So, on the eve of possibly the trickiest paper I have to take this semester, I was one of the central characters in an incident. The other playing the lead role with me, was the local tabby cat.

By ‘local’, I am referring to something that is observed and resides in the vicinity of the campus I happen to live in too.

By ‘vicinity’, I mean the roads, one of the many parks (some of which are for ‘Women Only’), the few bad excuses for shops, the campus boundary wall, you get the drift right.

By ‘local’ and ‘vicinity’ I certainly DO NOT mean somebody’s house, somebody’s house on the third floor, the settee in somebody’s drawing room in that somebody’s house on the third floor !! And that somebody should certainly should NOT be me !!

Before this flirtation with the feminine feline kind, I was hard pressed with work and dangerously low on sleep. Nothing serious though, the usual exam fare. Personally, I would love to kick this habit, an almost vicious spiral. I believe it takes time. Silver bullets and whiz kids are a part of fairy tales (gory and geeky ones respectively).

To snap myself out of a groggy state I decided to whip up a nice and STRONG cup of tea. After all, the possibility of an all nighter was looking increasingly unavoidable.

Lo and behold !! Sid called. I take pride in my culinary skills, but ‘a cup of tea’ was never my cup of tea. Sid, on the other hand, owing to his vast experience in tea affairs, was arguably the best person to guide me through the process.

We might open a tea stall after we get our degrees. I will keep accounts.

So, at 12:00 a.m. in the night, water, milk, tea leaves, sugar and a PHONE was all I needed to make a cup. I have to point out, I am no TEA-VIRGIN, but Sid’s method was appreciably different from the one I am aware of.

He is PASSIONATE about his tea. I was scolded for mixing the milk and the water before the water was warm enough. He expounded on his, rather interesting, theory that the most important ingredient while preparing something is LOVE. He emphasized that every gesture while making the beverage, or anything for that matter, should have a feeling of LOVE. “When the liquid comes to a boil, put the tea, 75 percent of a spoon, with LOVE,” he said. I was repeatedly urged to LOVE the tea. The consequence was me blowing flying kisses to the simmering liquid and singing a love ballad for the sugar just before condemning it to the heat of that LOVELY drink.

A few more minutes and the tea and I would have been in wedlock.

Anyhow, after the last drop was drunk. With sleep brushed aside for a few hours, I managed to finish one topic. As I was mulling over the things that I had read, I was roaming around the house.

I walked into the drawing room.

There she was, never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined that she would be there, she had green eyes, she was as white as ivory - NOT HER.

A rather obese cat !! I grabbed the horse, thrust it in the cat’s face while making strange, PETRIFIED noises (At this point Harish said, “Whoa, you were too busy with the cat that you did not notice you had a horse in your drawing room !!” - well, for the record, it was a wooden horse replica).

The cat was scared. I was scared.

It clambered up onto the television and the set-top box. Obviously it wasn’t too pleased with the digital reception or maybe a Mithun movie was on, because it slid right off it and landed in a corner. Hilarious !!

It finally managed to claw open the wire mesh to make a getaway.

Who needs tea? I will not be getting sleep for sometime now, especially if I am somewhere near windows.

PUN - Windows always had bugs, the bugs just got a bit bigger !!

What a match !!

What an absolutely stunning game !!

A MAGNIFICENT ADVERT. FOR THE ENGLISH PREMIER LEAGUE - Adam Stanford eat your heart out - I bet you are feeling like a man who has been caught with his knickers on his head - If football can serve up games like that, no matter how many bean counters you bring in, or oceans of money you pump into cricket - IT CAN NEVER REPLACE THE ‘BEST GAME IN THE WORLD’.

Chelsea BEAT Man - chest - er - United

A magnificent spectacle.

An exhilarating contest.

Nerve-racking, enthralling, thrilling, captivating, joyous, all encompassing - What a match !!

It is 4:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. I am a little low on adjectives. However, reminiscing about the win over the Mancs at the Bridge, will more than cover that front.

We began the game with full force. We needed the win and were hungry for it. Chelsea’s domination was established early on with the full pitch press, the Mancs did not know what hit them. Early on, the game had a nasty moment - an injury to Ivan Drago - which left him woozy and leaking blood. I personally dislike ruffians like Drago, but any injury is bad and injuries are one of few downsides of this sport. Attack after attack, Chelsea’s relentless pressure had the Reds reeling and scrambling for desperate clearances. Some inaccurate final balls and the post were the only things that kept parity. However, a breakthrough was inevitable. In the 45th minute, Chelsea’s German Bomber - Micheal Ballack torpedoed the ball into the back of the net after an inch perfect Didier Drogba cross.

The second half began with that team from Manchester trying to effect a comeback. For the first 10 minutes of the half Chelsea were forced to soak the pressure, with the Mancs finding their rhythm and carving out some half chances. However, just as Chelsea were finding their feet after the restart a BIZARRE error by Ricardo Carvalho, one of the club’s best players this season, gifted a goal to the limping Rayne Woozy.

The goal galvanized the team and tables turned once again with Chelsea in the ascendancy. Avram Grant made the changes and brought on the attackers. Old red face did quite the opposite, and much like his team selections, got the substitutions wrong as well. The beaters were on for the Mancs to force out a draw. The introduction of Cristiano “tap tap” Ronaldo was NULLIFIED by Ashley Cole’s IMPRESSIVE defending. He owned the No.7 Manc, much the same way Ballack owned Van der Sar. With Chelsea piling on the pressure, Micheal Carrick was caught unlucky in the 85th minute and handed the blues a penalty.

Everybody and anybody who was watching the match would have been gripped by the overwhelming tension as Ballack sized up the spot kick. Trust a German to score from the spot. He did just that. A BULLET SHOT past the hapless Van Der Sar. Nerves of steel and as cold as ice. Such PERFECT PRECISION makes you wonder whether Germans are humans or plain robots.

With their season and grip on the title threatening to slip away, the Mancs sparked into action. Goal line clearances from the brilliant Ashley Cole and our 30 million pound striker Andriy Shevchenko, who was bought to bang in the goals instead of saving them, saw us through to the finish line.

Liver-fools beware. The season just got interesting. May the best team win.

We have all had our horror experiences with barbarians. Men specifically. Women too. However, women seem to have limited interactions with the people I am talking about. They have beauticians for their myriad requirements.

Yes, I call the barbers at the saloon I frequent - BARBARIANS!! For an exceptionally long period of my stay at New Delhi, haircuts have left me with mixed emotions. I invariably go for the ’short hair look’, almost bordering on a crew cut. The reasons for this are:

1) Eliminates plastic teeth aka combs.
2) It is hard for people to figure out if you have had the customary morning bath.
3) The feeling after a heavy coat is sheared off, is why sheep are ba(ah)lmy with happiness.
4) I like to live under the impression that short hair make me look slightly cuter.
5) Why are you reading the reasons why I like short hair?

Coming back to the mixed emotions. Haircuts and barber shops have their positives. Some of them I have mentioned above. Also I love the infinite images formed between two mirrors facing each other. (Smells like Geek spirit !!)
They use a spray to wet our hair. Localized showers always interested me. Mostly the bottles used are old Cleaning Agent / Disinfectant solution containers (emptied out, hopefully) or, get this, ‘Agricultural Spray Bottles’. Suddenly terms like ‘cropped’ and shampoos with ‘essential nutrients’ make sense. The different types of customers, the ridiculous conversations and the obligatory and often interesting chat with the barber make haircuts more like outings and less like chores.

However, when snip comes to shave, barbarians conspire to:

1) make me look like a spring flower (daisies mostly).
2) manage to give me war marks.

Almost without fail, I have cuts and burns to contend with after I am done. Style, I have resigned to believe, is something which is not a part of the service.

The above two are not the only negatives against these ‘outings’. I like to believe I am cautious. Hence, to avoid infections and for the sake of immediate treatment, I carry a small bottle of an antiseptic, namely ‘Dettol’, with me. My friends find this highly amusing. The barber found the notion of keeping an antiseptic and cleaning the instruments after each use too revolutionary and radical to implement. Hence, I was forced to take such a ’severe’ step. The obvious jokes, made by my friends, followed, don’t forget your bottle of ‘Dettol’ when you go to play, to the canteen, to the washroom, to the library, to the principals’ office etc. you never know what infections lurk there.

Their argument lacks any fiber of logic just as S.B.’s head lacks  fibers of hair. Nonetheless, their comments had me amused as well. So, as I was waiting for my turn (which can get very boring and hence is another negative) during my latest visit, a man walked into the saloon and asked the barbers if they had ‘Dettol’. I felt vindicated. A smile grew on my face. The barbers consulted amongst themselves. The man pointed out that ‘Dettol’ was essential. I had to commend this man for his fight against barber room infections.

I rose from my seat and said, “Don’t worry, I have dettol”. I sure did feel like the hero then.
He said, “How??”

From my pocket, I pulled out the smallish vial of the amber liquid I was carrying and showed it to him with a smile.

I was expecting awe and gratitude.

They all laughed (The barbarians, the ‘enlightened customer’, and others waiting for their turn). “I meant dettol shaving cream, not the dettol given by doctors.”

I was visibly embarressed and tried to get some pride back by blurting, “well you never know where you might get it” instead of a more sensible “well you never know where you might need it?”

Anyhow, no more ‘outings’ for a month at least. Unless I grow a mane anytime soon.

A new day, a new song. The latest piece of marvellous music I have discovered is ’See Emily Play’ by Pink Floyd. A song which can be easily described as the The Doors meets The Beatles.

18 March 2008 was not an entirely magnificent day for me. As a matter of fact it was borderline awful. I LOST the debate at MAMC. The reason why I am using the word ‘Lost’ is because I did not manage to win 1st, 2nd or even 3rd position. I was definately not in my best form, my content was not incisive (better than most) but what really cost me a respectable certificate and some easy money was confidence, which conspired to ebb away as the proceedings wore on. Agreed, my preperation was lazy and far from sincere. I did not time my speech, not even once. However, I almost never do that and come away with a merit position. The surprising bit was my reaction to the performance of the other speakers. My ‘impromtu jig’ theory did put up a fight against their confident and preperation intensive approach, however, I could picture the contours of an inferiority complex forming, for reasons unknown / unspecified / unexplored.  

I was definately impressed by the lady who bagged the 3rd place. She was a picture of grace and spoke polished and well crafted words. However, she played more on melodrama and less on solid content. Her debate was more of a speech which painted a picture of confidence, but multiple pain staking rehersals. Nonetheless I was obviously intrigued by her and could not stop myself from admiring her conduct. It is a pity I don’t remember her name and my chances of running into her are virtually non-existant.

The travelling was obviously hardly any fun. Though I did meet an old friend at MAMC. Not old enough to be wrapped in bandages, but I feel older these days. The gap between then and now seems to growing with each passing moment. It was a pleasant meeting, jovial fellow he was and still seems to be.

Wished ‘her’ a happy birthday. Deja Vu meets spatial disorientation followed.

Suddenly I feel like listening to something heavy, not heavy on instruments, but something with a sliver of deep meaning - ‘Beautiful Day’ by U2.

It is about time I ask certain people and places to bugger off. In the words of THF - “I am declaring my own holidays !”

Obviously I am going to stay put and relax at home tomorrow - watch a few movies, think about world issues, the future and more.

I see it everywhere !!

A quick glance at my cellphone, and the time reads - XX : 42. This happens every day, it happened thrice, consecutively, on a particular day.

My inbox has 42 unread emails !!

The copy of H2G2 M.V. Harish gave me has an ISBN number which begins with 42 !!

4 Missed Calls

2 Unread Messages on my phone

Century number 42 was scored by Sachin Tendulkar a few days back !!

This reminds me of a phrase from the book - Human beings have this innate sense that there is a purpose, that there is something extraordinary happening out there, we are a part of this enormous experiment but we are unaware of it. It happens to everyone and has the effect of amazement, self-importance, and amazement among other things.

In reality of course ‘purpose’ and ‘meaning’ have absolutely no meaning and the ’sense’ is just NORMAL and AVERAGE paranoia.

Other important numbers, which were otherwise just simple and obidient numbers now jump up and do the hula hoops in front of me. I am talking about numbers with symmetrically placed 42 s which were silent up until now.

I see 42 s !!

I feel unnerved now. I frequently glance over my shoulder. Walk briskly when it is dark. Even when I am in a crowd I cannot help but wonder ..

WHERE WILL THE NEXT 42 COME FROM !! ?? 

I shall retire to my chambers now, rest and think. Think while resting, rest to think.

The Answer is out there .. !! ?? (If you find it, forward it to me)

I couldn’t hold on to something in my grasp. I did not win the city-finals of an event called ‘Tycoons’ - conducted by a coaching institute for MBA entrance exams initiated by a certain ‘jaagoindia.org’.

I got the highest score in the prelims, and in hindsight that is probably the reason why victory did a u-turn at the last minute. There seems to be an unwritten rule that is probably  written somewhere and it states - anybody who stakes a claim to an event (specifically a quiz) in the preliminaries will have to battle TOUGH odds to be declared the overall winner of the event. Of course if the event is cricket and you are an Aussie this rule does not apply. I speak from experience, the teams that ace prelims are left with no aces for the final round.

Chelsea had an equally inglorious day. We had our hands on the Carling cup, then we took it off, and as we were trying to grab the trophy once again, the Toten-hamsters nicked it from us. Who played bad football ? Mikel looked out of sorts and suddenly Anelka does NOT look like a good piece of business. However, their performances did not lose us the match. So, the blame lies on Avram ‘Sulk’ Grant’s shoulders.

The Indian Cricket Team lost a match which they almost won. They were losing miserably initially, they clawed their way back and then the blues got the better of the blues. It was an atypical as well as a typical ‘Indian’ performance. 

Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, when victory was sitting pretty in our respective mouths. That was the theme of the day for the blue lot.

Before I take my leave I would like to introduce you to a character I met at the regional finals today. The ‘Quizmaster’ / Judge / Guru / Gargantuan pain in buttocks of the event. He knew his stuff and spoke polished Anglic banter, atleast that is how it appeared. Along with that he was OOZING with an air of self-righteousness. The kind of attitude that gives reason to the existence of the word ‘repulsive’ in the English dictionary. He was a typical A*****E ! The rules were ridiculous, and when questioned about the nature of the rules - the reply was as ’sarkari’ as his attitude - “they are the same for everybody”. Right and you are obviously equally idiotic with everyone you meet. The less said about this smug thug, the better.

P.s. - Dichotomy ! I was wearing a brown shirt and brown shoes and not the usual blue !  My jeans were blue, as almost always.

Picture this, you are sleeping, suddenly you sit up straight, the track begins, your eyes open.  

I woke up with a song playing in a my head. I am not talking about a distant hum, not the mumblings of a vocalist and not some faint guitar solo but loud and clear words backed up by fantastic music. 

The experience was surreal. I could see and feel the world going about its work at its characteristic frenetic pace, but I was in suspended animation.  

Later when I was thinking about the song and that moment I was instantaneously teleported to the entrance of a HUGE and completely empty amphitheatre. I was craning my neck to survey those colossal stands - I was utterly and completely AWESTRUCK. Bewildered at the size of those walls - peeling off but still menacingly strong, the seating - which was almost in the sky and the glow of the light that painted the whole setting. To add to the mystique and sheer bizarreness (it is a word !) I was dressed as a Roman ! I was as much a part of the picture as my Roman uniform, what the f*** was I doing there ? 

I have been thinking a LOT lately about (here we go again) - “Life, the Universe and Everything”. This incident does absolutely nothing to prevent the ‘flights of thoughts’ from taking off the runway. Oddly enough, I am not complaining - this gives me more food for thought. Obviously I am going to post-rationalize (it is getting chronic now) and attempt to decode this and more.

While I alternate between that and EXAMS (AGAIN !) I would more than appreciate your take on aforementioned. Open season for interpretations.

If you would like to listen to the song, which I think you should follow the link - “The Chain”.

Since I have mentioned exams - I obviously have a multitude of books to read. Ironically, now that I seem to have hit some good quizzing form - I have to give up an overwhelmingly number of quizzes (Though some people would be happy about that and might like to add a ’serves you right’.)

So I shall take a vow now, I will and I repeat, will not allow ‘exams’ to interfere with my participation in any Extra Curricular Activity that might interest me inspite / alongside attempting to reach the pinnacle of learning and academic performance. However, I shall formulate my own function / procedure / algorithm / ‘choose your own computer programming terminology’ to achieve this and not emulate B.dot and others.

And now I shall take a bow.

Au revoir. 

Arthur Dent would agree. It certainly was a thursday.

Crescendo 2008 - the annual festival of SSCBS, or simply CBS - was an event that marked the high point of my pure unadulterated rage, among other things.

Being an ex-CBSite (I had the honour of being a part of that institution for a glorious two weeks) I found the idea of conducting the fest at a SMALL but accessible and largely comfortable auditorium complex, which is incidentally much bigger than the actual college, praiseworthy.

For the few days I spent at CBS, I met some extremely nice people and a certain number of shit-heads as well.

After Crescendo 2008, the shit-head count has certainly gone up by a few.

The systems seemed to be in place, obviously they were not. I would like to point out that I am referring only to the 1.5 quizzes I took part in. 

CORPORATE QUIZ

There was a cherubic bloke with a jovial sense of self who was extremely nice. This fellow was helpful and exuded a level of respectable intelligence. The quiz master for the prelims came across as an individual with an equally pleasant personality and fair sense of perspective.

And now the the ignominious ninkumpoop(s). The finals were conducted by - get this - 4 quizmasters !!

4 freaking quizmasters !! Obviously at CBS soup is a not something they have ever prepared before because the 4 of them did a fantastic job of spoiling the broth.

The two bespectacled blokes had a certain degree of stage presence which made up for their lack of quizzing experience. They were evidently nervous so that can be accepted as an excuse. However, this appeared to be more of a public speaking exercise for the organisers than a quiz.

Now for the star of the show. The ‘quiz master’ who conducted the 1st and last round had obviously made no contribution to the stockpile of questions, zero, zilch, nada !! He was completely oblivious to the reverberation of his voice and the proper usage of a microphone. He would either stuff his mouth with the equipment or be too scared of it. One can only presume he was either hungry or just plain stupid. I would go with the latter. A sheet of paper, and not a working and reasonable brain was the authority on the final answers, specifically for his rounds. Now, I am not asking an oracle to conduct the quiz but atleast those who do take the stage should be aware of the term ’stage presence’. He was alternating between directing the questions at the audience, the ceiling, the floor or himself. This, unfortunately, was not where the buck stopped. This ‘poser’ had the audacity to display arrogance which was so ridiculously misplaced that he deserved nothing but a firm kick up his arse along with a mouthful. The latter was duly delivered to him by me. To say ‘Mercedes MayBach’ instead of just ‘MayBach’ according to this doorknob is saying things which are galaxies apart. This proves my point that he was just the pretty (stupid) face behind the brains. Any half reasonable quizzer would know that Mercedes also has its versions of the Maybach. This sore thumb with his solo performance managed to completely lay waste an otherwise half decent event.

Kudoos to the cherubic fellow and his friend, the quiz did have some extremely good questions, the content was obviously pretty good.

SPORTS QUIZ

B.dot and I scored the highest or second highest in the prelims of the sports quiz. However, due to the lengthy delays this event was held right after the ‘Corpse’ quiz. I was obviously not interested in participating in a quiz after the ‘corpse’ fiasco, instead I was keen on inflicting bodily harm to the shit-head who had done a the spectacular job of ruining this Thursday. After I cooled off slightly, I paid a visit to the auditorium to see B.dot, who did not stand up for me at the ‘corpse’ quiz. He was obviously struggling alone and ironically most of the questions were up my alley. Since I had returned B.dot’s favour of leaving one stranded and the EXTREMELY ARROGANT quiz-master was determined not to let me back into the fray, there was nothing more for me to do there.

However, it is safe to come to the conclusion that those who organised the sports quiz had CERTAINLY done their homework. It was slick and the questions were outstanding. The co-ordinators were well mannered and all. Also the bloke conducting the final round was certainly no stranger to the stage and a microphone.

So in essence, Crescendo 2008 left me EXTREMELY ANGRY and HUNGRY (which added to my anger), but I am sure scores of other people had fun. Not this time for me. Going back to CBS was again more bitter than sweet me. I was reminded of my reasons for leaving the college.

That is it from me, in the words of ‘Eric the great’ - “Screw you guys I am going home.”

It has been hectic, but not the kind of hectic we crave for, atleast not the kind of hectic I like.

I decided to contribute with my efforts towards something which had the makings of another Enron.

The star cast was the same - idiots !!

So I slaved, faced an immeasurable dose of bureaucracry, witnessed PETTY politics, slaved, met some interesting people, was a witness to that famous play ’how not to do things’ and did I mention that I ’slaved’. The cummulative effects of that have left me with fatigue and deficits in more than area of concern.

Anyhow, I’m coming back in an interstellar burst but sans the heroics and saving the universe bit. Atleast for a short while.

So as I wade out of the shittyness, they are still trying to pull me back inside - they want a ’summary’ now. Summarise the last organ involved in digestion, and you will have an answer.

In other news, I might be staring the onset of the ’Queen of all relapses’. I was travelling past one of those roads again, and the signs were so hilariously apt.

L.A. Story rehashed and re - f***ing - played.

The Signs I saw

1) CAUTION - that is always the first sign

2) DIVERSION AHEAD - I know, oh I know alright

3) GO SLOW - ACCIDENT PRONE AREA - I was going too fast the last time and a lot was shattered

4) HARD HAT AREA - she will come swinging, wear a hat for your peace of mind.

I guess it is time to step back for a moment and relax. I also thought Trevorkian’s concept  of recharging batteries / energy / manna was WIS (Weed Induced Shit !!) but maybe even the sane ones need a recharge.

Also, in an endevour to approach life with a little more professionalism each morning I shall change into something less ridiculous than my orange pyjamas as soon as I wake up. Even though I have grown to love them, they may be getting in the way of efficient output.

No I am not dopey, it is still Trevino and so many others.

Lots of minor things to do, so many major ones too. I guess life could have been better - an Mp3 player, loads of GOOD movies, a truck full of GOOD books, oceans of time, FOOTBALL CAREER !! - but then again, life is good still, I cannot ask for more till I take my turn at the wheel, change gears and move things up a notch. After some rest obviously.

 This post, well the initial talk of ’relapses’, is in staunch disagreement with the motto I am trying to imbibe for life, the universe and everything. Maybe this form of expression is a substitute for the need to vent. I hope so. I feel a little easier already. 

I am back baby !! And there is more where this came from ..

P.s. - so we have the king, the queen, the court jester who conveniently can’t do much and the slime balls with their noses stuck all the way inside intestines.  

It is so nice to eat chicken tikka masala again meet you again.  The appetizers section The place looks fabulous.

So, on the 25th day of December, the family drove down to Chandigarh with the purpose of attending a wedding in the old / good friends circle. I tagged along for the prospect of eating a scrumptious meal.

We are Indians and to add to that, we are Pun-jab-is. So if we decide to set course by 9 a.m., sure enough we will leave by 11:00. On this occasion, however, we began our trip at 11:40 a.m. (My bad !! - The women were ready by 9:00, that is when I chose to wake up. The men were at fault.)

Inspite of the holiday period, Murphy’s Law was working overtime. Almost the entire highway from the Capital of India to the joint capital of Punjab and Haryana was undergoing a massive facelift, reconstructive surgery to be more precise. With hints of flyovers and ‘broader’ roads visible, the presence of an operational single lane was invisible. After trudging along with an average speed of less than 40 km/hr on roads which were anything but roads, we found ourselves on a clear stretch. Of course Murphy had other plans. Lo and behold, more construction, traffic, dug up routes and ambiguous directions.   

Anyhow, the journey did have a brightspot - ‘Gulshan ka Dhaba’. Paneer ke paranthe with a plate of butter and SWEET tea.

Weddings have forever been about food, uncomfortable clothes, food, fake plastic greetings, food, extempore introductions and food. Of course, now that I am ‘older’ - eyeing the delectably and delightfully clad fairer beings is another objective of marking my attendance at these social congregations.

After all the travelling we touched down at a suburb of Chandigarh, resting for the night at a rather comfortable abode which had one shocklingly pink bathroom which shocked me, and forced me to use the pleasing blue one. Boogle with cousins, plenty more food, great breakfast - typical visit to the cousins.  

More travelling was followed by lunch at the page 3 hub of chandigarh - with beer guzzling grannies and their model-like grandchildren - in view.

The Wedding : My ‘magnificent’ suit had connived to grow small around the waist, arms, chest and other regions of my anatomy. Anyhow, I marched to ‘Westwood’ for the do. The bride looked like a bride and the groom looked groomy. Between exchanging pleasantries and stuffing my mouth with appetizers (paneer, chicken, fish, aloo tikkas) I scoured the gathering for something to keep me busy till the snacks returned.

There she was, clad in a - light orange meets golden - traditional attire, looking seductive like the dancing flames. (Alright, there was only one worth looking at - the rest were married, (I sighed at them too) - so all my artistic expression will be channelised towards describing her). I grabbed a drink, a hard one (coca-cola) - I had to look mature - I generally go for the bright oranges ones. I fixed my gaze upon her face. A few moments in and she could feel the weight of eyes looking at her intently. She looked up to search for the observer, I turned my head away. Our eyes would meet, but later.

I walked around the lawns, taking in the cast of ‘The Great Indian Wedding’, observing social behaviour. I did my “partimental duties” said the polite hellos, made PC for a bit. Asked questions, answered some. All this while I made a conscious effort to keep playing hide and seek with that picture of breathtaking beauty. And this quickly moved towards an unconscious admiration of the grace she exuded. Our eyes met. Not once, numerous times. Initially I met her with, as steely a look as my eyes could give, and with grit. My stance quickly melted to a faint smile and then a bemused acknowledgement of how fantastic she looked. She smiled, ever so slowly, acknowledging a connection. And in the shimmering light the smile transformed into flirtatious glances. Coy, as she was in her acceptance, now she began playing the game of hide and seek herself looking at whatever little there was to look this way. 

I gestured to her to move away from the group. To my surprise, she complied. We silently pulled away to a secluded corner of the lawns.

“Hey, I have to tell you that you are the most beautiful girl at this gathering. Probably, the most beautiful at all gatherings.”

She fought it hard, but she certainly blushed.
“Ahh, thanks for the compliment. Weddings can get really boring.”

“Specially, when they are not yours”

We laughed.

“Uhuh and how many times have you been married ?” she inquired.

“Well, we have only just met.”

“Right (Rolled her eyes).”

We exchanged names. Made PC. Passed a few comments. Had a good time in each other’s company. Atleast I did. We both managed to make each other laugh, quite often.

After a lull in the conversation she remarked, “You know you are quite cute.”

“I am not so sure about that,” I said. I changed my demeanour to a more serious one. I moved closer. In slightly hushed tone I said, “But I do know its a pity this wedding will not go on on forever.”

She said nothing. She smiled and looked directly into my eyes. I held her hand. Met her gaze, the moment was intense. The scent she wore had me mesmerized. I ran a finger over her velvety cheek. She held my face with her hand. I took a deep breath and knew all that would follow would be pure instinct, I was under a spell. I pulled closer, she drew her arms around me .. Dinesh, what are you doing ? Dinesh ? DINESH !! - Kya kar raha hai be ? Statue kyon pakad ke khada hai ? Teri Chelsea ka match to miss ho jayega. Friends. What would you do without them ?
“I was just trying to figure out what material this thing is made of,” I blurted.
“Regular marble, idiot”.
So I had been saved from experiencing passion with a marble horse.
“Come lets eat food, I am hungry.”
“Yeah, me too.”  

I took a break from my amorous adventures and made my way across to the lavish spread. There was a hint of communalism / regionalism - ’Indian’ and ‘Punjabi’ were different sections of the cuisine. The foreign influence was there - the ’Italians’ and the ‘Chinese’. I also realised why it is called a ’Russian Salad’ and not an Indian one. Because Indians canNOT prepare it. Cauliflower in my salad !! Jeez Louise .. 

Then came dessert, dessert-S to be precise. Suggestion : Keep a dentist ready at Punjabi weddings for sugar induced oral trauma. I had my fill. Burp and all.

A happy married life to the couple.