Happily...uhhhh

I hate weddings. I really really do. And people willing to get married are retards. I bet everyone finds the whole idea of settling down with 'someone special' really comforting and that's why so many people are ready to sacrifice their dignity and peace of mind just to get married to someone. It's all so fairy tale like and I'm going to spend a bomb on an outfit that'll be worn only for a day and will ship flowers from Slovakia or something. Blehh. All that is okay I guess, it's the dreamy part so everyone buys it. But you just have to get into this marriage system and it gets dirtier and dirtier. And mostly if it's arranged by people in the family, all evening chai conversations in every bludy house revolves around this huge event. I always thought that even if I go fruity enough to think of getting married, the moment these plans and arrangements take their course, I'm really going to call it all off. And run away to Poland.
So these days I see my mom and this mysterious pain swarms my body. She waits for me to wake up and then recounts the entire conversation to me. Not just once, but twice, thrice. I wake up to the sounds of, god these guys are meeting so many times before getting married. Do you think it makes sense? I mean, so and so did this and got bored and called it off.
So it's good no mommy, they'll realize they hate each other sooner and I'll save the 20 grand that you're forcing me to expend on the sari.
Tch, how can you talk such crap? So did I tell you he gave her Dior for her birthday?
Fuckkkkk. Yes, yes, you told me. Yesterday, and the day before that.And on the phone before I came to Delhi. Why did I come here?
And my cousin, the dumbfuck behind this whole hoopla, had called me in a state of shock. Dooood, she wears such terrible jeans. Huh? That's your opinion of her, in entirety? Who are you, gay Manav Gangwani?
But now he's so happy. He's unemployed so doesn't have to think twice before decking himself up like a chick, demanding that shirt and that tie for this event and that. Ooooh, I have got to wear purple because she's wearing that. And he's already dreaming of taking the girl with the ill-fitting denims with him to MOS every night. lol. I think his whole ambition in life is to end up as the sort of couple who have dinner together at the Ivy and then have wine after dinner. And if you want to make it a wee bit more page 3, dahhhling, we just went to Hilton for dessert. It's revolting.
And everybody is talking about money. And who's spending how much and who's giving what to whom. And what are you wearing and blah blah blah. Although I am wearing something totally divine, but that's besides the point. There are apparently billions of pre-functions which constitute a wholesome Indian wedding. I used to naively think that it's just an engagement and then the wedding and then sex in Europe. Or in the Caribbean if you're pretentious enough. Or more traveled, whatever. But apparently there's some roka, then some ring ceremony where no one actually wears a ring it's just a tika kind of thing. And then they wear a ring which is the engagement. Hmmmm.I think I again got it wrong. I'm so going to disappear after this engagement and then resurface a day before the wedding. I owe this to myself. Otherwise they'll break my spirit and make me dance on Salaam E Ishq. With aunties clapping and my cousin's shady friends leering. Aaaaah.
How can anyone just get married because it's 'time' to get married? You haven't really met anyone worth marrying yet,so pass it on to your parents to find someone suitable. And then you have a screwed up dating sort of scene before the weddings, and behold, you're having sex with a stranger in your parent's house and their blessings. And then you have kids and think of quitting your job because he's too busy to bring them up. And then you get fatter because all you do it stay at home because you have post-pregnancy depression. And you connect with friends who also have babies so that you can exchange newer traits of baby behavior. Then you also get fatter and also marginally happier because by then your husband is earning more money. So you trot in gk 1 in Dior sunglasses with your toddler in tow, thinking you're looking like Kate Moss. And then he cheats on you. You're shattered and then you cheat on him. Provided you're still easy on the eye, because everyone knows it's easier for men to get some as they get older. And you haven't read a book since the last 5 years. And the only music you listen to is on the radio. Or what your kid blares out of his computer. No wonder I'm terrified. Maybe it's better for some, but this is the likely scenario for most.
And for the beauty of motherhood, you only have to see a pregnancy documentary once to vow never to let out a baby out of your body. There are enough people already paying serious attention to the cause of reproduction. Not me. Not me.