It’s 11:53 PM, and there’s a wedding going on across the street. “Across the street?” my Mom asked after wondering why we were playing the soundtrack of tribal drums while we were on the phone with her. “Is there a temple across the street?” Nope. Weddings are affairs of the home, and the home across the street is done up to the nines:
We haven’t been to an Indian wedding yet. But from what we heard, they go really late. And they don’t really even get going until the groom shows up, typically seated on the back of a horse-drawn carriage and heralded by a brass band wearing old British army-style uniforms. We haven’t seen a carriage and haven’t heard a brass band yet… which means we’re probably in for a long night.