Before you jump to any conclusion, let me put it out in the open that I am not remotely any kind of a marriage contractor. This post has nothing to do with any of the matrimonial sites either. But I dread the time when one of these matrimonial sites decide to collaborate with Facebook and puts 'Like' buttons below all the boys' pictures. Indian marriages would reach a whole new level. Imagine the conversations. 'Hey Ambujam. My son is Kausika Gothram. Simma Raasi. Eighty three 'likes'. Yours?'
I have absolutely no idea what to do when I go for a relative's marriage. If you look around in the city, you'll see every third building to be a marriage hall. But every time you have to go for a marriage, the marriage hall will be in the most remote part of the city, situated in a small alley that runs between a 'Ladies specialist' tailor shop and a 'Zam Zam Briyani centre' all the way in some faraway Kizhinjambakkam. If you search for the place on Google Maps, you might get a pop-up saying 'Are you kidding me?'. And the roads that lead you there will be like the surface of the moon. It amazes me how all the marriage halls inside the city land up being filled Exactly when my relatives want to get married.
Marriages have two problems. Number one - It's a marriage. Number two - Relatives. I postulated a Theory of Marriage Relativity.
1. The quality of the questions posed are the same for all relatives in uniform motion relative to one another around the marriage hall.
2. The stupidity of questions in a marriage hall, is the same for all observers, regardless of their relative motion, or of the age group of the person addressed.
The minute a 40+ relative walks up to you, you brace yourself for it; their primary question, the one that every human below the age of 25 dreads - 'Do you remember me? I used to come home when you were young.'
Well, the postman used to come home three times a week every week for 8 years. I don't even remember Him!
And if you're anywhere above 20 and remotely related to the person getting married, they'll go 'So? you're next?' and smile. Every time. They will have a smile planted on their face like they've just asked the final question on Kaun Banega Crorepati.
Why would they do that to us? When we go to an oldie's funeral and we're done mourning for the loss, we don't go up to the other oldies and say 'So? You're next?' And we certainly don't smile.
The only good part of a marriage is the food. I hereby petition that there be direct entries from the main entrance to the dining hall. When you're done eating, remember to pick up one very crumpled up bag containing a solitary coconut (that will help your mother make the next day's thenga chutney), two betel leaves (that your grandfather can chew on all night) and a packet of ghee-dripping sweets (that will help help provide some profit to your neighborhood heart surgeon).
Oh, If you're a regular at marriages, remember to carry one rupee coins. You need to put 101 Rupees in one envelope and give, no?
