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Kishore Singh: KBC3

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Kishore Singh New Delhi
I didn't realise quite how many cousins I had till they started popping out of the woodwork, getting married and having babies. What with having to remember the names of their spouses "" and later, those of their children "" it became somewhat of a KBC quiz keeping tabs on them all.
 
If you remembered the name of the spouse, you'd forget that of their child, or where they lived, or some other detail of great importance. "And how's your little girl doing?" I was bound to ask the cousin who'd just had a baby boy "" or worse, the one who still wasn't married.
 
Or, "When did you get back from Bangalore?" when they'd clearly never been near the city. And it's only getting worse.
 
As the wedding season approaches, I know a plethora of kinspeople who're preparing to say their vows. A cousin sis will lead the honours, followed soon after by two brothers who, to make it worse, are to be married on the same day.
 
It will mean our going to Jaipur to join first one baraat and, abandoning the cousin to his fate immediately after, head for the other baraat. "Maybe," an uncle has suggested, "we can split up so we won't have to run around between two weddings." It sounded like a sensible solution till he let the cat out of the bag: "That way," he said, "at least we'll get to eat some place.
 
If we're between weddings, we may be left hungry."It isn't just cousins who're queueing up to get married, the virus seems to have afflicted some friends' children too.
 
As a result, there's a huge deal of planning of what-to-wear-with-what and talk of shopping and trousseaus and gifts. And since no wedding is complete without a sequence of rituals, instructions are being served on what one is supposed to wear or not wear, say or not say, eat or not eat "" even dance or not dance.
 
"All this is very confusing," I cribbed to my wife, looking down at a set of notes with detailed choreography for a dance sequence. "Don't worry," she said kindly, "this isn't for you but for the children and for me.
 
You," she dismissed, "can spend time chatting with your friends, but remember not to have more than two drinks, and you're not to eat before everyone from the groom's side has had dinner."
 
"I thought weddings were supposed to be fun," I cribbed, for I had just learned that the dress code was strictly formal, and everything from the sherwanis to the turbans had to match.
 
"Besides, I'm not going to wear a turban, I'll look like a fool." "Stop complaining," said my wife, "even the children are more sporting than you."
 
The children, though, are mostly amused, not least because the board exams are a good enough excuse to skip most functions. "Just get us a doggy bag," said my son, having managed to escape attendance at all but the closest family weddings.
 
My daughter's friend, keener than most to attend weddings, wants to know if there'd still be a party if a couple decides to live-in instead of getting married. "Where's that coming from?" I asked my wife, who whispered back: "Salaam Namaste." "I hadn't thought of it," I said to the little girl, to have her respond: "That way, everyone gets to party when they decide to live together, and another one when they get married. And if they don't get married, I suppose there could be a party when they find someone else to live with."
 
Oh dear, I guess I'll have to start adding the names of live-in boyfriends and girlfriends to the list of cousins and spouses whose names I can't remember....

 
 

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First Published: Sep 24 2005 | 12:00 AM IST

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