Weddings n shit

The moment I woke up today at 10:00 a.m, I knew this was gonna be a long-ass day. For one, I hadn't slept well. I had fallen asleep at 5:00 a.m the previous night. And the reason for that was because I had watched "The Ring" the previous evening. A word of advice for people who are easily scared like I am. If you are gonna watch a horror movie that you've already watched once, watch it in its entirety. Don't wimp out just before the end. See, the thing is, if you get terrified and switch off the movie before its climactic end, then once the movie is over, the end you remember feels much scarier than the actual end you would have watched if you hadn't switched it off. And if you are staying in a house that you are not that familiar with anymore, which has a high roof that you can't see and a mirror which has the bad habit of suddenly catching flashes of light from outside and terrifying the shit out of you as you lie in bed trying to fall asleep, then just don't even watch the damned thing.

But, as I said, I did watch the movie and switched it off right before it ended. Yeah, I wimped out big time. So, as I woke up at 10:00 a.m, I was feeling slightly under the weather. Fuck, I need a few more hours, I muttered to myself as I changed positions under the sheet. But then, the reason I woke up in the first place, namely my mom, charged into the room. "We are going to a wedding", she announced. "You have 15 minutes". So 15 minutes it was. And as I emerged from the shower rubbing my bleary eyes, I knew it was going to be a long-ass day.

Pune traffic. Man oh man, I could write a volume on it, but it wouldn't sell. Just because it wouldn't have a happy ending. What the fuck is wrong with two-wheeler riders in Pune? They appear to be under the impression that they can coexist in the same physical space with other two-wheeler riders simulteneously unless it is proved otherwise. And at one particular intersection, two armies of oppositely headed two wheelers had taken over both the lanes of the road, thus, disallowing anyone from passing in any direction. As I sat in the backseat of my car yelling at those insane people from the safety of my car, my dad turned around and said to me in that disparaging tone usually reserved for people who return from America and complain about anything Indian, "This isn't America, you know, this is how we drive here in India". I replied, "Well, in that case, I'm just being Indian by yelling and cursing at other drivers. Wouldn't you say that's an Indian trait too?" Touche, said the old man. I took a bow. We drove on.

The wedding. I am sick and tired of weddings. I can't stand 'em. And I couldn't stand 'em even before I got married, which was 3 days of hard core revelry including one instance where I had to climb on and ride a horse as well as be photographed sitting on that same horse wearing a turban and wielding a sword, thus making me susceptible to blackmail for the rest of my life.

This wedding was no different. The bride and groom standing together on the stage had the same acrylic painted smiles on their faces which showed a hint of being replaced by tired scowls every small break they got between being photographed with groups of people filing in queues for that purpose. My parents, for some reason, overestimating my interest in the proceedings, began narrating brief histories of every sari and kurta clad person within viewing range, their relationship with us, as well as their relationship with the bride and / or the groom. I was falling asleep.

I woke up from my coma with a brilliant plan in mind. "I think I left the bathroom water heater on", I said to my dad. My folks are hard core energy conservationists, so I knew this would rattle them. My dad appeared unconcerned. "Your mom probably switched it off before we left", he said. My heart sinking, I confirmed this with my mom, who said yes, she had. I slouched back into my seat, resigned to spending the rest of my life in that wedding hall.

Lunch time. Anyone who has experienced a Maharashtrian wedding lunch knows the drill. Keep a sharp lookout for any signs of lunch being served downstairs. Lunch is served in batches, so before the previous batch of people eat, the next batch has to wait in line swearing at those already partaking of sustenance. There are two reasons for getting into the first batch of lunch-eaters. You get hot food. Secondly, you get new plates. The next batch gets used plates which might or might not have been cleansed of first-batch leftovers, depending on the rush. This time, luckily, we were in the first batch.

Another tip for non-Maharashtrians who might find themselves breaking bread in a Maharashtrian wedding lunch. People will come around and serve you things. But they will not stop at your table for long. No, they will move on before you have had the presence of mind to signal that yes, you want whatever it is that they are serving. So this is what you need to do. Say you are out of puris. You need puris. You need em bad. You keep a sharp lookout for the puri-guy. When he is 5 meters away from you, that is when you start nodding vigorously. You nod irrespective of the fact that you might be in a conversation and nodding might not be the appropriate thing to do. But nod you must. And finally when the puri-guy reaches you, your indiscriminate nodding will pay off and you will get your well earned puri. Otherwise he will pass you by and your puri will be lost in the swirling mists of time.

So after learning this tip the hard way and finally getting the hang of things, I relaxed and began to eat. It was then that an old guy who I didn't know from Adam showed up and placing a kindly arm on my shoulder, asked me not to be shy and to eat a lot and to ask for more if I ran out of things to eat. I graciously accepted this kind offer, which, if it hadn't been made, would certainly have resulted in me starving to death. Soon afterwards, another woman I didn't know from Eve, showed up and berated me for not bringing my wife along to the wedding. Before I, in turn, could berate her for not bringing her husband along for berating me, I saw the puri-guy enter the 5 meter threshold. I began nodding vigorously.

My dad was keeping a close eye on my uncle who was sitting at his side. To his brother, he made the observation that saying "no thanks" after the server had filled his plate served no purpose whatsoever. My uncle thanked him for this observation.

Finally, lunch was over. We were ready to leave. We walked downstairs and out of the building into the sunny Pune afternoon. I was still alive. I had made it through the day. Tomorrow would be another day. I just fucking hoped no one would be getting married tomorrow.