A full on immersion.

I have never, ever in my life denied being an ABCD (for those too lazy to urban dictionary this bitch up, an ABCD is an American Born Confused Desi- or someone who is of South Asian descent, and does not at all pay homage, if you will, to their homeland).  There is a very good reason for that.  My parents arrived in the States in the late 60's and never looked back.  Do I blame them? Not one bit; my father had done his obligatory tour of duty in the military only to be held as a prisoner of war for two years, and in those years he was beat mercilessly and has the scars to prove it.  Before this gets super serious, I will just say that my parents never forced any form of religion on me (nor are they ultra religious themselves) and we never had a place within the islamic community.  So for all intents and purposes, my closest experiences with the desi community has taken place on vacations, or in restaurants.  That is, until last night.

The desi family is a complex web.  Any type of cousin (or remote cousin) is considered a brother/sister.  It's close knit.  It's clannish.  And everyone is nosy as fuck.  Weddings bring people together in a million day long ceremonial procession that basically dictates you spend a fuck ton of money on clothes that you will never, ever, wear again.  And as far as the time spent putting into this?  You're lucky if a 7pm wedding starts at 10pm.  But this is all background noise, really.

Long story short, my dad's sister has three sons who live in Virginia.  We received a call from her that her husbands nephew (so basically, my cousins, cousin) would be getting married to a girl in Chicago.   I had met my cousin's cousin twice; once when I was 10 years old and in Karachi on vacation, and once when he stopped by my house this past fall to have lunch while he went to meet the soon-to-be bride's parents.  Basically, this week my house became wedding central as my aunt and uncle flew in, along with the groom and his mother, and my parents.  We all communed while I acted like a slave, cooking these banquet style dinners and keeping my pretty face on at all times.  My escape? The gym, running hills and dreading when my workout ended (and if you know me, you know there is nothing more I loathe than running hills.. yuck).  Soooooo this all ended last night, at the wedding.

First off, my outfit was specifically tailored.  So I spent the week running to the seamstress while doing everything else.  Second off, my grasp of Urdu isn't as strong as I thought it was.  Thirdly, I have come to realize that I am quite possibly the ONLY person of Pakistani descent who is ever on time for anything.

So the wedding itself.  The groom looked bored and exhausted, the food was good, the bride was hidden in a back room until 2 hours after the time printed on the invitation.  Oh, and I found out that because of my relationship to the groom (remember how I said cousins are considered sisters?) I was supposed to sit on a stage next to the groom's mother, who sat next to the bride and groom who sat on thrones. THRONES. It was like I fell into a warp world of sequins, silk, and really loud voices complaining.  How mortifying.  Of course, I forgot my camera though somehow I snapped a shot of my dress while sitting in the car, waiting for the entire wedding party to arrive (Yes, I was on time.  Yes, they were all late).

I'm obviously a fantastic photographer.

Dinner was a buffet, where I was left out of options because everything on the buffet had meat, or a meat by-product in it.  So I basically stuck to some naan (a flat bread), chutney(a dipping sauce), and some cucumbers.  Which was fine because I was too busy making sure I was camera ready at all times, because the amount of flash bulbs were ridiculous.  Mind you, I've been at premieres and seen secondhand the type of renegade style photography happens, but this was ridiculous.  I'm hoping I don't look like an alien in all the pics, but that remains to be seen.  Dinner ended around midnight so we left, and I bid the groom farewell and a promise to show him around Chicago. Sans sequins.