When better half blogs

For a long time I could blog in isolation. She sustained all my provocations and refrained from commenting. But now she has decided to maintain her blog.

And that is not a good sign for my humor :)

Wedding Blues: Part I

I got married!

In case you are confused, this is not a humorous post. It has been one and a half month and I am still trying to digest it. In my district people ask me if I am staying with my ‘family’; …………family?

Lest I forget the fateful ninth day of July, in the year 2008 when my world got changed, I must chronicle it in my blog.

1600 hrs: The crowd kept on swelling and by late afternoon population density of my house equaled a Train’s general compartment. I was feeling awful but I tried looking busy touching numerous feet, meeting long lost relatives, exchanging smiles and giving impression that for me recognizing them was nothing but a cakewalk.

1700 hrs: Just before proceeding for the marriage venue, a ceremony started outside my house. My n number of brother and sister in laws started ‘grooming’ me. Grooming is a euphemism for almost stripping me outside my house and helping me with new clothes. Big kaajal was applied too on my 'golden facial' face.

After that an old dictator like relative pronounced that I cannot go to my house till I bring the bride there. I panicked as I was left in custody of my peripheral relatives.

1800 hrs: Sanity surfaced when my mom came with me for the ‘Well pooja’. I found that interesting when my aunt explained me the role play. Actually groom's mother was supposed to put her legs inside the well threatening that if her son does not get ready to marry, she will jump into the well. And then the son acquiesces by proceeding for the baraat.

1900 hrs: When I was getting ready for the baraat, all my near and dears were also getting ready. So here I was, getting ready for ‘supposedly’ the most memorable occasion of my life in an unknown house. All my siblings who were to help me vanished to their own beauty parlors. I somehow managed to enter that long Sherwani.

2000 hrs: I reached the marriage venue in time but most of my relatives were not so disciplined. First the bus got full, then there was a traffic jam and ultimately a vehicle of our side got entangled in a road accident. Sitting in the marriage venue in a fancy dress among the zillion stares was hell!

2200 hrs: When everyone was there, my baraat’s luxury car went missing. Locating it took another good half hour. And then the baraat started. The frenzy of baraat dance grew and I was left alone, in the ailing AC of the car that was moving at a snail’s pace. I wondered why this night was so slow.

2330 hrs: The baraat finally reached. I was not allowed to get down as bride’s brother had to carry me in his arms. Poor he because I am not on the lighter side; poor me because I was almost dropped three times.

0000 hrs: I was (slightly) tense and (slightly) nervous sitting on the stage facing a large staring crowd. And then a smile came on my face. She was slowly coming in her blue bridal dress; my stupid old friend. All eyes were at her and mine were there too. We shared a subtle smile and suddenly I was at ease.

All in a Day’s Work

Today I will tell you a story. If you a purist, you will call it an incident. If you are naïve (or unconcerned) , you will pass it as a story.

Once upon a time there was a boy. Err…….. When the story occurred he was a man; educated, employed and married.

His job was a coveted one. He worked in the king’s administration, or he was the Regal Administrative servant. But then the King posted him in a far off land. To go there one had to pass seven deadly seas and people there spoke a different language. So for acquainting him to all this he was put on lengthy district training.

The good part of this training was that he was not given any responsibility; the bad part of this training was that he was not given any post. In other words he sometimes felt he was treated as a boy, and many time he felt he has already become a man.

Everyday he was sent to a different regal department. He being the King’s representative was treated with awe and honor; and all departments strived to impress upon him.

One such department was King’s Cart department. All carts paid taxes to the king. There was tax on cartload; there was tax on number of passengers. Above all, there was a tax on Cart driving license, a license that was difficult to get.

He learnt everything big or small and saw all procedures, trivial or urgent. But the he wanted to see a raid that was conducted to discipline erring carts. So a special raid was conducted to show to our young Regal Agent. Every inspector tried to be impeccably honest. They caught all the erring carts; they punished all offences big and small. A cart was fined here for a slight overload; a cart was fined there for a trivial traffic error. Our new Regal agent felt a tinge of guilt.

And this was not all. The traffic inspectors caught a frail old man with a wrong cart driving license. He was refusing to pay the fine. On any other day they would have left him with a small bribe but today they were demanding the hefty fine. They brought him to our Regal agent.

He was asked to act as a judge and punish this erring man. The man caught our protagonist’s feet and cried for mercy. He told him tales of his poverty, he told him tales of his professional woes. He also told him of his inability to pay the fine and he described in detail what shall happen to his family if he was jailed. He fell in a deep moral turpitude. He asked this man to wait.

Should he put duty before self and punished this man. Or he should pardon him listening to his heart. He pondered and thought; and thought and pondered. In the evening, he told the inspectors “Do to this man what you think is right” and left the raid.

From far off he saw the inspectors accepting some folded old currency notes.

PS: This is a 'story'. It might be 'distantly' related to some incident but most of the things are fiction here. Please treat it like that.