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 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 )
1 comment:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ushinduweddings/
Join the U.S. Hindu Weddings Yahoo group!
Post a Comment