I won’t attend my own wedding
How can we have weddings without drama? Weddings are big projects. We have to debate whether Auntyee’s sister’s brother-in-law who’s recently come back from Vilayat is to be invited (with family) or not, we also have budgets to work with and desires unlimited.
Stage 1 : Stage Fright.
Me : I have to first get the gold for the new daughter in law
Son 1 : You can’t have a wedding without getting the house painted.
Me : The house is just fine. It keeps out the wind and rain. Ignore house, budget other expenses.
DIL 1 (Eye roll) How can we call people into the house when it is in this state?
Me : Its fine. Guests will come regardless of the state of paint in the house.
Me (silent protest in the head) I mean I don’t go to people’s homes and judge them on how old the paint job is Humph! I have a nasty feeling that this is going freakingly expensive and I haven’t budgeted it.
Son 2 : Eh, the house is fine.
DIL 1 : You just concentrate on getting married.
Son 1 : Yeah. And Mom, just wash your specs once in a while. And then you will (pause, inhale, widen eyes) see dust.
Such over-the-top drama.
Son 2 & I sulk and painters enter the house.
Stage 2 Paaltiks
Definition of Paaltiks : This is the poorer cousin of the highly dangerous game of politics, which makes orators and celebrities out of certain news anchors and writers and can involve blackmail, murders, sting operations and such like. No animals and humans are killed in the game of paaltiks. No blood is shed. It is very environment friendly too. However feelings are wounded and old scores settled in paaltiks. And paan parag is eaten and tea drunk. (I was drinking tea when this happened. And I wanted to use paan parag because – well – Ad companies assure us that its the fashionable thing to welcome baraatis with)
Son 2 : Guest list?
Me : Yeah guest list, good!
Son 1 : I’ve made mine.
I take the slip of paper on which he has written the names of his in-laws and 2 childhood friends with wives and kids.
Me : Is that all?
Son 2 : Dude think harder. Mom have you made yours?
Me : Office colleagues for the reception. Close relatives (numbering barely 15) for the baraat.
Son 2 : What about your aunt XXX and aunt YYY?
Me : They did not even accompany me home with DIL 1 for the kangana ceremony. I’ll call them for a function or two, that’s it.
Son 2 hands me a list containing names of said aunts, their offsprings et all, along with 100 more names.
Me : But they treated us shabbily by pushing off when the pheras were going on.
Son 2 : So let me understand this. You waited 10 years to settle scores.
Me : Nodding smugly : Hell Yeah!
Son 2 : Bhaiyya!
Son 1 : I’m out of this.
Son 2 : You’re not going to do this on my wedding.
Me : Sulking and throwing a minor tantrum: Nobody lets me have any fun.
Stage 3 : Shopping
Dragging both sons to get their clothes, and having a flashback. Haven’t I done this all my life? Hmm! Not recently after they’ve grown up though.
Me : 3 functions 3 outfits okay?
Son 1 : Why? I already have one.
Me : Is it stitched? Show me.
Son 1 : I’ve got to get it stitched.
Son 2 : I’ve already got the reception thingy stitched. I’ve to go for trial.
So we proceed to the tailor. Son 2 wears the suit and emerges. Son 1 and I exchange horrified looks.
Son 1 : This is not bridegroom material. What’s he thinking? I’ll end up looking like the bridegroom instead.
I nod. I mean it’s decent but sober.
Me : Tell him he needs another outfit.
Son 1 : You tell him.
Me : Umm, Err, ummm
Son 2 : How is it?
Me : Nice, very decent. Let’s look at more suits.
Son 2 : For Bhaiyya? Let’s.
Son 1 : I’m not shopping here.
Son 2 : Sensing our lukewarm response : For me? You did not like my clothes?
Me : Doggedly : Its 3 functions. We need more stuff.
Son 2 : Buy for Bhaiyya. You did not like my suit.
Me : Sherwani for the wedding?
Son 1 : Dude, lets look at other options.
Son 2 : Did you or did you not like my suit?
Me : This place does not do sherwanis.
Son 2 : Did you or did you not?
Me : Biting the bullet : Its very office party sorts.
Son 2 : Defensively : I think its really good.
Son 1 : Dude its your wedding. All you got to do is look pretty and go with the flow.
Me in my mind: (He’s making me out to be the bad guy. He was the first to pan that suit. I hate being a parent.)
Son 2 : Sulking : I hate buying clothes.
Sigh … and we still had 6 outfits to get.
Stage 4 : Deciding functions and catering.
Note to self : Never finalize stuff like this while sitting at Yo China with all dude shopping bags around you. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s thirsty. Everyone’s starving. And of course everyone behaves like an absolute jerk, self included.
Me : Havan in the morning followed by lunch. Minor drinks party in the evening.
Son 2 : Why on the same day? Why can’t we have it on 2 different days?
Me : (Opening my mouth to explain and being cut off. P.S. The third time in the course of the day)
His argument, too tiring and will be crazy as heck.
Son 2 : Bhaiyya what do you think?
Son 1 : Wisely : I’ll just be back. I need to buy something.
Both Bridegroom and I glare at each other. He rants. I simmer. Our order does not come.
He rants, I glower. Our food still does not come.
He turns calm and patronizing. I grit my teeth. Where’s the damn food?
Son 2 : This is why we will have havan on one day and drinks party on the other.
Me : Losing it : STFU. We won’t
Son 2 : Standing up : I am leaving. Count me out of all discussions. I am going and I will not attend my own wedding. So there!
I sit on the table surrounded by achkans, sherwanis, jootis and sigh. Then I giggle.
I mean, c’mon. Don’t tell me the image of a family decked up in wedding finery accompanied by dhol, lights and band baaja did not pop up in your mind, with a ghori minus dulha.
It did not?
You’re weird.
While I ate my spring rolls the DIL 2 rang up. I related the entire episode. She said, “Ah. So he threw 3 tantrums? I only throw one per day.
I rest my case.
P.S. : By popular consensus Auntyji’s sister’s brother-in-law who’s recently come back from Vilayat and his four married offsprings have been dropped from the list of invitees.
