Swallow And Sleep

“Abhishek and Aishwarya didn’t get each other just like that... they had to struggle and become famous before they got noticed. Everybody wants to get noticed, no? Change. IMPROVE! That’s how you will find a nice, rich husband.”

And that, dear reader, was my “well-wisher’s friendly advice”. A co-baarati, co-non-dancer, total stranger and, lest I forget, my well-wisher. Sozzled well-wisher, if you ask me but then again, everyone there appeared unsteady and smelt the same to me. No, I wasn’t the one sozzled. Though when at a Punjabi wedding, you can never be too sure of that.

So. I ought to sign up for Bhangra classes. Be enthusiastic about a bit of sporadic wiggle waggle with a bunch of other pretend-revelers. Shriek intermittently since that’s part of the job profile. Set an example, particularly because I have a kid sister to inspire. And “even the slowest gazelle must run faster than the fastest lion”. There. I just condensed 20 minutes of counsel into 5 sentences. Should head to that twitter-tweet place.

For whatever my take is worth, I’ll have the ringside view when it comes to that particular circus any day. Just watching people can be so entertaining. Particularly when they’re weighed down with bling but are obliged to look, feel and sound Punjabi festive. Loud festive. And frankly, some cute guy’s wedding is most definitely no reason to spaz on the street.

It disturbs me that I might actually be related to a man who offers random girls tips on how to grow claws and sink them nice and deep into the next unsuspecting rich brat of a guy until they’ve drawn enough blood to repaint the Red Fort. Anually.

And therefore, to quote a pal, “Swallow and sleep”.