..but in all likelihood, wont do.
The wedding season is upon us, and being cut off in Goa means that we usually have a ready, legit excuse to give most such events a miss. And so we do. Because neither I not the husband have ever been big on attending weddings, unless absolutely necessary. Like say, if a cousin or close family member or friend were getting married, I’m willing to haul my ass over and be a part of the shindig. I’ll even endure the heavy pattu saris, the jewelry, the intrusive questions people tend to ask , the inordinate amounts of time spent feeling like you’re participating in some proceedings, but actually amount to just sitting around twiddling your thumbs, making inane conversation with random distant relatives. And sometimes, if you’re lucky you’ll have your sibling around to entertain you. If he/she is anything like mine, it makes things a lot more palatable, because you turn the entire event into an idiosyncrasy inspection and people watching fest. So to some extent, I’m willing to do it for some special people, even if the person falling into this category is sometimes dictated by social obligation rather than real affection or fondness. I’m still willing to do it once in a while. The husband, not so much, heh. But when the wedding of my sister in laws sister was announced, it was clear that the husband would have no say, no choice and no negotiations in whether he would like to attend it or not.
So tomorrow we are off to the wedding, my first this year (the last one I attended was over a year ago) and while I have resigned myself to the idea of doing everything stated above for the next 4 days, here’s a quick list of a few things I probably should do; but in all likelihood, wont do.
– Not cut my hair. Because short hair on a girl? Especially at a wedding! How very absurd! No matter that I live in a hot place and tend to bathe in sweat at the gym every day, which makes the idea of short wash-and-wear hair very, very appealing. But no, I am expected to feel compelled to keep it mid-length, half grown out from that awkward boyish haircut I went and got 6 months ago (I mean seriously, what possesses girls these days to do these things!) just until the wedding is over. And then I can do whatever I want.
But of course, I won’t comply. In fact I already went ahead and had it cut back short last week. Which means I won’t be able to iron it poker straight like only every other woman at the wedding, I won’t need to comb it, forget tying or neatly pinning it to some sense of sanity, and gasp! I will strut around in my traditional garb, with my neck exposed!
– By-heart a few stock responses to the stock questions we are going to be asked no less than 135 times.
“So, when are you going to give us the good news, beta?” — How about, er..never?
“How do you live in Goa, I mean don’t you get bored with all the partying?” — No, I am so high all the time, all my days and nights blend into one endless, inebriated infinite loop, and it ceases to matter if the party is on or off. Or if I’m tired of it. Also, no we don’t do anything else, thanks for asking.
“When are you moving back to Bangalore?” — When the Metro is all done, and I mean every single disconnected segment is finally connected, and the city turns over a new leaf, and all the auto drivers abducted by aliens teaching them to be mean, come back to their senses. Maybe..even then, I won’t want to come back. So…next question?
“So isn’t it boring to be at home all day long with nothing else to do?” — I have an exhausting routine that involves cooking, cleaning, washing, mopping and lots of dusting and only when that is done do I move on to my equally exhausting routine of preening and primping. I have to look good for all that endless partying, no?
But no, I like to leave some questions unanswered, until the moment when they’re popped. Then I just pick the first diplomatic answer that comes to mind, pull it out of my head like the best arrow from a quiver, take position, lace it with the daintiest smile I can pull, and set it off on its path to cut through the crap and put an end to the madness.
– Get my jewelry sorted before hand, so I am not left with the awkward moments of silence followed by squeals of “oh but is not grand enough!” being silently tossed at me. I should pair the little beloved South Indian jewlery I plan to wear, with each of my outfits, so as to leave no room for speculation or worse, the subtle other suggestions that can be wedged in at an opportune moment — complete with multiple sets of diamonds and all kinds of jewelry I would not pick even if my life depended on it.
But I think I’ll just masochistically leave it unplanned. So I can survey the crowd, pick my jewelry accordingly, and be the most decidedly under-dressed person around. At every single event.
– Train my mind and soul to zip it and get through the next few days without making a big deal of it. Because really, it’s just four days. Okay five days, but still. Temporary, as opposed to lifelong irritations. It is a wedding, a happy occasion after all. And didn’t I just open by saying I am the one that can haul my ass to such events, endure heavy clothing and jewelry, make asinine conversation with over-inquisitive relatives and come out at the other end chuckling?
But no, I haven’t even thought about this one as yet. My stubborn, mulish, bull-headed brain wants to have the option to be peeved, mildly traumatised and have a hissy meltdown, if it so wishes. What I am willing to do however, is increase my threshold. I can delay said meltdown to day 4 as opposed to day 1. So that I can have a million epiphanies about how different we are compared to our families, reinforce all those same truths we have come to know over the years, mentally tell various people to STFU, silently and subtly bubble over, let it all out. And then get on that flight back home to Goa.
That, I can do.