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.

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