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Ashish Shakya pe mat ro. Let him tell you, in his own words, what happened one fateful night…

I came home the other day, after my weekly bout of alligator-wrestling and what I saw made my jaw drop to the ground, tripping three people in the process. But I didn’t care because I was too busy wondering “DUDE..WHERE’S MY HOUSE??”. For in place of my usual apartment, stood a marble palace of Buckingham proportions, complete with Royal Guards who looked very Nepali for some reason. The decorative lights shone far and wide, blinding half of Africa. Something was very wrong.

I took a deep breath and opened the massive front door to be greeted by hordes dressed in Manish Malhotra outfits. (This was another indication that something was wrong – I usually can’t tell a Manish Malhotra from a Mango or a Strawberry or whatever it is that these fruits wear.) They were dear relatives of course, all including the third cousin of the second grandchild of the neighbour of the barber who used to cut my grandfather’s hair in our native village of Babylon.

Finally I saw my mother dressed in a bright red sari, holding a plate. ” What’s that ?”, I asked. “Yeh aarti ki thali hai beta” , she smiled back, her words laced with a newfound South Indian accent. “Aarti Ki Thali?“, I questioned, “Hum Aarti ki thali kyun use kar rahein hain? Surely we can afford one of our own! “.

“Shush you delinquent!”, she exclaimed, smiling and patting me with her Tanishq-laden hands. “We saw Baabul yesterday. Or was it Baghban? I’m not sure..anyway, we have been inspired so you better get used to all this.”

Yeah rrright! I decided to go see my father, the stoic and practical head of the family. Surely he would have something sensible to say. Instead, there he was, white goatee on face, firang chhokri on arm, dancing with the grace of a drunken elephant and pointing toward a ghunghat-clad woman.

“Your new wife !! “, he yelled above the bhangra beats.

I froze.

But then, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Some quick mental maths later, I concluded that there was a 34.7% chance of her being ‘THE ONE’. (No not Keanu Reeves!). As I walked up to her, I could see glasses of kesar doodh all around. Hands trembling with anticipation, I lifted the veil to see Rani Mukherjee‘s face staring back at me.

She wasn’t wearing make-up.

I strangled myself with the obscenely expensive shaadi ka haar.

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