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The big and fat weddings which keep taking place all across the length and breadth of India are well known. These are occasions on which gullible parents, overjoyed by the prospect of finally getting rid of their respective wards, loosen their purse strings, showcasing their wealth, power and pelf.

Ostentatious decorations, lavish dinner spreads which could make Anatole raise his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, sumptuous upholstering of those in attendance and a chain of rituals which keep the hapless bride and the groom on their toes – all of these create an ambience which befits the social status of the well-heeled parents, making many others green with envy. It is another matter that such display of wealth often makes our tax sleuths sit up and take notice. The Bartholomews under their supervision promptly start sniffing around, their bare teeth on full display. Unless prompt steps are taken through proper channels, such visits get followed by a couple of tax notices. Tax consultants lose no time in demanding their own pound of flesh in the whole affair.

The Hapless Bride and the Groom

Clueless to-be-weds, having initially announced their matrimonial intentions, look helplessly around as the drama unfolds.  They may have had little say in the tough negotiations between their families as to the commercial terms and conditions of the proposed merger and amalgamation of two families.

Detailed arrangements to be made for their big day need the supreme intelligence of Reginald Jeeves. Around the big day, the poor youngsters go through a complicated litany of rituals, acting like dumb puppets under the command and control of senior relatives. When they make a grand entry, the grinning groom would normally be riding a well-decorated mare which is visibly shuddering due to the high pitch music being played by the band accompanying the procession. The dashing bride walks in, all decked up, a hand-held flowery canopy over her held by relatives and friends. The couple exchanges heavy garlands and soon starts experiencing cervical spondylitis.

High-end technology-backed priests chant unintelligible ‘mantras’ from Indian scriptures to the accompaniment of seven vows the couple takes while going around the sacred fire. The camera men call the shots as the wide-eyed couple refrain from openly complaining about tired facial muscles due to a need to keep smiling without a break, commercial or otherwise.

While the couple sounds bright and beaming, one never knows what is ailing them within. Realization dawns that while they may derive momentary pleasure in the proceedings, they have unwittingly unleashed some sinister forces which have snatched the initiative from their hands. It would not be surprising to find that both are resolving never to go through all the rigmarole once again in this life of theirs.

A Carnival of Egos

However, people assembled rejoice, not losing time to start gorging on rich food being served. Their taste buds reign supreme. Laughter and merriment is spread all around. A carnival of egos gets rolling, with each of the attendees shamelessly trying to prove his or her superiority to those around. Supercilious gazes, duly laced with ill-concealed jealousy, abound. Spruced up by expert cosmetologists, most of them come in wearing their societal masks, offering either a limp handshake or, in these virus-threatened times, a simple ‘namaste’.

Hosts suffer from having to put on synthetic smiles and greeting all and sundry – the essential ones, the desirable ones and the not-so-desirable ones. Their real worries are multi-dimensional: whether all arrangements would play out well, whether the gang of guests who whole-heartedly support a healthy supply of tissue restoratives would be exercising abundant caution, and if either the bride or the groom would play a vanishing act on the big day.

Onerous Duties of Detectives

Like Maudie, several owners of detective agencies prowl around the grounds, keeping an eye over the proceedings. One of their mandates is to keep guests like absent-minded Lord Emsworth on a tight leash, lest they pocket a couple of scarabs, if any happen to be floating around. Nabbing the likes of Smooth Lizzie before they could lay their hands on anything precious adorning the guests’ pear-shaped physical frames is yet another goal of theirs. Gifts and envelopes containing cash bestowed on the couple need to be kept under strict surveillance, lest these get pinched. Gangs of perennially giggling sisters of the bride need to be kept under a closer watch, so as to render their plans of stealing the groom’s footwear null and void. Bride’s ex-suitors who plan to throw rotten eggs and tomatoes at the groom when he struts out of the wedding need to be kept at bay, so he does not suffer the fate of Teddy Week in one of the Ukridge stories.

In other words, the detectives endeavour to avoid any kind of disaster which could sully the reputation of the hosts and lower the dignity of the occasion. Obviously, they have no control over the basic disaster occurring in the lives of the couple who happen to be blissfully unaware of what is about to hit them, much like the cosh used to deadly effect by Jeeves occasionally – the marriage itself.

Of Smarter Marriages

As technology invades all aspects of our lives, the marriages in the near future may become qualitatively different. E-Invites are already the norm. Video invites could soon become the order of the day. Gifts for the couple could be received by courier. Bobby Wickham’s Royal Academy of Goofy Technologies has already come up with a range of gift packs to suit all kinds of attendees. Return gifts – like laser-guided needles meant for puncturing hot water bottles – could reach potential attendees by courier services, along with pre-paid food coupons.

Celebrations could be telecast live over smart phones, thereby reducing the carbon foot print of the marriage and protecting our denizens from the kind of exotic viruses which Nature keeps unleashing upon us at frequent intervals. It is a win-win situation for everyone, providing a bird’s eye view of the proceedings, avoiding security bottlenecks due to VVIP attendees, fat charges for hiring large venues, huge catering costs, cushioned seating and other incidental costs.

Yes, many of us would miss the back-slapping, bonhomie and networking which entails at a traditional wedding. Some may shudder at the prospect of losing out on those awkward elbow shakes and clumsy fist bumps. Parents who are scouting around for potential soul mates for their progeny would get dismayed. Relatives who despise each other would miss the sadistic pleasure of passing caustic comments within the earshot of the party of the other part. Service providers of all hues, sizes and shapes would be upset at the downturn in their billings. But one has to make tough choices at times.

The time of smaller, slimmer and smarter marriages is already upon us. Rupert Psmith and Eve Halliday would surely approve.

(Illustration courtesy the www)

(Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2015/12/23/a-goofy-career-opportunity-for-marketing-professionals

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2017/10/12/an-invitation-from-the-international-league-of-happiness

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2017/11/05/a-plummy-wish-for-a-bride-to-be)

 

dustedoff's avatarDustedoff

I have been watching with increasing despair and sorrow these past few months as India has teetered on the brink of disharmony and violence, hoping against hope that it was just a passing phase. There were moments when I felt things were looking up, for instance, when people of other faiths—not just Muslims—came together at Shaheen Bagh and elsewhere to oppose CAA and NRC. There were times I told myself it was getting better, that India was essentially secular, and that divisive forces would eventually be defeated.

Then the Delhi carnage happened. Many were killed, even more injured. Property was destroyed, people were forced to flee their homes. Curfew was clamped. We mourned. Not just for the dead, but for the way the hydra-headed monster of hatred, bigotry and violence had again reared its head.

I have lived in Delhi for most of my life, and to see the city…

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

TALAT_MAHMOOD

For those who continue to be enamoured of the velvet-like voice of the late Talat Mahmood, here is an article from Mr Raj Kanwar, an India-based author, freelance journalist and music lover.

His ‘quivering’ voice still a rage

One of Talat Mahmood’s most unforgettable songs is “Meri yaad mein tum na aansoo bahana,” rendered way back in 1951. Over the following two decades, Talat sang one hit ghazal after another and continued to cast a spell on legions of ghazal aficionados both in India and abroad.

Today 64 years later, the musicality and lyricism of these ghazals still haunt generations of his loyal fans.

However, it was not all hunky dory for Talat Mahmood as he had to compete with the likes of Mohammad Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Mukesh and Manna Dey.

It is, therefore, creditable that Talat was able to hold his own and remain the first choice for…

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Honoria Plum has a unique flair for digging deep and coming up with gems of pristine knowledge and wisdom as to the kind of life P G Wodehouse lived. Residents of Plumsville thus get a sneak peek into some aspects of his life which might have influenced his work.

Here is a blog post from Plumtopia which amuses, entertains and educates.

Honoria Plum's avatarPlumtopia

For some years now, I’ve been pushing the idea, aided and abetted by a gang of like-minded eggs, that Valentine’s Day should be commemorated as the anniversary of P.G. Wodehouse’s death in 1975. I’m a persistent sort of blighter, so here we are again in 2020.

This year, I was curious to take a look at Wodehouse’s writing on the subject of love and see how it might have developed over the course of his 75-year writing career. I quickly discovered (as ever with Wodehouse) that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. So until some generous bird comes across with the necessary oof for full-time study, it’s a mere snippet.  

It’s unsurprising to find that love doesn’t feature in Wodehouse’s early school stories. The fact that it takes centre stage in his first grown-up novel, Love Among the Chickens (1906) is more curious. Wodehouse’s lifelong love…

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Dear Comrades,

Quite a few of you perhaps wonder as to how a very tall and lanky guy like me managed to win the affections of someone like Eve, who is of a medium height and radiates a sort of golden sunniness around her.

I believe the following to be some of the factors which enabled this courtship to reach a satisfactory outcome.

Dressing Nattily

Contrary to what cynics believe – that one should focus on the inner qualities of head and heart possessed by the party of the other part – the fact remains that external appearances alone assist in the initial stages of any courtship. A cheerful visage, a valiant gaiety, a set of bright eyes and a dash of self confidence are crucial enabling factors. Add to this a habit of dressing nattily and you get a winning formula which is hard to beat.

Whether one desires success in a professional alliance or a romantic one, first impressions add that critical punch which brings home the gravy, so to say. Discovering one’s honest heart obviously takes time.

Some of you may recall that my first encounter with Eve came about only because she radiated wealth when caught in a sudden spell of rain beneath the awning of Messers Thorpe & Briscoe. Had she not been upholstered sumptuously at the time, I would have surely missed the opportunity of a life time. Even though I am above softer emotions in general, Eve had then stirred a chord within me which was not often stirred.

Being Fleet-footed and Chivalrous

The ability to think on one’s feet helps one to seize opportunities which Life throws one’s way is a crucial success factor. So is an innate sense of chivalry.

To me, ends are more important than means. When Beauty in distress needs an umbrella, it does not matter as to the methods deployed to secure one and offer it with a smooth dignity. All one has to do is to offer it with a grave friendliness and then depart after a courteous bow. Building suspense around one’s persona and one’s motives for an act of this kind simply arouses curiosity in the party of the other part. Curiosity is obviously followed by a vigorous interest.

Acting when Adventure Calls

An opportunity to be close to Eve arose when Lord Emsworth mistook me to be the Canadian poet, Mr Ralston McTodd. It was clear that only by going to Blandings, even if under the guise of McTodd, could I renew my acquaintance with Eve. I am not one of those who would hang back diffidently when an adventurous opportunity comes up. I simply lapped up the opportunity.

Assuming Authority

Having received Eve at the Market Blandings train station, I exercised what you might allude to as a placid assumption of authority. Eve might be a person who possesses a high and haughty spirit, but, I am sure, she found my actions hard to resist. A conscientious worker, she was then so very keen to get down to her work of cataloguing books. Instead, she chose to go along with my suggestion of a leisurely stroll through meadow and shrubbery, velvet lawns and a view of the celebrated Yew Alley. In the process, she was left wondering if she had arrived in Paradise.

Awakening Pity

While rowing the boat on the lake, I faced one of the perils of impersonation. Having been accused by Eve of mistreating Cynthia, a close friend of hers I had never heard of earlier, I had to valiantly fight my way out of an embarrassing situation. The conscientious wooer in me had no other option but to make Cynthia suffer by accusing her of few misdemeanours and also mistreating me as a husband. My immediate reward was the faint look of angelic pity in Eve’s eyes.

Striving for Spiritual Evolution

A good deal of discouragement alone can dampen my spirits somewhat. When Eve said that she is not coming in to hear me read from McTodd’s book – Songs of Squalor – I merely took the disappointment in my stride. I am of the opinion that a dash of equanimity is invariably helpful. Such setbacks in life propel one towards enlightened spirituality.

The ‘Aha!’ Moment

At some stage in the courtship, scales fall from one’s eyes. One realizes in a flash that all those delightful walks, drifting on the lake, and those cheery conversations had gone on to convince one that of all possible girls she was the only possible one. One has to be watching oneself diligently. An inner perspective of this kind, coupled with perseverance, facilitates the conscious utilization of such moments in an effective manner. This enables one to push one’s case with aplomb, often earning the admiration of Cupid. There are times when one just needs to act and not to surrender to the dark forces of bewildered inaction.

Howsoever annoyed the party of the other part may be, one can simply turn the tables by speaking from the heart and even going on to propose. Obviously, one is gracious enough to offer time for her to think it over. If she already has a bevy of waiting fiancées lurking in the corner, one merely asks to be added to the list.

Gifts and Flowers

When even such modest gifts as flower-pots containing a germanium get heartily accepted by the adored from the hands of the adorer, the latter may safely conclude that love blossoms in the heart of the former.

Marketing Oneself

It never hurts to ensure that one’s sterling qualities are adequately communicated to the object of one’s adorations. Such mundane skills as being able to do card-tricks and performing passable imitations of cats calling their young ones deserve to be conveyed clearly. Same would apply to one being able to recite “Gunga-Din”.

A dash of positive visualization of matrimonial bliss invariably helps. Imagine the long winter evenings – when the adored one is sitting before the fire and is selecting a card from the pack which the adorer offers – and one would realize the value of the supreme confidence which one needs to possess so as to be able to make progress in matters of courtship.

Common Interests

It helps when the adored and the adorer share similar tastes. An adventurous disposition. A tendency to stand up for their pals. A habit of recovering quickly from surprises in life. A dash of inner resilience which ensures that one does not collapse in moments of crisis. Providing moral support to the party of the other part. A common taste for stealing other people’s jewellery.

All these signal the fact that the two are indeed twin-souls.

A Dash of Eccentricity

One could not agree more with Cynthia when she advised Eve to marry someone who is eccentric. Luckily, in Eve’s view, I fitted the bill rather well.

Oh, Eve!

I am sure you would not mind my taking further liberty with your precious time by trying to sum up the special qualities possessed by Eve.

Besides compassion for her friends, she was always strong and adventurous. She had enjoyed the perpetual excitement of trying to keep the body and soul together.

She has always been a person of dash and vigour. Gazing into her soul, one is apt to find such finer sentiments there as honesty, sympathy and intelligence.

In addition to being beautiful, she drew the best out of my intellect and soul. To put it simply, she allowed me to talk oftener and longer than any other member of the tribe of the delicately nurtured known to me.

Your experiences in furthering your own courtship might be quite different. However, I do believe that everything in this world is in its place for some useful end. In matters of the heart, be chivalrous, persistent and ready witted. Life around the object of one’s affections can never be allowed to be dull. I do hope you find my endeavours in that direction of some assistance.

(Note: A version of this article also appears in the March 2023 issue of Wooster Sauce, the quarterly journal of the P. G. Wodehouse Society, UK)

 

ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

Rashtrapati Bahavan

The denizens of Delhi have cast their vote and shown the way,

Indians now have a new App downloaded, keeping voter fatigue at bay;

Considerations of caste, creed, sex and religion no longer count,

A clean image, humility and performance on the job alone count;

The age of the political party no more entices, nor does a dynasty,

Use of religion to polarize voters is an attempt which turns nasty;

What counts is the delight and empowerment of the common man,

Absence of graft, delegation of powers, with corruption facing a ban;

Transparent political funding, good governance not a myth but a reality,

Tangible returns from the citizens’ franchise, a non-criminal polity;

Better life, time-bound delivery of services, safety on the road and street,

Hopefully, the new government lives up to its promises and does not retreat;

Meer slogans and jingoism would not do, nor skillful media management,

Gone are…

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

My dear Blogger,

I think you have a magnificent blog. I just happen to be one of your followers. Allow me to share my plight with you.

De-mystifying my fickleness

To you, I sound fickle-minded. You work hard on creating a marvelous piece that you post. The absence of response 'The Thinker' : Rodinis maddening. You keep twiddling your thumbs, trying to figure out where the denizens of Blogosphere are. It is as if WW-III has broken out and all the followers have gone underground, scurrying for safety. At times, you create something in a jiffy, and lo and behold, you are flooded with likes and comments!

For me, the recipient of all your creative outpourings, yours is just one of the several other blogs I follow. Then there is so much else to be read on the world-wide-web we have spun around ourselves. Please understand that I have the unenviable task…

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

Adults love obedience. But give them a simple kid who is plain subservient and they start complaining about life being rather monotonous and dull. Kids who are not naughty at all could prove to be somewhat boring. The higher the Naughtiness Quotient (NQ) of a kid, the brighter the life is. The challenge of having a high NQ kid around keeps one on one’s toes. One becomes hotter at one’s job. Outlook towards life becomes more indulgent. Capacity to handle the harsh slings and arrows of life shows a substantial improvement. Spiritual growth gets hastened up.

P G Wodehouse gave us such sterling kids as Thomas Travers, Seabury, Edwin the Scout and many others. Hanry King Ketcham gave us Dennis the Menace, based on the daily exploits of his own son.

Here is a quick look at some of the escapades of Dennis which amuse and entertain us just like…

View original post 316 more words

ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

A place grows on us. It offers a comfort zone which we get used to. We might dislike the place for so many things. But when we are away for some time, the gravitational pull again comes into play. We start missing the place.

Lakshmi Lakshmi

Pondicherry is no exception to this general rule. While here, we might bemoan the lack of civic sense, the streets littered with garbage, the reckless driving on the roads and the absence of adequate parking space in the town area. But take us away for some time, and we start missing it somehow. We yearn to get back to the humidity and the heat of the place.

What is so hot and happening about this quaint little town, perched on the Bay of Bengal, you may well ask.

Consider the following.

A small group of close friends

This is what makes Pondicherry so very special…

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Few years back, when Lord Emsworth had been invited to be the Chief Guest at the Indian Republic Day parade, I had been persuaded to accompany him to India. It was good to see the kind of warmth and affection with which my master and I were treated then. I had been lovingly fed and Mr George Cyril Wellbeloved had ensured that I never miss my daily rations designed as per Wolff-Lehmann feeding standards. I was even garlanded and paraded around, after some red powder lines were drawn on my forehead. Wherever I had to make a public appearance, I had been greeted and applauded by those present.

The new secretary of Lord Emsworth, Mr Rupert Psmith, came over to my den today morning and told me that yet another trip was being planned to India pretty soon. As a President of Plumsville, the Lord has been invited over to India, to preside over the annual general meeting of the Wooster Institute of Chivalry, which works towards the goal of preventing sexual violence and other misogynistic challenges being faced by the members of the tribe of the delicately nurtured in India and elsewhere.

He wanted to know if I would be interested in accompanying the Lord’s entourage. This has left me all of a twitter. There are many reasons for my reluctance. Permit me to share these with you.

In Praise of the Cow 

  • Indians, I am told, revere cows. This tribe of quadrupeds rises above the narrow confines of religion, caste and creed, holding aloft some of the basic principles – such as equality, freedom and fraternity – upon which the country’s constitution is based.
  • Cows have individual vocal characteristics and change their pitch depending on their emotions, according to a study done by Alexandra Green and others at the University of Sydney. They know how to keep asserting their individual identity all through their lives. It remains a mystery as to why the legislators in India have not yet thought of including mooing in their list of official languages. I wonder if any cow can comprehend my body language, my unique smelling capacity and even my oinking.
  • While pottering around on congested city roads, they enjoy full liberty.
  • Unlike billionaires from USA or elsewhere, they do not gobble their food greedily. Rather, they chew their daily dose of vitamins leisurely. Thus, the lining of their stomachs is almost always in the pink of health.
  • As long as they are in their productive age bracket, they get tended to very lovingly. Thereafter, their fate is determined by their individual Guardian Angels.

Given this scenario, I am certain that my popping up in the country in its present mood, when some constitutional and democratic matters are getting hotly debated, might be taken amiss. The cows themselves may look askance at someone from my tribe being shown the kind of attention and care I would attract. Sure enough, even some of the cow-protection groups might be offended by my sheer presence. Had it been China, I could have been more positive, since the Year of the Pig is yet to get over there.

Security Concerns

  • I learn that some protests are going on there. If these turn violent, visitors face an inherent risk to their lives and limbs. Next time Mr Psmith passes by, I shall check if the Lord’s entourage could secure protection by the Scotland Yard while visiting India.
  • In case my stress levels go up owing to this trip, my daily ration of 57,800 calories might get compromised.

A Drive Against Size Zero

  • World over, females of all kinds inwardly aspire to attain what is euphemistically alluded to as Size Zero. India, I am sure, is no exception. However, I am grounded in reality and have no such ambitions. Those who keep a track of my dietary habits already know that I am a hearty and boisterous feeder. Many of them are well aware that I live to feed. I prefer to drink deep from the fountain called Life. I do not care if I look like a balloon with two ears and a tail.
  • I daresay that I am a role model for all those who wish to live a blissful life without bothering about their Size Infinity looks. This is the one reason I would feel happy about visiting India or any other country.

The Noise

  • One thing I did not relish on my last visit was the crowded and noisy streets of New Delhi where everyone appeared to believe that honking a horn was a fundamental right conferred on the denizens by the country’s Constitution. Any restrictions on the same were treated with much contempt, as if their right to free speech was getting denied. I was elated at having been transported back to my own den, enjoying the bliss of solitude and regaining my sang froid, so to say.

I am surely on the horns of a dilemma. I am inclined to think that some tact would be needed to convey my concerns effectively. If so, satisfactory results may ensue, leaving me in peace to enjoy my life in my own sty. I am hopeful that Lord Emsworth would not like the prospect of my getting upset about anything, thereby running the risk of my losing out on a medal at the upcoming Shropshire Agricultural Show and instead being relegated to the mean obscurity of an ‘Honourably Mentioned.’

Flowers would then be in full bloom, birds would be twittering and trees would be swaying in a gentle breeze. In other words, God would be in heaven.

What would you advise?

 

(Illustration courtesy www)

(Related Post: https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2016/01/17/lord-emsworth-gets-invited-to-the-republic-day-celebrations-in-india)