Desi Standard Time
If you ever think you’re running late to a Desi (Indian/Pakistani) party, you’re probably not. This is because a lot of desis operate on “Desi Standard Time.” The tricky part about this time zone though, is that it doesn’t easily compute, as in PST, EST, GMT, etc. We know how to make those conversions, because they’re predictable and precise.
Desi Standard Time (DST) is hard to translate into American vernacular, but I’ll give it a try: An invite of 7, could mean 8:30, but showing up at 9 is probably the safer way to go.
Maybe it’s something in the genes. Or maybe it’s culture, something that can be unlearned with the right circumstances. But then again, it seems way too engrained.
Sometimes hosts feel so desperate to get their guests to arrive “on time,” that they take extreme measures. I’ve seen invitations stating: Such and such event will begin at X p.m. “sharp.” I suppose the word “sharp” is supposed to get the guests thinking within American time standards, because in DST terms, the invitation time could mean a lot of different things — DST is tentative.
Our noncommittal attitude about time even shows up in the words we use. For instance, unbelievably, the word “kal” means yesterday as well as tomorrow, “parsaun” means the day after tomorrow and the day before yesterday, “narsaun” means the day after “parsaun” and the day before “parsaun!” I would tell my parents this didn’t make sense, that maybe the Urdu language itself breeds a flakiness about time, but they’d defend it saying that one is able to figure out what the other is saying using context clues.
The most extreme example of DST was a wedding I attended with my father in September 2006. Mom couldn’t attend because it was just after her knee replacement surgery.
We arrived around an hour and a half after the time stated on the card, and by ballpark estimation, 100 of the 400 or so people had already arrived. The wedding was on a Friday night which I suppose contributed to the delay. I have seen late, but this wedding was crazy late. The formalities began around ten p.m. when the Urdu speaking Master of Ceremonies welcomed all of us. And then, for nearly two more hours, Urdu poems (sehra) honoring the bride and groom were recited by local poets. Sehra after sehra, all the while, people chattered away paying no respect to the speakers on stage. Who knows? Maybe they chattered to distract themselves from their agonizing hunger. When one of the presenters spontaneously broke into song, we knew food was nowhere in sight. We all kept getting hungrier and hungrier. Then finally, after what felt like a fast during the holy month of Ramadan, the Master of Ceremonies made the ultimate announcement, just before the clock struck midnight. Hallelujah. Dinner was served, and we stampeded out to the buffet tables.
Food is often the main event at weddings and unless one is closely related or a close friend, it might even upstage the bride and groom. I more often get asked after attending weddings what I ate at the event above all else.
My intention at first was to get food for my father, thinking that I wouldn’t eat myself because of the lateness of the hour. But I caved, and devoured.
The Behari Chicken was sublimely tender and smoky. There was sautéed okra, sliced and spiced, and flavored with a hint of lemon, chicken biryani, beef qorma, and tandoori chicken.
One of the deserts was gulab jamun. These are similar to donut holes, but rather than a glaze that hardens, gulab jamun are dunked in simple syrup, then eaten, ball and syrup together. When I see this desert, at weddings, desi restaurants, pastry shops, whatever, I think of my mother’s hands that would shape and fry these treats for us at home, for parties and sometimes even for large gatherings. Whenever I eat one, I see my mother’s exquisite reflection on its shiny surface. The experience is without fail: timeless.
