The women at the PHRI clinic, bless their hearts, generously and bravely took me and Paul along to an Indian wedding, knowing full well that despite our best efforts, we would probably embarrass them.
Our house looks like a tropical paradise, complete with palm trees and exotic plants; so Maharaja. Poor Vara and Seema went through all sorts of trouble getting that sari on me, but thanks to them (and six safety pins) I made it through all three hours of wedding confusion without any major wardrobe malfunctions. 
Indian weddings are less about the bride and groom and more about food (and family, but most of my pictures are of the food). Here, instead of lining tables with white butcher paper, they use pink paper. Love pink. 
There are no paper plates in India, only banana leaves. Try that for easy cleanup. 
Once you've got your banana leaf, servers come around and spoon out food.
Eating is done exclusively with the right hand. No utensils, no baby wipes. Now that I'm looking at the picture I'm realizing that the food doesn't look so appetizing, but really, it was amazing.
Every guest gets a coconut. Paul took his out back to the "wash rock" where we do laundry (that's right, all laundry is done by hand and scrubbed on a rock) and broke it open. I think he was expecting the kind of coconut that comes in Almond Joys or something, because he was really not excited about the tepid coconut water that came out.
2 comments:
You'll make a beautiful Indian bride someday Naomi. Sari, but I couldn't think of a witty way to sub out sor... :D
Naomi! Sounds like you're having a blast, and looking good at the same time per usual!
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