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My Small Thin Punjabi Wedding 5 : Wakeup Call

Monday Morning. Coffee. A closed contracted state of mind. Reading the news. “I am not a chor” screams Rakesh Roshan over the recent controversy and court decision in Ram Sampath’s favor over the title music. Roshan, it appears paid Rs. 2 Crore to get out of the tight corner.

“I am not a chor”

With due respects to Roshan Sr., who has done a lot for the Bombay Film Industry, one fails to understand that in all the interviews being conducted by the esteemed journalists of India, post the High Court decision, why hasn’t a single journalist asked him the question -

“Ok Sir. So the music-copy issue is settled. But what about the whole carbon copy of ‘The Dream Team’ you have done?”

And how can Roshan scream, it was a scam, trap etc. etc. about the music issue when he has copied his entire movie from The Dream Team. You need big, unshameful, cohones to be able to come out in public and make a statement ‘I’m not a chor’ when you know your entire movie is a copy.

Well perhaps the industry is fully of thick skinned insensitive people, who incidentally seem to be only ones making a success in Bombay.

Perhaps it is a wakeup call for all those sensitive souls out there, that you may get work, not success, if you party with sensitivity and it’s sister “emotion” every night and day.

For me the wake up call came in last morning, when I realized it is 3 weeks to D-day. To-be-Biwi is changing. No damn it I don’t mean physically. I mean… oh ok I don’t know how best to explain this but when you get an SMS from her like “Do you ever polish your own shoes?” - I visualize sitting in my underwear, in my backyard, on my ass, using my polish, with my boot brush, polishing her God knows how many shoes stacked in from of me.

To-be-Biwi is changing. Slowly and steadily her grip over me is turning tighter and tighter, inching to complete control state, zipped, air tight, locked. Because suddenly, I was “informed” that the lunch at the wedding will not be completely Indian but Mexican and what else you may have. I had to very “gently” remind her that non-vegetarian is not allowed in Indian temples, which is where the lunch is being planned.

“Oh”

that dear reader was the sum total of To-be-Biwi’s reaction on a might heavy issue in Hindu religion - a problem if not checked would have made me dead meat at the hands of the temple priests and everyone else inside and outside the temple (some kicking my ass may not have known why they were doing it, but nevertheless since the masses were doing it, they joined the party of kicking ass).

And in this whole massive proportions of life altering problem that could have happened but was prevented by yours truly, To-be-Biwi’s sum total of reaction was…

“Oh”

I now have no doubt in my mind, that this

“Oh”

will come back again and again in my life for the rest of my life to kick my ass on an infinite loop.

“Oh”???

But there is a deeper layer beneath this “Oh”

It means, she forgot or didn’t remember. Beneath this layer is the actual layer that defines what she actually means to say with just that one word - “Oh”…

and which is…

“Ok so no non-vegetarian. But the food will still be Mexican you bitch”

and bitch merely nodded and is now writing this post.

The venue for the wedding and reception is locked down. The priests confirmed. The stuff to wear for the wedding is now in. Now if someone can teach me or send me a link on how to wear a dhoti and a Punjabi turban, I’m done.

Yes. I’m done.

I’m doomed.