19 June 2008, early morning

The wedding went well. It went really well. It was pretty much exactly how I wanted things to be: very casual. There was a wedding, and then there was a bunch of people spending an evening together. I didn’t want the wedding to be the main attraction. My friends were in saris, and they all looked quite lovely. The Persian girls did a knife dance. Shima and I fed each other honey. There was lots of photos taken. There was a team kata. We signed our marriage certificate on my dining room table, in the rush between the Hindu and Persian ceremonies. I hung out with Dave before the wedding, at my aunts house, while my cousin scrawled out the logistics of the ceremonies. I sat with Mahi in our living room late at night — I apparently missed a soul train. My uncle broke two coconuts, and did so like a pro. Shima’s dad read us poetry. I didn’t get to eat, but I did drink some scotch. Krishna’s friends did lots of hard work, and then drank all our beer — a fair trade. There were garlands that were swapped, and a thali that was tied — symbolically by me: my two aunts did the hard work. We traded rings, mine a battle to get on. It didn’t rain. Shima looked beautiful. My hair was too curly? It was a nice wedding. I wouldn’t change a thing.



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