I must honestly admit that when it comes to attending marriages, I rather give it a miss and take a walk instead.
I have nothing against marriages per se. Those who want to get married are more than welcome to do so. It’s their life, their headache. But don’t invite me.
I have tried my hand at it once and failed. But that in no way hinders my opinion that attending marriages are a painful experience which takes many years to live down.
Look at the amount of effort one has to put if you get invited to “a union of two souls which will beat as one on December 21”.
Again, I have nothing against those elaborate wedding cards which are artistic and extremely poetic. Those little “grace the occasion” or request your “august presence” do massage the ego a bit, I mean. It makes you feel like a king or some VIP for a moment.
It’s not worth it. Even if for a fleeting minute you feel you ought to go, say “Get Thee Behind Me Satan” three times and relax. Look at the downside. There are too many things which hinder if you do even slightly think in the affirmative.
Firstly, you cannot go in your torn jeans which are in urgent need of the washing machine. T-Shirts are an absolute NO, NO. Even the checked shirt or a plain one won’t do. This is a marriage invitation and you need to dress up – not in your neat trousers or clean shirt but in a suit.
The last time I wore a suit was many moons ago. It was probably when India won the one-day cricket World Cup. Having gulped a few delicious drinks of a stronger nature, I decided to party in a suit in an inebriated state.
The big question always is where is that suit? Not elementary Watson. It may have been dumped somewhere beyond reach. Just locating it, is not enough. One has to find a matching shirt, tie and shoes to fit.
Having come to the conclusion that the best form of footwear was the bedroom slippers and with sports shoes a close second, wearing those brown shoes would not be an easy task. Leather shoes hurt if you are not used to it. And the sound it makes can wake up the dead.
The biggest problem is that all these components must be in one place at the given time. And then getting the perfect samosa knot is a matter of pride. It enhances the look and makes you come across as a seasoned suit wearer even if you are not.
I am lucky as I have been tying knots since age 12 in school and practise makes perfect.
The there are those shining examples of the human race whom you come across at weddings, well-dressed, accompanied by the Full Make-Up Woman, covered in expensive jewellery and reeking of Calvin Klein with bags from Zara. All their “How are you darling, haven’t seen you in ages. We must meet up”, is as false as their eyelashes. This is the icing on the cake.
Come November and it is wedding time. I have seven different invitations to attend what is called Holy Nuptials. It also includes one of a famous former cricketer with an actress. This is one I may want to attend but…
Plan to toss a coin before the day arrives and start the Big Search if in the affirmative. Until then, cheers.
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