"Guests are God."

That's what they told us the other day at the wedding where we were seated as the guests of honor. Why did we find ourselves in that role, you might ask? Simple: we just happened to be walking down the street where the wedding of a few strangers was taking place, and they pulled us in and asked us to join.

Weddings - and I feel allowed to generalize at least a little bit after witnessing at least a dozen (and probably two dozen) by now - are an exuberant tradition in India. I grew up familiar with the fables of elephants marching through the streets, and thousands of people gathering for extravagant weddings. I haven't seen anything quite like that.

But what I have seen everywhere is the joyous, multi-hour processions through the streets of Delhi and Ahmedabad that take roundabout paths from the house of the bride to the house of the groom, complete with loud urgent drums and crowds of dancing men and women. The huge feasts at every mealtime for the two, or three, or four, or five days of celebration. The gorgeous saris and henna tattoos and elaborate jewelry that adorn not just the brides (weddings are really a joining of two families, so the bride and groom sometime seem to play a relatively minor role in the whole affair) but every single female attendee.

Not every Indian gets married, not everybody who does has a wedding ceremony, and not every one of those is necessarily quite this boisterous. But among those that do, I have been repeatedly amazed by how willing they are to let foreigners come and crash them.

Last week, wandering the old city of Ahmedabad in search of some good rooftops, we heard the distinctive beating drums. As we approached, some men and women waved excitedly to beckon us in. We danced, making our way to the middle of the crowd gathered in an alleyway outside the bride's home, and were handed the big metal barrel (which apparently held the plates for eating later) to dance with over our heads. Then everybody took photos with us in what felt like a ten-minute celebrity photo shoot, gave us ice cream and sweets, and took us to lunch. We accepted the invitation to return later that night for the dance party, and made thorough fools (but happy ones) trying to learn the line dance that went with every song. I have rarely felt so welcome in a place I could claim so little ownership of.

Dancing at a wedding with a barrel of plates on my head

But this saying, "Guests are God," seems evident just about everywhere we go. When interviewing residents for a paper in the Culture & Society class, they all offered me tea - and often food as well. I was given tea when I sat on a rooftop to see how it was being used, and when I blundered into a travel agency begging for access to their wifi because email had been inaccessible for four days and I had readings to download, and when I was interviewing the men and women who sort Delhi's trash by hand to find out more about their livelihood.

When I went to the Ahmedabad Urban Development Authority looking for somebody who could brief me on bylaws influencing the use of rooftops in the city, I found myself interviewing the most senior planner of the city (and yes, of course, they served me tea).

When we entered a Jain temple in the middle of the day when the man looking after it was not expecting visitors, we were blessed at a small shrine.

Blessing on forehead, city in background

When I didn't have any small bills to pay for a ride in an auto-rickshaw, two passersby offered to foot the bill for me.

When I jumped into a local college talent show and performed some out-of-practice gymnastics, another competitor gave me a personal dance lesson on stage and the judges awarded me the "Sportiest" award - I think that's the name they came up with on the spot for the "'Let's Give A Prize To The One Foreigner To Make Him Feel Welcome" award.

Every person in every country has their own concept of what "hospitality" is. Here in India, I have to say: it's sure as hell nice to be made to feel like a god.