Wednesday, June 13, 2012

My Best Friend's Wedding

Manveer and I love the quintessential Julia Roberts movie, "My Best Friend's Wedding."

He used to joke that the day he got married, I would realize the deep, un-nurtured feelings I'd had for him all our friendship and pull a Julia by sabotaging his wedding + beg him to marry me, instead.

We also have made promises to each other where, like the old cliché goes, if "neither one of us is married in 20 years, we'll marry each other."


It's a very good thing that neither one of those sentences came true on June 8th, 2012.

The morning of, I was having a case of the crankies. I don't think I had slept well the night before, the sky was a sighing pewter grey... you know. Life.

But as I rounded a corner at the temple, and saw the silhouette of the boy turned man who I've known for 16 hilarious years dressed like a true prince and realized THIS is his wedding! day! I was filled with this inexplicable joy. I was so happy for his happiness. 

Like so many other friends there, this was my first East Indian wedding.. and I loved it. Nav looked absolutely beautiful in her fuschia + teal + gold tones, and all the color surrounding us made so much more infinite sense to me than a white gown.

Who knows. I might wear a white gown. But I'd be equally happy to wear a fuschiatealgold one.


The day of the reception was a little bit of what I imagine preparing for the Oscars is like.
Most of us girls had to go somewhere to get our saris tied, as that four feet of fabric would allude even an origami expert. We had arranged for a limo bus to pick us up to take us to Surrey, and gathered on a lawn for pictures... and it basically felt like Prom 2002 all over again.

But this time, Brown Prom.

AND, just like at my original grad, I had to do public speaking this time around.

I don't like public speaking.

Even though I'm a theatre major.

Even though I'm a teacher and I "public" speak all day long.

I always get really nervous for the whole time leading up to the moment that I have to go up to the podium, stage, ledge of Extroverted Death, what have you.

Also, it didn't help that I started writing my bestfriendspeech at 4pm.

But, just like with any time I'm on stage... the adrenaline rush is huge and addictive, and I wind up wishing I was the center of attention all the time.

I'm such a strange introvert.

It went well though. I quoted this poem, by Michael Blumenthal:

You are holding up a ceiling with both arms.  It is very heavy,
but you must hold it up, or else it will fall down on you.  Your arms
are tired, terribly tired, and, as the day goes on, it feels as if either your arms or the ceiling will soon collapse.

But then, unexpectedly, something wonderful happens: Someone, a man or a woman, walks into the room and holds their arms up to the ceiling beside you.

So you finally get to take down your arms. You feel the relief of respite, the blood flowing back to your fingers and arms. And when your partner's arms tire, you hold up your own to relieve him again.

And it can go on like this for many years without the house falling.

Here's to all our houses not falling.

xo, MB!

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