Our courtship, truth be told, proceeded like the US-North Korea talks, me being North Korea. The US, in the form of Sheela, kept egging me to bring about broad based reforms in a wide range of areas such as table manners, dress sense, topics of conversation, getting rid of a Mickey Mouse watch that had been my constant companion through college, and ensuring that both socks came from the same pair. And like Kim jong-il, I kept insisting that my internal affairs were no concern of foreign imperialist powers but unlike the US, Sheela was extremely difficult to bullshit. She made me stop my delightful practice of eating with my mouth open, which was musically most interesting but did not pass the muster with Madam Good Manners.
Thus, it was clear that I was going to be dominated like a serf or indentured laborer. However, in view of the fact that my oppressor had the most beautiful eyes the color of emerald, and of course a crisp left hook, I shelved all thoughts of mutiny and focused on compliance.
I had one request, though. I wanted the quietest possible wedding. Something in the nature of mom, dad, spouse and ring in the presence of the marriage registrar. "Of course," Sheela's dad had said. "Absolutely no pomp and circumstance. We're planning to have just the bare traditional affair".
Unbeknownst to me, my parents marshaled an army of 80 assorted relatives to form the infantry and assembled them at the railway station. "Awful lot of people to see me off", I remarked to the mater. "That is our Baraat, my son", she said and a sinking feeling told me I had been double-crossed. Our train journey to Bangalore (en route to Mysore) from Bombay lasted 24 hours and for every minute of those I was ribbed by miscellaneous relatives who thought they were as hilarious as Conan O'Brien when they told me "Ready for marriage, ah? Ready? Ready?" with a big grin. Some varied the script a bit with "Prepared for marriage ah? Prepared? Prepared?" and fully expected me to blush prettily. I've never felt more like a moron (unless you count the time my grandmom pinched my cheeks and asked my mother if I still wet my bed. I was in the third year of my engineering then).
I'm taking the brood out to Bandra, the Rodeo Drive of Mumbai. Update when I get back. And if.