The past week in California has been an absolute blur. The eight days that I thought would be beyond sufficient to relax, meet friends and see family members have been hijacked by dreaded wedding planning.Â
This is why I enjoy living in the Midwest, far from the location of My Big Fat Indian Wedding, as my best friend has dubbed it. The distance allows me to go about my merry way ignorantly hoping that either:
1) My wedding plans will magically and seamlessly and effortlessly come together exactly how I desire; or,
2) My parents will crack under the pressures of too hefty expenses and frivolous familial requests and beg me to marry Ben in a civil court.
But neither will happen. These eight days have brought me to that tragic realization.Â
I am an only child of Indian parents who have been anticipating a wedding since the day I turned 22. I’ve delayed their plans for seven years. So, yes, a Big Fat Indian Wedding it will be.Â