indian suit for your wedding, it’s the brightest thing you have ever seen. To top it off, Dad brings out his bright pink pug. He says ‘Shera, this pugri was worn by your grandfather on his wedding, I wore it when I married your mama and now you shall do us proud by wearing it on the greatest day of your life, and I shall do the honour of tieing it’. Alarm bells start ringing. You were hoping that Bal would tie a pug like his, you know modern and trendy. Not a giant UFO…. and a pink UFO at that. And besides, dad has never worn a pug in his life, how the hell will he make you look good on your wedding. The thought of your forthcoming stag puts you into a haze and you agree to everything mum and dad say, including having a stretch limo for the wedding car...

... to be continued .......

( The Desi Wedding (Part 1) © OSD 2008 )