Open Season

now what?
we’ve bitched and hissed
at all this
the dj the wedding
the wait never ending
the unfriendly bride
and the vulgar side
of both families
that display dowry and dominion
as if they were de rigueur
so unlike us
with out classy ways
and quiet days
no dance or dowry for us
we’ll sit and talk and
make a fuss
that the music’s loud
and the make up too
and of relatives proud
this just won’t do
and eat our fill
and have our fun
dress up talk down
and act as one
in our collective boycotting
of
what passes off for
fun these days
oh these big city people
and their
decadent ways
and weeks after
we’re still at it
dissecting bisecting
seeing what fits
bringing up all questions
of laddoos and loyalty
of family gossip
of history
till one day
her father dies
expected yes, not a surprise
and yet guilt’s fingers
tease our souls
we’re ashamed
truth be told
how do we undo
all that’s been said
even if in private
at the breakfast table
in bed
oh maybe she was
just stressed out
the wedding her father
why even i’d want to shout
the music is good
and the dance they do?
that’s old tamil culture
there’s a history there too
she was polite
when we met her now
the shock must have
changed her
and how
well as long as they’re happy
the wedding was grand
and maybe god has other plans
but guilt’s fingers
are a stronghold
on me
they force me to see
haul me up to
acknowledge
that bitching is easy
and fun too
but some of it, all of it
may well haunt you.