(Posted one month late due to internet problems)

Last Wednesday Chris and I were invited to our first Nepali wedding, a concept in Nepal signifying 24 hours of eating, drinking and dancing.

We arrived at school in the morning to be presented with two glossy, scented leaflets, made out to ‘Shayam’ and ‘Krish’.  These, we were informed, were wedding invitations.  All the teachers were invited on account of the fact that the bride was in class 10.

We duly rocked up at the scene of the festivities after school.  It was not hard to find- the music and dancing had being going on all of the previous day and night...  On arrival, as usual, mutters went around at the prospect of the white boys dancing.  Before the ritual humiliation could commence though, we were ushered into a low, smokey kitchen where we found a circle of Nepalis eating and the bride and groom seated at one end of the room.  Before food, we had to pay our respects.  This involved handing over our present (some touristy fudge from Heathrow airport) and smearing tika (coloured powder) all over their foreheads.  Bearing in mind we were probably the 200^th people to do this, they were absolutely covered.

This ritual completed, we were handed a towering pile of sel rotis (chewy savoury donuts), curried potatoes and mutton.  We absolutely stuffed ourselves as the food kept on coming.  This turned out to be a huge mistake as, by the end of the evening, we had been handed 3 more full meals and then another 4 over the following morning and afternoon.  In fact, after 24 hours we had consumed 8 full meals, each one twice the size of what I would generally consider a healthy dinner...

Between eating, the main order of the day was dancing.  I honestly think we were quite good this time (we’ve done it so many times we have to be getting better now).  One particularly odd dance involved a slightly boisterous woman of 40 stalking Chris and me round the dance floor (former vegetable patch) to uproarious laughter from the 100 strong crowd of onlookers.  This was unnerving to say the least, bordering on traumatic.

The final essential component of this, and every other, Nepali wedding was Raksi (home brewed rice or millet spirit, cheap as it is disgusting).  Every meal involved at least 2 full glasses.  At one point, when it was clear saying “enough” was not going to have any effect, I put my hand over my mug.  To my dismay, the Raksi was poured over my hand and through my fingers.  Later on, when I was feeling pretty grim, dehydrated and generally unhappy, some of the teachers spotted me and shouted, “Samsir, eta, cheesho pani, cheesho pani!” (here, cold water, cold water).  I gratefully lifted up the jug and started drinking.  I was two gulps down when I noticed the laughter and realised I was in fact drinking yet more Raksi.  It is genuinely harder to find water than alcohol at these events...

The whole affair lasted late into the Wednesday night, into Thursday morning, afternoon and night.  We of course had to teach lessons on Thursday so didn’t quite manage a full night.  We did however spend all of our free periods and lunch time eating and dancing.  By the end we were pretty well beaten.  I passed a grim night on Thursday and Chris was out of action for the whole of Saturday.  The effects of sleep deprivation, alcohol consumption and major over-eating took a heavy toll, but even so, bring on the next one...