Komplicated Kin

 Marriages give me indigestion. This could be because of :

a. My non-conformism to antiquated, chauvinist institutional setups

b. Objection towards the uncecessary squandering of good ol' moolah in the name of 'social obligation'.

c. Gold-laden, garrulous women whom you call 'aunty' because you don't know their names, let alone how they are related to you.

   And the answer is....(c)!! Pretty obvious, really. Allow me to expound:

     I am in a hot, crowded auditorium, hoping that no passing person hears the warning rumbles issuing forth from beneath the waistband of my uncomfortably tight churidar bottom (unfortunate signs of said indigestion). There are people everywhere--the men talking loudly, but still outdone by the women with their shining oily faces and shinier raiment. All of them are supposed to be my relatives....and I know about five of them in all. Gulp.

     The pre-planned strategy of hiding behind my mom is falling to pieces--she has disappeared into the roaring vortex of glittery jewellery, loud conversations, and conspiratory whispers of a million bits of gossip floating about. And so I adopt Plan B--avoiding all eyes and mildly distorting my face so that I don't look like anybody of anybody (oh, aren't you so-and-so's daughter? this is how most of the conversations start). Good, this seems to be working. Just as my face begins to hurt and the sweat dripping down my back begins cool unpleasantly, a voice, louder than all others, scares the jasmine out of my hair by shrieking: "OHHHH...MOLLUUU.....DO YOU REMEMBER ME?"

Good God.

   I spin around to face the source of the war-cry-like exclamation: The usual sort--round, middle-aged. Powder sticking in mulchy grey lines lines between the thick folds of her neck. Limp, scanty jasmine garland pinned onto equally limp and scanty hair. Grin looking more predatory than congenial. And more importantly, identity unknown. Damn.

  The deluge of information, interspersed with questions (which i simply cannot answer due to the rapidity with which one follows the other)  begins: "Oh, what are you doing now? Is it engineeering? My daughter is doing engineering. You know my daughter, no? She's doing.......(blablablablah).....You know, it's..........(wow, her teeth are really yellow)........and he said...........(how does a person talk so fast?)....so things are a bit......(what if she runs out of breath, and deflates like a balloon?)......and did you know....."

   It takes a while for her to notice the indescribable expression on my face (similar to the funny videos of babies after they are given lemon to taste). Just as her grin begins to fade with the dawning realisation that I have no inkling of who she is or what she is droning on (and on and on) about, she is called elsewhere by what I assume to be a whole group of such banshee-like specimens. I thank the gods as her grating voice disappears into the general cacophony. Phew. I get to live until the next marriage. Or until the next so-called relative spots me.

I somehow make it on my own until lunchtime-my weird face and furtive looks apparently gave people enough reason to steer clear ("Tsk, tsk, must be that other girl, you know--the one who's not right in the head? Wait-you don't know?? See, what happened is....").  Pretty proud of my subterfuge, I proceed to the dining hall along with a massive throng of people, all equally fond of the delectable spread that awaits them. I somehow manage to get a seat. As I sit before the gorgeous banana leaf spread before me, staring hungrily at the tiny portions of curries served on it, my left ear is deafened, this time by a different voice, although a twin of the previous one in terms of volume and quality:

"OHH....MOLLUUUU...REMEMBER ME??"

Double damn.