Wa.e ak.we Seattle DSA. That means hello in Tlingit. But what it really means is, “Is it you?” That’s how we greet each other. Wa saa iyatee? How are you doing tonight? Wa saa iyatee? I am here tonight giving the land acknowledgement for Seattle DSA as a Native Alaskan…

Hi, I’m Kelsey Breseman from Whole Washington. Whole Washington volunteers, can you please raise your hands? Everybody, please make sure to sign one of their petitions, because that bill we are working to get on the ballot will make abortions free for all residents of Washington State, along with all…

Continued from Baraat The groom processes through the reception, where Dana is standing, though apparently she’s not supposed to be. She gets sent upstairs, then down again with most of the same friends. Andre, Ryan, Jack, and I lift the four posts of the canopy Dana is to walk under…

In an Indian wedding, the sisters of the bride traditionally make a lot of trouble for the groom. I like Gautam. We have enough rapport that I already know he’ll be game — so I’m all in. My understanding is, the parents are negotiating the wedding, the bride’s brothers are…

Priya Parker’s “The Art of Gathering” captures well the idea that a chill host is a host that hasn’t given their guests the opportunity to really rise to the occasion. This wedding feels like a perfect example of a gathering that invites more, joyfully invites high-level participation. The haldi ceremony…

“It’s time to begin, so count me in: five, six, seven, eight!” We’re trying to get in one last practice before the sangeet performance tonight. There are nine of us, I think, trying to coordinate a synchronized dance routine, spread across Seattle, Germany, Taiwan, Tacoma, and DC; we’ve never once…

“Oh, hey!” Dana and Gautam spot us through an open door as we are being shown to our rooms. “We’re just looking for a good place to sit still for several hours while we get our henna done. You should come find us once you get settled!” I haven’t seen…

Rain begins to patter on the metal roof. We’re relaxed across a bed-like eating area, shoes off, the hammered metal tureens and empty platters of another finished feast strewn across the low table. “Maybe,” I murmur to Eileen, eyes on the gathering clouds, “we should stay for chai and ice…