Sorry Saris

Last week our whole USAC group was invited to attend a Christian wedding. Being a formal invite this time, we girls wanted to dress up for the occasion in traditional Indian saris, so we asked Ms. Florence if she would help us out in the shopping department. After being taken through twists, turns, back alleys, and up a couple flights of stairs we entered this tiny little shop. Before entering we had to take off our shoes and once inside we took a seat on this huge padded floor. In front of us were shelves full of saris! After this young boy brought us water, the store owner began throwing package after package of saris onto our laps. Any color and any style we asked for, he had something to match. It was a complete pretty woman moment, Indian style. Going into this, I knew I wanted to go outside my normal earthy color scheme I seem to always be drawn to back at home. It’s India! I want to go all out with color and bling! One after the other, the girls began trying on their saris, each one prettier than the last. Finally I chose one to try on and it was even more gorgeous once unfolded and draped over. After being served a cup of tea, we were measured and fitted because they were going to sew it in position so we wouldn’t have to worry about figuring out how the heck it is supposed to be wrapped.  

We weren’t able to get our saris until the morning of the wedding and we were at class all day. We finally got home around 3pm- just enough time to freshen up, get dressed, hail a rickshaw, and get to the church by 4:15. Ms. Florence made it very clear to not be late! Should be simple, since our saris were made ready-to-go, right? Wrong… so wrong. One by one, we tried on our sari tops and none of them would button over our chest! 

After much panicking and on the midst of surrendering, I realized we had to pull ourselves together. If there was anything I learned from countless re-runs of Project Runway and America’s Next Top Model, it’s “make it work” & “be fierce”. Also smize (smile with your eyes), but that didn’t really come in handy at this moment.

So, we each assisted each other in some major tugging, pulling, and squeezing and finally success! Well, that’s an overstatement. Success in the sense that we were able to at least attach the first three latches, which was enough to make it through the night, hopefully. After having a neighbor come over and wrap us up, we ran down to the gate where Becca had hailed three rickshaws to take us to the church. Since we’re white and obviously foreigners, the rickshaw drivers continuously refuse to use the meter and instead pull out some crazily overpriced number as the cost for the ride. After trying to bargain with them, we gave in (as always) and took our 150rs ride to the church. Or so we thought was to the church. Instead they dropped us off at what ended up being the reception location. At 4:25, we began running across the street and around the corner trying to ignore all the laughs and stares we were getting on the way and asking every possible person where the church was located. This seriously felt like a scene out of a movie, not real life. Everyone seemed to think it was here or over there, but finally across eight lanes of traffic we saw the sign! By this time it was after 4:30 and we had no other choice but to just go for it. So saris pulled up, we dashed across the street, weaving in and out of cars, praying just to make it to the other side.

Sweaty, hair a mess, make up melted off, and best of all alive, we arrived just as the bride was pulling up to the church. Right on time.   

The Bride just arriving

 Oh I'd also like to mention a song the boys in our group made up. Sing this to the jewish wedding tune...
"White girls, white girls in saris, they just don't look right"
"White girls, white girls in bindis, they can't get rickshaws"