Just now, T threw a combination Deepavali/birthday party with a bunch of his relatives. It was very nice, and there was an excellent home-cooked meal (including, if I understand correctly, some dried, steamed shark).
Everyone made me feel most welcome. I must’ve looked uncomfortable, because several of T’s siblings encouraged me repeatedly to ‘not be shy’ and to eat lots of food and to make myself at home. And I must’ve had the shifty eyes, ‘cause a couple of times one sister told me “Stay out here! Your room won’t go anywhere.” The truth is that I had a very nice time, but was watching everyone like a hawk trying to figure out proper table manners.
(Mostly people did the eat-with-fingers-of-right-hand thing, except for a few who used a fork and a spoon. So, in retrospect, I don’t think I was in much danger of causing offense.)
The highlight (besides the food which was mostly cooked by T and which I can’t speak of highly enough) was the cutting of the cake. There were many posed photos during the cutting, and afterwards the siblings lined up and each in turn forked some cake into the birthday boy while photographers called out blocking suggestions. I was invited to pose but not, mercifully, to feed.
Also, earlier in the evening everyone pulled up chairs to watch a show featuring Indian Singaporean pop singers. I can’t get enough of Indian pop music! I’ll have to locate a record store sometime soon.