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 )