C'mon Inner Peace… I Don't Have All Damn Day
The entire process of a wedding is beyond absurd in my opinion, which is why I have avoided it my whole life.
Women get so excited and crazy over the most ridiculous things. Honestly I can’t understand why; the thought of attending a wedding makes me cringe let alone planning one.
I’ve lived my life in the spotlight so-to-speak, insomuch that I lived this pretty cool life in New York City; I didn’t need that ONE DAY to feel like a princess. I am a gypsy every day.
My wedding, if there was ever going to be one, would be a private thing. A day of close friends with a lot of laughter, wine and intimacy.
I had this whole thing planned for Manpreet and I.
We were going to rent a small beach-front cottage for a weekend and hold a sunset dinner with about ten people.
There would be no shoes and no rules… just peace. There would be no vows exchanged or a silly arch with an altar… no, just dinner.
I have been purchasing lanterns, pillows and candles for two years.
It was going to be very bohemian-chic.
Our visa-denial destroyed my plans and all of a sudden I am finding myself in the middle of a huge Sikh wedding at a temple in India.
While exotic… and par-for-the-course as far as “Lisa” goes, this was not on my radar… EVER.
Apparently, in India the man and his family plan the entire wedding, or so I’m being told.
While most women would be freaking-out not knowing what the catering hall looks like, or what food is being served, I am enjoying the “doing nothing” part immensely.
It seems my “one job” would be to find a wedding dress. Manpreet’s sister Nav sent me a photo of what she thought I should shoot for, and I agree… It’s beautiful.
I set off in hot pursuit of something fabulous to wear for my for my “Big Fat Sikh Wedding.” But I live on a beach outside of Tampa, Florida and there are a total of three Indian dress stores within a hundred mile radius.
The sales people thought they could sell me just about anything because I’m an American Gori girl, they know I’m clueless.
I mean LOOK at me! I don’t even know how to wear a scarf properly.
I couldn’t figure out how to get into these garments because my boobs are just too big, and if someone had recorded my dressing room fiasco, I would have been famous on YouTube in 2.5 milliseconds.
I had one arm stuck in the air sharing a slot with my head. The thick fabric was cutting off circulation in my bicep and one ear was completely red from trying to wiggle my way into OR out of these ornate garments.
It took three employees and a random customer to pry me out.
I don’t want to even talk about the pants, my whole family could fit inside them. I pictured myself kneeling at my wedding in a Sikh Gudwara feeling like one of those blow-up Suma wrestler costumes.
Beautiful Indian brides may be able to pull it off, but no… these suits were not ME.
I wanted to wear something like all the amazing Sikh wedding photos on Pinterest; you know, heavy-beads, lots of jewels. If I was going to do this, I wanted to do this RIGHT.
The entire shopping excursion was completely worth the trip just from seeing my mother cry when I walked out of the dressing room looking lost and confused.
I’m not sure if they were tears of happiness, or if she was crying because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t contain herself?
I mean, the woman never thought she would see the day her daughter would ever to TRY ON a wedding dress, let alone possibly purchasing one… for an actual wedding.
…But were these even wedding dresses? Maybe, we may never know.
I envision an entire crowd of Punjabi’s whispering “Why is the Gori wearing street-clothes to her wedding?”
Then they kindly order take-out pizza to make me feel comfortable since I showed up in my pajamas. At this point, I was kind of screwed.
I have no intention of offending anyone in the Sikh community, let alone my new in-laws, but somehow… I will.
There is no doubt in my mind.
I felt like I was wearing a heavily beaded potato sack, but my son looked like a blonde Arabian-prince.
Needless to say, he got two outfits from our shopping jaunt, as I walked away empty handed with pizza on my mind.
I can guarantee several thousand silly mistakes this Jersey Girl is going to make with my new family, combine that with my lack of knowledge about Sikh bridal customs and this wedding has “I love Lucy” written all over it.
Sit back and enjoy the ride folks.
It’s gonna be a doozy.
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For more stories in the Gori and the Sikh category, click—> HERE
Read about “My Indian Boyfriend “—>HERE
My Big Fat Sikh Wedding: Indian Astrology —> HERE
My Big Fat Sikh Wedding: The Dress —> HERE
Surviving Long Distance Love—> HERE
Open Letter to my Husband—> HERE
Our Honeymoon, Rishikesh India—> HERE
Fiance Visa Process K1—> HERE
US Embassy Interview fir K1—> HERE
Cr1 Marriage Visa Timeline—> HERE
Journey to New Delhi—> HERE
First Trip to Jaipur India —> HERE
Our First Diwali—> HERE
Giving Thanks, Shukryia —> HERE
Being Sikh in America—> HERE
The Indian Grocery—> HERE
A Path to Happiness—> HERE
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