"Hey"
"Hi"
"Hello."
"Now this has to be right" my inner voice screamed at me.
"Hey."
Fairly content with the tone I said it in and the expression, I turned my back towards the mirror and leaving the room started descending the stairs.
You know you are a social outcast when you have to rehearse greetings before going in public.
I instantly tweeted.
Once downstairs I saw of family of four people sitting in my drawing room. The elder male of the family looked in his mid fifties with a pot belly that could easily replace the tea table in front of him. His wife and evidently the main head of the family sat munching the samosas kept in front of her and chatting constantly, her ill attempts to hide her age evident in her badly dyed black and white hair.
Along sat a boy who looked like he had never known a world where gym existed or even hair gel for that matter. A crisp shirt, glasses, hair center parted, shining shoes, and a phone that made Nokia 1100 look chic. Yes, all perquisites were present. I could bet my life he would be an engineer.
There were so few people present in the room it was surprising someone could go unnoticed. But there she sat, a lean girl in her twenties wearing the simplest of salwaar kameez that suddenly made me feel overdressed. Middle parting again (that somehow made me feel it was a family trade mark), oiled hair and eyes that never left the ground.
"Haan bahot hi sona munda hai. Koi aib nahi. No non veg, no drinking, no smoking. 5 lakh ka package hai."
Now this is a regular discussion topic around my place. And that's how they select boys for marriage these days. It doesn't matter if he is a violent person, if he is a womanizer or if he has raped a girl. If he has a decent salary 'package' and if he doesnt eat non-veg, doesnt drink/smoke he is the perfect groom you can get for your girl.
"Beta yeh aapke Punjab wale Mamaji hai." My mom introduces, as if we talk about them all the time. With an expression of 'Oh.Acha Woh Mamaji' I greet them with a namaste and others as well and sit down looking very interested in the conversation.
"Aajkal toh internet se hi sab kuch hojata hai." Mamaji said. And he went about explaining how they found a suitable groom for their daughter whose suitability was judged and finalized upon in a matter of 10 days.
After an hour of explaination and appreciations about the prospective groom's property in a decent cloney (and no its not a process of replicating sheep nor the last name of George. Its merely an area where people live. Like Defence Cloney), his family and what-not while the girl sat and blushed, I knew I had to leave.
Taking leave and entertaining myself with a re-run of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, I didnt notice when the-engineer-guy creepily came into the room.
"Arey yeh toh wahi hai na jisme wo ladki Pobi apni billi ke liye gaana gaati hai?"
"You mean Phoebe?"
"Nah. I always watch with subtitles and I am pretty sure it spelt p-h-e-o-b-e"
At a loss of words, (my inner voice LOLing) I could only utter "Ok. I might be wrong."
But then something happened which scared the living shit out of me. The Mamaji peeked into the room and talking to 'the engineer' muttered "oyee Mrooti ki Chaabi dio. Me saaman kad lawa." (Let me take out the luggage.)
Yes. They were staying for the night. And worse. The engineer and the to-be-bride were going to share my room.
P.S: Something which was somehow unnerving was the fact how my mother felt so 'at home' with these people and how the to-be-bride was somehow the role model my mom wished me to be.
P.P.S: Needless to say, they suggested my Mom that she should make me wear Salwar-kameez more often and force me to cook. "Sade zamanech ta asi saare tabar leyi roti bnande see."
