Cash, Tears, and Cinder-Block Earrings

So I continue with the wedding that wasn’t mine, in my attempt to give my noble readers the full “Indian Wedding” experience.

Will the story conclude here? Will there be a final post? Well I’ll just write and see, because I’m literally transferring “real time” brainwaves into word count (adventure baby, that’s why I blog).

We left our bride and groom in a park for some lame-ass “gaze in distance” photos, and the rest of us rushed back home for the main event.

And yes, there is a major main event before reception time.

For the bridal side of the family, it’s where the groom returns with his wife, and he has to be “let in” by all her female family members.  It starts with a big satin ribbon tied across the doorway,  plus a bunch of cash (and maybe jewelry) he has to offer up, before we’ll ever let him in. On the groom’s side, he’ll then take his wife to HIS house, so she can be welcomed by his clan (again involves cash, Indian sweets, and middle-aged aunties patting her on the head).

Since bride-chick was my sister, I’ll stick with OUR side of the happenings.

In simple terms, he offered up fistfuls of cash, and complimented me and my cousins just enough to get his chance to cut the ribbon.

Although the scene inside the house was a happy one—my family, extended family, and lots of middle-aged aunties craving one-on-one access to the bride—there was a very ominous undertone:

-the taking of the bride

In other words, after some tea and Indian sweets, the husband quickly ushers the bride from the house; back into the limo and out of our lives.

And everybody…fucking…weeps.

I’m not going to go into detail, since I prefer to be invincible robot-girl who laughs at those silly “emotion” things, but let’s just say that seeing my mom and dad hug her, and watching all of them cry? It killed me!

By the time it was my turn to hug her, I was already in tears.

Like what?!?!

Never in a million years would I have thought the removal of my sister from my life would bring me anything but joy.  In hindsight the crying still feels weird and unnatural.  Basically it makes me feel dirty so I’m moving on.

Once she was gone, my aunties hauled ass to the kitchen to console my mom. Meanwhile the hair and make-up girls had arrived.  Almost instantly my tears dried up, as I imagined how awesome I wanted to look, and how these girls would help me get there.

Overall I was pleased with their work. They curled my hair in the sort of coils I’d never known, and they provided me with KICK-ASS eyeshadow colours. The sort of eyeshadow that would’ve NEVER worked on the street due to its gaudiness, but for an Indian wedding it was perfect.

I also had the girls apply fake lashes, which I had never tried before in my life. I didn’t NEED fake lashes, and in fact most girls seem to envy my lashes the way I envy big-breasted girls (thanks God, that’s a totally fair trade). But I sort of wanted to look my best…to show my sister she’s a moron.

I know that sounds horrible, but when she found out I was getting my hair and makeup done, she was not what you would call supportive:

“Why don’t you just put on a tiara and call yourself the BRIDE!” Followed by her running into her room and slamming the door. Exact quote.

To add to that, she’d been a big time “B word” for weeks as I’d catered to her every slave task. Overall, I knew how stupid she was to think I could ever upstage a bride covered in jewels, so I just wanted to stretch it to the limit to prove her wrong.

And also, I’m vain.

Once my make-up was done and I’d been properly wrapped up in a sari (which due to its embroidery was ten times heavier than a regular one), I added the last detail:

-heavy-ass earrings.

I’d been wearing heavy earrings all week for the various pre-wedding events, but these were like cinder-blocks attached to my earlobes. And they had to be, because the wedding reception was the last hurrah. I was so afraid that by the end of the night my earlobes would stretch down to my shoulders, like how you sometimes see on the tribal women in National Geographic.

But alas, my earlobes still have reasonable elasticity, and are as juicy and biteable as ever (what?).

Well it seems that my stream-of-consciousness has brought me to the end of this post, leaving one more installment for the insider’s view of the reception.

And even though I speed-type blog posts and publish them without much thought, I am not omniscient.  As in I DID do a proofread for grammar.

(and if I still missed a bunch of grammar-type stuff, well I’m a moron…)