When the fat lady cried..

After a lot of deliberations, it was decided that I would be joining my parents from Delhi to Muzzafarnagar (where my cousin’s wedding had to take place) with a friend of hers in her car. The route being slightly unsafe, we were to go to Noida to my cousin’s Mamaji’s and all the cars would move ahead together.

Muzzafarnagar is a small place with virtually no beauty saloons, I was to take the make-up artists from Delhi, which I did. I picked up these two people in my car, drove down to Sainik Farms and with the friend, to Noida. Even after reaching there on time, we were only able to begin the actual journey at 12:30 by which I was totally bugged, with a bad headache as I’d missed my morning tea (some addiction I have). Anyways, we reached safely by the evening by which I had lost my patience completely.

Chit-chatted a bit with everyone and then the bride-to-be began to get ready. I too started after an hour and a half and after the make-up and jewelry bit realized that the saree kinda thing (actually a readymade saree where you just have to slip into it like a skirt and then drape the pallu) was tight from my waist. Apparently, my contribution to my clothes limited to the extent of giving measurements and the boutique person made it as per my waist size rather than slightly below it. So for one, I had to wear it like really high, which on wearing heels looked even more short and adding to the agony, it was mildly crushed, to which there was no solution again. Now all of you must realize that I was very important at this wedding due to my singular status and I “had” to look good.

After a lot of tantrums, fights and crying before my Mom and my sisters (I dunno how and why they tolerate me at all), I managed to look quite nice and leaving the makeup artists in the hotel itself as they were to leave for Delhi the very night, we left for the venue. On reaching, I got a call from them that the cab hadn’t arrived and a commotion began. It was my responsibility to get them back and virtually after two hours of struggle, we managed to get them dropped (a different post on that fiasco later).

Ultimately the wedding was a lot of fun: I did manage to carry the saree quite gracefully, a feat in itself and got complimented too; the juta churai (shoe stealing ceremony) was a piece of cake and my brother-in-law gave me a ring for it (imagine getting an award for stealing stuff).

What I loved the most was the tata scene that all thanks to the now-bride went off without the usual crying. She’s one strong-willed person and said that she’d rather say her byes happily than going off crying. So that’s how the wedding ended, with lots of love, happiness, fun, family and laughter, the way it should have!!.

At the risk of sounding rude..

It is said that when it rains, it pours.. July-December is the busiest time of the year for me. A time when I am loaded with work; high work pressure and long hours lead to some mistakes which further trickles down to a lot of shouting and screaming, the result an extremely pathetic day.

You call home to find some solace but amidst all the marriage festivity everyone is distracted, making you miss home all the more. One by one the phone is circulated between all the aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, they laughing, singing, dancing and mocking you for not being there. The sarcasm is evident when they say “tum to bas naukri karo” (you just do your job), without realizing that this is the last thing you want to do, when all you want is to run home. The choice you’ve made is for a reason, for the sake of your independence, freedom and not for money (as mentioned a few times by some relatives).

Everybody knows that money is an important but not the only factor I work for.. What they don’t understand is that I care for what I do, that I hold responsibility for my actions, or even for the lack of it. So though I miss home terribly, the fact remains that I can’t quit everything, a fact that sooner my family accepts, the better it would be for all of us.