with its three major conflicts brewing
(“you’re on my side, aren’t you?”)
and seven minor ones simmering
(“he was a loser then, he’s even worse now”)
the bride’s burning eyes
(“there’s only one way to look at this”)
the groom’s wearied ears
(“she was always that way… I remember when she was five, she…”)
the snarkiness about who’s not a bridesmaid
(“I see she follows the Mafia principle when it comes to friendship”)
the uncle and aunt bragging nonstop about their son the super-neurosurgeon
(“he made $500,000 last year, did I tell you?”)
the expense, the ego, the display
(“we’re keeping it simple; we only invited 650”)
Each and every hour of it—
This is all for your sadhana
