1) Most of them are “Pure Veg.” If I want daal and paneer, I’ll stay at home, thanks.



2) The theory goes that women are hornier at weddings. That’s absolutely no use, since there is a line of uncles, brothers and wannabe husbands (who describe themselves as brothers) carrying out CCTV-esque surveillance of the cholied ones. 

3) Given that 90% of the men getting married were virgins dying to get it on without getting arrested, you would think the ceremony wouldn’t start at 2 a.m. after all the couple’s energy has been sapped.

4) Brides enter the hall/garden with their posse of friends and favourite theme music, ruining the DJ’s flow. At my wedding I’ve decided to walk in to Stone Cold Steve Austin’s theme showing everyone the finger and crushing some beer cans.

5) The initial gift exchanging ceremony – where even in peak summer, faux Chinese acrylic blankets seem to be the norm as reluctantly chosen family representatives on either side size each other up, lick each others tears, pose for pictures and make sheepish “why am I here?” expressions.

6) The distant relatives who crowd around in groups, annoyed at not being made a closer part of the preparations, cribbing about the snacks being oily while vetting the couple harder (and better) than John McCain’s Vice-Presidential candidate committee.

7) The serving staff - each trying to grab hold of a tray serving the most popular snack while looking down on their colleagues confined to serving technicolour drinks with twirly Hawaiian umbrellas (later used as toothpicks).

8) The single most ballsy and expensive repeat hijacking in the history of the planet – something that would make the Lashkar head honchos proud and responsible for 45% men turning into Rahul Mahajan - money being demanded for the grooms stolen shoes. You might as well leave your credit card at a go-go bar in Thailand.
                                                                                                      


Why would anyone go through such a ridiculous exercise steeped in useless tradition, obscene expenditure and self-flagellation? Two words: Facebook photos.


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This piece appeared in the online edition of GQ India in August. You can check out more great stuff on the GQ India website here - it is perhaps the only lifestyle magazine you should be reading unless you're into nasty things like Greh Shobha. The illustration for this piece was done by Abhijeet Kini and can also be found on the aforementioned link. 


GQ India is a part of the Conde Nast group, the same group that owns Tatler - the British magazine that Bengalis have been jacking off to ever since the East India Company sailed in, also not to be confused with Tytler, who remains an alleged murderer or Tetley, the brand of tea no one could afford till it got bought over by the Tata's. 


P.S. Thanks to everyone who enquired about the dengue. Recovering well, still fairly cranky, but should be writing in another 2 weeks.