It seems to me that the quality of a Pakistani wedding hinges on the quality of the food. —Photo by author One of the most glaringly obvious contrasts between my friend’s Pakistani wedding and my own Australian wedding was that we have almost no culture at all. None.
My friend Rafeh’s Pakistani wedding showed me a whole new dimension to celebrating love and union.
It was a mix of tradition and fun that blends into something that makes me a little bit jealous in comparison.
To give a proper analysis of my Pakistani wedding experience let’s make one thing clear: Australian weddings are all about getting drunk. Really. We might dance, we might not, but we will definitely drink. Some people might state otherwise and I am confident to call them liars.
Pakistani weddings, on the other hand, are sober. I have mixed feelings about this.
Rafeh’s wedding was the first time I have ever danced sober. I think that most of my friends could easily say the same thing. And it was not easy. I felt like a round hole in a square peg, a piece of cardboard trying to bend in the wind. But, with a little bit of encouragement (and a glass of water or two) I managed to do it.
Henna: Diabetic dumplings
The henna ceremony was great. It started with us walking him down the stairs with a sheet over him! All of us awkwardly tried to keep it levelled and make sure it did not get tangled. He then sat down quite regally on the couch only to be smudged with ‘goop’ (henna?) and basically poisoned with a thousand dumplings (gulab jamuns?).
He begged for guests to give him as little of the dumpling as possible, as he was about to eat around 60 of them. Some obliged, some didn’t. I had one of these dumplings later on and I am worried that we may have turned him diabetic. He handled it stoically. Somewhat.
In between, we danced to a mix of western music from Rafeh’s days at The University of Sydney (where we met) and other, unfamiliar and interesting pop tunes from Pakistan. With Rafeh’s amazingly persuasive encouragement, I danced — surprisingly, enthusiastically.
Of drum circles and clapping injuries
Then, we sat in a drum circle while Rafeh’s mother and aunt (pretty good drummers and singers, mind you!) led a circle of clapping and singing. We would be prompted when to scream a word out that we literally did not understand. I asked for a translation and have since forgotten what it was.