This shitty wedding choreographer is trying to tell me I can’t dance. Bitch please. My hips weren’t made to gyrate to your shitty Bollywood moves.
This wedding is such an alienating experience. No matter how much I try, I’d never be as Indian as these people, who know more about Indian pop culture than I ever have, and who understand and follow social codes like they’re supposed to. Surrounded by that people, I’ve gained only appreciation for the extraordinary amount of freedom my family has allowed me. I might as well be a feral child.
I don’t want to dance or participate in superficial social interaction anymore. “
Subah subah FM radio prank calls about reporting to the police station for flying in alcohol to a dry state, yoyo honey singh, videos of ridiculous themed weddings and grit-your-teeth-let-them-rip-the-hair-off-your-body. Thanks, but no I will not bleach my face and DON’T TOUCH MY EYEBROWS!
My turn to learn sasural genda phool. I’m veering toward the bengali-weddings-are-better camp even tho the groom does not ride to the mandap on a white horse.
I’m so bored I could make an OkCupid account while the choreographer calls me divianiben and asks to play or stop merey khwaabo mein jo aaye a zillion times.
Tum abhi kal kya kar rahi ho?
*straight face* bhangra.