Wednesday, April 14, 2010


So, over the weekend, I attended my first ever post-funeral prayer meeting and discovered the following:

1. My wardrobe is hideously ill-equipped to deal with family gatherings of the more serious kind. I’d been asked to dress ‘sober’, which apparently meant 'wear a salwar-kameez, preferably in white or pastels', and not ‘please, please don’t show up like drunken skank’ as I’d first assumed. BUT, since I had only ever attended Sindhi functions which typically call for COLOUR! And DIAMONDS! And SPARKLY THINGS! I had nothing. Not ONE measly outfit in anything remotely pastel-ly. Then, after much rummaging around in suitcases of clothes-that-no-longer-fit-you-but-you’re-living-in-denial-about, I found the white kurta I’d worn to my graduation (along with other stuff, pervs). It was a little snug around the hips but wearable, so some small part of me (obviously not the hips, shuddup) sat through that POST-FUNERAL prayer meeting being delighted about fitting into my pre-30s clothes. Really, It's a wonder I'm allowed into civilised society at all.

2. Man, these Sindhis co-opt *everything*! When the priest started reciting I was all “oh prayers in Sindhi, okay I’ll just sit here in this corner and look serious”. Then he ended a paragraph with the words “Satnam shri wahe guru!” and I was all, ‘What the…?!’ For a few puzzled minutes I wondered if the SB was secretly half-sikh and for reasons unknown, had chosen to hide it from me*. Found out later that Sindhis just take a bit of everything they like from the great celestial buffet in the sky. Bataao.

3. Was stopped by grim old lady in a white sari who asked me, “Tu Mala ki bahu hai?” For about three seconds I was all, ‘Who? Wha...? NO!!’ until it sunk in that wait a minute, I *am*! Was so startled by the realisation that I could only manage a weak smile and a sheepish, Ji. See the thing is, I hardly ever hear anyone addressing the MIL by name, and I have never, never been called anybody’s 'bahu'. Freaked me out for a minute, is all. Have since then been fighting the urge to go around asking people “Whose bahu are YOU, bitch?”

4. Despite my tendency to look like a chicken-that’s-seen-pictures-of-a-tandoor when faced with the prospect of attending ‘family functions’, I managed and towards the end, actually got quite comfortable. You know that saying, the fear is often greater than the danger itself? That shit is TRUE, y’all.

So, er. That happened.

* Which would be very twisted because I am one of the few women I know who find Sardars VERY hot. (I blame Rabbi Shergill for this).