By: Jake Keller

After around 12 hours of travel, by car, plane, and foot, I arrived in the illustrious city of London. I only received around 4 hours of less-than-ideal sleep in an airplane seat, but I was told that the best way to overcome jet lag was to make it through the day. Thankfully, I had a plan to fight fatigue and simultaneously immerse myself in the multicultural city: attend an Indian wedding.

My friend and fellow student traveler, Simran, had a sister visiting London for the wedding, and she wanted us to go; we agreed without hesitation. After getting ready, we embarked on our journey, which began with a walk to hop on the Elizabeth line of London’s train system, known as the “Tube” by locals. It should be no surprise that we got on the wrong train, but we persevered, and after traveling about an extra hour than we should have, we made it to the wedding.

In my head, I had pictured a crowded event, but as we entered the doors, I began to feel like a wedding-crasher. Simran left with her sister for the bathroom, and I sat alone at a table, avoiding what I interpreted as strange looks from the guests and the bride who wondered why I was there. I had never been to anything other than a traditional American wedding before. The customs were different from what I was used to, as was the music and the garb. I felt like a bit of an outsider, worrying that I was unwanted, but then, I got invited to the dance floor.

I’ve always hated dancing at weddings. I feel exposed as my lack of skill is on display for all to see. One time I attended a wedding where the pair getting married were clogging instructors, and as you can imagine, everyone took to the dance floor to clog. I was a plus one to that wedding as well, and when my friend dragged me onto the dance floor, I clicked and clacked my heels on the ground like a newborn giraffe. Flashforward, and I was once again forced to dance at a wedding where the style was unfamiliar, but I did my best to mimic the movements of my dance partner. She smiled and laughed as Simran recorded us, and I found myself grinning ear to ear.

I felt included in the wedding of these two people whom I had never met. They did not know my name, yet they welcomed me with open arms. Most of those whom I talked to spoke to me in Punjabi, a language that I don’t know, but that never limited their hospitality. One man in particular kept offering me drinks and asking me if I was having fun. Simran had to translate for me, but his energy was enough to make me feel welcomed.

After we left the wedding, we visited a nearby gurdwara, a Sikh place of worship. Nobody questioned why I was there, despite my knowing nothing about the religion or its customs. Simran’s sister helped me secure a bandana on my head and direct me where to store my shoes before we entered the Darbar Sahib, the prayer hall. We approached the Guru Granth Sahib, the holy scripture, and I copied the motions of those before me: saying a silent prayer, dropping a dollar in the golak, and touching my head to the ground. I then sat criss-crossed on the men’s side of the room for personal reflection.

I reflected on how grateful I was to be in a city surrounded by culture and by people who allowed me to learn about their way of life. I’m not used to being around people from different backgrounds who can walk around speaking different languages and wearing different clothing without being looked at sideways. Although I’ve only been here for a few days, I feel as if London has welcomed me with open arms, and it seems to have done the same for many others.