The mobile rang in my ear, shattering the peace of the flat and the lovely dream I had of dancing around the trees with Chitra, the nymph next door. It was my sister, Deepa. Deepa, or Old Deep, as the rest of her siblings affectionately call her, is not a bad sister, as sisters go, but I resent having to wake up at such an early hour of eleven thirty to talk to her. Now, if only Chitra had called…

“Are you there, Jujube?” boomed the deep voice, now shattering my eardrum.

“I’m here, no need to shout! And don’t call me Jujube!”

“Then answer, first thing, dammit!” Deep said, “Well listen. You have to do something for me!”

“What?” I asked, changing ears and rubbing the injured one.

“Attend a marriage next week. It’s Sheila’s daughter’s.”

“I can’t, I’m busy.”

“Yeah, we know how busy, don’t we? What have you achieved in 25 years? Idling away your golden youth, that’s what you’re doing. Now, listen. We can’t go because hubby dear is taking me to Singapore on his annual holiday and there’s nothing I can do, but you can represent the family on my behalf.” Her husband, Mohan, works for a travel company and goes round the world now and then, on duty.

“I can go to Singapore with Mohan, if you want. You attend weddings!”

“Rubbish!” said my sister and clicked off. Her method of addressing me hadn’t changed a bit since her school days.

What has she let me in for, I mused, plunged in self-pity. I’m no hater of weddings but I can’t stand the food. You feel real silly standing at the buffet table eating indigestible junk and talking nonsense to whomever happens to be alongside you. At least an hour of my gilded youth wasted. Throwing the mobile with a vehemence on the bed, I thought dark thoughts of the kind nobody should think about his family, and made my way to the toothbrush.

A calmer mood prevailed after the breakfast eggs and noodles. I looked for the advantages in a bad situation, as is my wont in times of trouble. Clouds and silver linings, and so on. Though in a hot place like Madras, rain clouds are more welcome than sunshine. Demand and supply. The silver lining was that this Sheila, whose daughter was getting hitched to whoever, was also related to Chitra, my pretty neighbour. I remembered Sheila taking part in Chitra’s ‘house warming’ party, a month ago, when she moved in to their flat and my life, with her father, brother and dog. It would make the wedding worth my while if I didn’t have to talk nonsense with other invitees but confine myself to whispering sweet nothings into Chitra’s tender ears. Love lends us courage or strength or something, I forget what the quote is, and my love for her will help me stand the ceremony. Though, after this, the next wedding I attend, if all goes well, would be ours. Happy thoughts!

By evening I had a pretext for paying a visit to Chitra’s apartment. I needed to, to confirm that she was, indeed, attending the wedding. The girl of my dreams worked as a media planner in an ad agency in Mount Road, and returned home after six. Giving her an hour to shake off her office concerns and conversation, I rang her doorbell at seven sharp. The door was opened by her father, Mr Dasan. If the daughter was the girl of my dreams, the father was the monster of my nightmares. Most people, after retirement, tend to take up an enriching hobby like collecting stamps or growing crotons. This Dasan had grown a beard instead and not content with that, had also decided not to have any more haircuts. And, to top it all, he just wears a dhoti at home, and is bare-bodied waist up. From the front he looked like a topless swami, and from the back a strip teaser who has reached the end of her number. He led me to the sofa and immersed himself in the newspaper he was apparently reading when I disturbed him. The TV was on, singing a merry pop, entertaining itself. An occasional “Going to the dogs,” and “Kaliyug” emerged from my prospective father-in-law’s direction, while I scanned the place for signs of my beloved’s return. She read loads, unlike me, and the paperback next to the suede handbag told all. I sank back into the cushions, relieved. A strong smell preceded a little pom into the room. This was Shaggy, the designated canine of the family, who after a few friendly yips made a beeline for my lap and took temporary residence there. After half an hour or so, which I spent socially scratching my companion’s ear, in exchange for a few moist licks of my face, Chitra appeared. As she approached the hall from the inner recesses of the apartment, I renewed my love membership for the nth time. Chitra wasn’t one of those girls who only talk about food and makeup and boys and parties and movies and whatnot, but one of those rare ones who would be one of the boys in male-dominated company and one of the girls in an ambience where girls are free to be girls. Moreover she wasn’t a droopy flower, but a strong woman with a strong jaw, who would stand no nonsense from anybody, regardless of age or sex or social position.

“Hi, jobless!” she said and took the chair opposite, bringing into the hall the scent of fresh lemon soap and generally raising the standard of the room, which had been pulled down by her hairy father to the pits.

“Just wanted to ask if you were going to Sheila Aunty’s daughter’s wedding,” I told her quickly before she launched on a job-counsellinng program for me.

“Yes, you know them too, don’t you?” she asked picking up the remote and shutting up the idiot box. “No. I’m not. Have to go to a training course arranged by my beloved company.”