Wedding Bells II

March 8, 2003

I apologise for the delay. First there was the wedding, then there was replying to all the mail the previous Fillets have generated (thank you everybody!), and finally there was just sheer laziness.

So, here we are. Wedding Bells II- Part 2 of a three part series- in which I provide the scoop on how my cousin Vishal’s wedding proceeded.

It was very disappointing. The airport girl didn’t gatecrash the sangeet and ask Vishal to marry her, and Vishal doesn’t have a deaf brother who could raise objections to the wedding. Everything proceeded smoothly. Tritely. Boring.

I shaved for the wedding. Before and after photos shall be made available shortly.

As usual, the uniquely defective relatives that we are all cursed with were the items of maximum interest.

Vishal has these aunts or great aunts on his mother’s side. A pair of these toothless old crones fancied themselves as a singing chorus of sorts- Shastriji could hardly do anything without them bursting into some foul folk song or the other. People stared askance at them, but they continued unabated. Since staring didn’t work, these people then just shook their heads silently and sadly, and muttered ‘Had hundi hai, yaar’ to themselves.

Well, if not exactly ‘Had hundi hai, yaar’, at least something equivalent.

But by far the most dysfunctional relative to grace the wedding was the bride’s mamaji.

Mamaji’s overriding achievement in life seems to be the fact that he befriended LK Advani and Atal Bahari Vajpayee back when they were all young. The very fact that he knew them when they were young itself suggests that he is slightly over two hundred years old, and, in all decency, should have died long ago, but some people just refuse to show consideration to others.

Mamaji, in fact, went out of his way to be inconsiderate. He invited Advani and Vajpayee to the wedding. And Advani actually accepted.

Consequently, the baraat route was lined by submachine gun wielding police officers intent on making nuisances of themselves. During the course of the pre-dinner period, I was accosted brusquely by a plainclothesman who demanded to know who I was. This was very galling- if policemen are going to look at me suspiciously even when I’m clean-shaven- why not have a beard after all? The situation is similar to my Class XII English board, where I resisted the temptation to submit my answers in geek rap- and received 58 nevertheless.

Anyway, Advani came for a grand total of about five minutes. We were all quite relieved as he, and the police contingent, left.

My parents inform me that Mamaji is a namedropper of the worst sort- when asked his views on the Iraqi situation he claimed that Bush would be calling Vajpayee that night, after which Vajpayee would seek his, and the German ambassadors advice.

Clovis Sangrail would know what to do with Mamaji. If you don’t know who Clovis Sangrail is, buy the collected works of Saki.

Moving along to the bride. While I can’t comment on her actual intelligence, she certainly looks very dumb. However, as far as her relatives are concerned, they live up to their looks- they seem to posses the IQ of a dull-witted slime mould.

They attempted to steal Vishal’s juttis. All well and good- you could expect nothing less of them than to carry on a time honoured tradition. Where one finds fault with them is in their mode of execution. They not only neglected Vishal’s juttis altogether, but what they eventually purloined was my brother Bhavya’s right jutti, Vishal’s father’s left black shoe, and my father’s right brown shoe. How they managed to mistake these three diverse items for a pair of juttis I shall never know, but I strongly suspect either sensory or cognitive retardation.

Um yeah, that’s it for this Fillet. Stick around for the next part.

How to Combat Communalism

March 4, 2003

I’ve had this brilliant idea on how to defang the VHP.

It’s to assemble a team of devotional singers noted for the beauty of their voices and their combined lungpower. This team would follow Praveenbhai Togadia around wherever he goes. Whenever he opens his mouth, they would burst into bhajans. Whoever Togadia might be trying to address would be entranced by the beauty of the bhajan, and would stop paying attention to him.

The beauty of this idea is in it’s non-violence. If you were to follow Togadia around and heckle him, you could get arrested, beaten, or worse. Similarly if you were to follow him around with a rock band and play ‘In the name of love’. Especially if you followed him around and sang Christian hymns of forgiveness. But to follow him around and sing Bhakti bhajans at VHP meetings- nobody’s going to do anything for that.

Togadia will be so nonplussed and frustrated, he’ll eventually tear out what little hair he has left on his head. Once that’s gone, he’ll tear out his moustache.

TV anchors will also stop inviting him once they realise that their studios will be invaded by bhajan singers who sound much better than they do.

Comments anybody?

The Most Important Meal of the Day

March 4, 2003

Phirni Rocks- shrewt (Quotes 2:45)

It’s tempting. It’s not like I’ve ever tasted it before.- Mriduben (Quotes 3:28)

… so we were soon out of there and out for some good indian grub- Mridu (Quotes 3:41)

My life’s all about a sugar rush.- Anuj_Himself (Quotes 4:9)

Chawal Chawla donon ko khaoonga- Adi Bedi (Quotes 9:8)

I love prawn- Ghodi (Quotes 11:28)

Iski dieting aise hai, TK vaise hai- Big Man (Quotes 13:37)

you’ve reduced me to a domesticated spaghetti making idiot- Comfortably Bum (Quotes 14:25)

oh come now, surely ervery1 knows dat….even nirula’s hv had viennese coffee on their icecream menu since time began!!!- Mannis (Quotes 14:21)

I had a conversation with Mrs Vanita Mehta recently. Breakfast was one of the things I talked to her about.

Breakfast is my primary incentive to come home on weekends. Cutthroat long distance telephony price wars and the march of technology ensure that I can always stay in touch with my family and friends (and my enemies, but who wants to talk to them) whenever I like, from the comfort of my hostel room. Should I ever feel like gazing upon their visages- well, a digital camera, the GIMP, and a printer take care of that. The college ‘Net line is 2Mbps, compared to the 64 kbps DSL at home. I like Linux so much now that I am loath to go home where I will have no alternative but to use Windoze. Moreover, Delhi’s superior markets and ‘hang-outs’ lose some of their sheen when you realise that the are infested with monotonously homogeneous young people who all look and talk alike (that’s a repetition, but some of you may have thought I meant chemically homogeneous).

But there’s one thing I can get at home that I can’t get in Patiala and that’s a decent breakfast.

Nutritionists acknowledge breakfast to be the most important meal of the day. I should know- my mother is one (nutritionist, not breakfast). But aside from the nutritional aspect there is also a sociological side to breakfast. A civilisation that does itself well at breakfast will do itself well in other fields as well. Most people fail to make the connection, but the British Empire was at its peak at the same time as the British breakfast was at its peak. When World War II intervened, and prevented Britons from getting their regular supplies of tea and bananas, the Raj collapsed. The post-War geopolitical dominance of the United States is easily explained- it, after all, is the birthplace of breakfast cereal. And France and Germany would not have been so successful in preventing war as they did recently at the United Nations, had the healthful European breakfast not being making a comeback.

Keeping all this is in mind, I’ve decided that one should ideally have breakfast twice a day- once for breakfast, and then again for dinner. My ideal meal scheme is detailed below:

For my morning meal, a sweet breakfast over an hour, consisting of:

  • Apples, bananas, and/ or grapes
  • Honey covered corn flakes or muesli
  • Fruit juice
  • Nutella and/ or jam sandwiches
  • Danish pastry and doughnuts
  • Cold coffee, or Earl Grey with honey and lemon

For my afternoon meal, lunch over half an hour, consisting of roti, one sabzi, dal, and kheer- either phirni or seviyan wali. The object of lunch would be to build up my fat reserves- $deity knows I need some.

For my evening meal- ideally beginning at seven and proceeding over an hour and a half or more- a salty breakfast, consisting of:

  • Chicken soup with lots of vegetables
  • Green salad, ideally consisting of lettuce and other assorted green leafy vegetables, jalapenos, artichokes, walnuts, and/ or apples. With a vinaigrette (sp?) dressing.
  • Toasted cheese sandwiches on garlic bread. With the same stuff that goes into the salad.
  • Scrambled eggs with paranthas or fluffy omelettes on toast.
  • Chococcino

The great advantage of having breakfast for dinner is that you can prepare it and eat it at leisure. The rate determining step is how long it takes you to cut up the vegetables- once those are done, mixing them into a salad takes negligible time, grilling or toasting them into sandwiches is just a matter of arrangement- your OTG does the rest. The only things that would really require personal attention are the eggs and the soup. Also, dishwashing would presumably be simpler with this sort of dinner than with a dal, dahi and two sabzi meal- you’d just have to clean one frying pan, one soup pot, one salad bowl; and two mugs and one plate per person. And the mugs and plate wouldn’t need scrubbing- just rinsing and wiping.

Of course, at the hostel mess what you eat is what you’re given (WYEIWYG), but with a five day interlude coming up, I intend to put this meal system into practice at the earliest. As always, you will be informed of all successes and failures (of the economic or digestive variety).

Wedding Bells

March 2, 2003

No, not mine. My cousin Vishal’s. He’s getting married on Wednesday. And thereby hang a couple (or more) of yarns.

Since last year, my cousin has been anxious to get married. Whether this is a wise state to be in at all can be discussed another time. For now, accept it as a given.

Anyway, whlie he was waiting for a flight at London-Heathrow- the flight, being an Air India one, was delayed- he met this girl. He struck up a conversation, and found that he quite liked her. But then, boarding for the flight finally started. And in the haste and worry of boarding, he forgot to ask her for her contact details.

He was thus quite depressed when he took his seat. And then his depression ended.

Romance, bravely ignoring the grim dreariness of an Air India flight, struck. The girl whom he had forgotten to ask for her contact details came and took the seat next to him. This time, at the end of a twelve hour flight (I assume it’s twelve hours, it’s been a while since I flew LHR-DEL. With Air India, it would of course seem like eighteen, but for my cousin it must have passed in less than two), he did take her contact details.

For the next two months (October and November 2002) he ICQ’s and SMS’s and various other TLA’d that girl.

After that, of course, I had my endsem exams, so I was unaware of any further unraveling in this regard. But then, shortly after I came home for the winter holidays, I was told to dress up- we were going for dinner to meet Vishal’s fiancee.

He got engaged to the airport girl? I asked with interest.

Apparently not.

It seems that romance just can’t stand up to Air India, however hard it tries. To refer to the airport girl now would be to commit a faux pas to end all faus pas, my mother warned me. Vishal’s fiancee had been carefully chosen to not do whatever it was the airport girl had done.

To this day, I am unsure what exactly happened between the airport girl and Vishal. All I know is that within a very short space of time, Vishal forgot all about the airport girl, and asked his parents to find him a wife.


He’s getting married to quite another girl this Wednesday.

Such are the ways in which life moves.