Wet Hot Indian Wedding Part 1 Link

Riya laughed. It was the first real laugh she'd had in three days.

Riya stood on the terrace, her gold bangles clinking as she pressed her palm against the stone railing. Below, the wedding lawn was turning into a shallow brown lake. The florist—a man named Suresh who had promised "Vegas-meets-Varanasi" decor—was ankle-deep in water, trying to rescue floating marigold garlands like a man saving drowning children. The DJ's speakers crackled once, then died. Someone's aunt slipped on the wet marble near the havan fire pit, and her kajal -lined scream sliced through the rain's roar. wet hot indian wedding part 1

To be continued in Part 2: The Sangeet Aftermath Riya laughed