Category: Blog

My roommate quipped today that there was an air of sophistication he had seen that comes with people from cities – especially people from metropolitan cities. I didn’t quite understand what he meant by this, so I asked him to tell me why he felt this way. For a minute, I thought that perhaps he meant it in the way we spoke – using big words where they aren’t necessary. Or perhaps he meant it in the way cityfolk carry themselves – a stupid air of superiority, often without any basis.

He responded, chuckling.

“The insects man. I’ve seen so many of these in Assam. And I can’t do anything about them. You seem so distracted by their existence.”

That’s the air of sophistication, really. The fact that the tiny details annoy people from cities.

I’ve lived a pretty urban lifestyle – what, spending 10 years in Dubai, and then 8 in Bengaluru, before landing up somewhere between Ahmedabad and Gandhinagar. And he’s right. Being privileged enough to live a life filled with a lot of luxuries means becoming dependent on those luxuries. Quite often, that line of being dependent on those luxuries become habitual. And that habit prevents you from looking at the bigger picture.

My roommate can continue to work on what he’s working on when our room is getting infested by insects – some of which come in shapes that are definitely not naturally occurring. He’s able to zone the insects out and focus on the bigger picture.

While I will run away from my room to the library. Infestations really aren’t my thing.

I understand that the general quality of pieces is declining, but hey. Atleast I’m writing. 🙂

Waking up is hard to do on weekends, especially on weekends that don’t have any deadlines, or important work to be done.

This weekend was one of those. If you’ve followed this blog for long enough, you know that my year goes crazy after the first couple of weeks – with activities every single day and whatnot. So having a weekend where all I’ve done is sleep is quite divine.

Although, I must admit – I have gotten bored. It isn’t easy to sit wrapped up in your rug reading a book and using your phone all weekend. What’s worse is that I repeatedly forgot to make myself Rasam, and my general health deteriorated into a cold/sore throat thing. Over the weekend I read Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – a book I’ve give 3*’s to on Zomato, and on my 2017 Reading Challenge, largely because it managed to make a slow weekend slower. I’m sure it’s one of those books you learn more about every time you read it however, and I’m somewhat certain I’ll give it a rave review in a year or something. Time changes your perception of things around you.

Might I also use this opportunity to tell you about my dislike of the rain. It’s been raining intermittently in Gujarat for the past two days. While I appreciate what it’s doing for the temperature & for the farmers, I’m not at all stoked about having to wear nice sandals until the mess to get my feet wet. Nor am I appreciative of having to shut my windows and suffocating in humidity. You think 2 monsoons in Gujarat would help me acclimatise. You’re wrong.

Let’s look forward to what next week holds, shall we? Apart from 5 days of lectures, I’m eager to start work on a new project under a Professor. Hopefully it leads to some interesting research outcomes, or atleast me learning new Law. Also, intra-moot season is on – so learning new Law for that. Whatay fun.

This third-year thing is finally hitting me, although some first years are my age. I think it’s the Law subjects. Professors are finally ensuring we read the Bare text of the Act, something that hasn’t been emphasised before at University. There’s also a lot more happening per class – in terms of the matter that’s being covered. So missing class isn’t a great idea.

More nerd things have been accomplished this weekend, but I’m too lazy to write about them. Still trying to get back the mojo and will to write daily. Hopefully that’ll come back this week too.

Also, Happy Birthday to a junior of mine who read this blog since I started posting updates on Twitter. His feedback has meant a great deal, and knowing that he’s able to relate to what I write has made me want to write more. Law school’s a rough place, dude. I’m praying you don’t become one of the cynics we have around here.

 

 

It starts with an itch,
A scratch on the inside of your throat.
You swallow,
Causing a rapid contraction &
Expansion of muscles along your foodpipe,
Easing your fears.

It starts with uneasiness,
A little shifting in your seat,
Some water to cool yourself,
But alas!
You have had cold water.

It ends with a cough,
A popping of your ears,
The filling of your sinuses,
The wet feeling of your tears.

When you long for rasam, and it is,
Farther than it is near,
And you long for soup,
Not tomato, just clear.

When you long for your comforter,
The warmth of your bed,
And you see your mother tucking you in,
But it’s all in your head.

You will, I am hoping, at some point, recognize that I have made a very good pun at the title of this blog entry.

Over the last three days, I went to Delhi & attended an Model UN Conference, my first in nearly two years. The objective was simple: Win. The Conference had a cash prize unlike anything else I had seen before, and Model UN was something I reasonably enjoyed during my school days, so why not? Also, I got to take a good trip to Delhi, a place I had fallen in love with in November 2016 & maybe even meet with seniors. The best part of all this: I was going to be with friends.

If you knew me between Grade 9 and Grade 12, especially at Inventure, you would associate Nerd very easily with me, and as a consequence, associate Model UN with me. I doubt this was helped very much by the fact that during one Assembly, to get registrations for InMUN, I went up on stage and screamed “M-U-N is F-U-N”, a mantra that guided me in most of my undertakings between those 4 years.

Thursdays used to be PODs days, and learning the art of MUN and reading the news with a more nuanced eye took nearly a year. Understanding foreign policy is something that takes a lifetime, but by Grade 10, I began to feel confident enough to speak about international affairs with my parents. Especially my dad. He was always eager about how I had taken to the activity, and started prodding bits of international relations into our daily Skype calls. Quite excellent.

I participated in Model UN because I enjoyed research work and reading. MUN research was the easiest way to sit on my beanbag, open my laptop, and occasionally play FIFA, or surf the Internet. More often, however, I was on Wikipedia, the world’s gift to itself & the starting point of any research I do, even today. I’ll admit this without shame.

The Bengaluru MUN circuit is distinctly divided into two parts, per my belief. One was the old/city circuit – where Model UN had birthed in the city, and the side of town that had all the established MUNers, with all the MUN conferences. Then there was my part of the city. That thing that just cropped up as a result of urbanization, with 5 neighbouring schools participating in fests where they regularly competed amongst themselves and nobody else.

The old circuit was where everything happened. You heard of legends who walked into committee without research binders and managed to win Best Delegate, heroes who rallied troops during unmoderated caucuses and brought committee toward a unanimous resolution, and superheroes who were DPRK or Israel and beared the fury of the International Press without flinching.

Being on the other side of town, and as a result of the power rankings that determine the countries delegations are allotted, I spent most MUNs in relative obscurity, representing nations such as Rwanda in General Assemblies, where recognition ended up becoming a massive issue and I wielded no bloc formation power. Nonetheless, I devoted myself to my research and motored on, in the hope that one day I’d understand how to be better at the activity. Dutifully, I carried printouts of evidence I could submit to Executive Boards whenever I was called upon (if I alleged something), and divided my binder into three parts: one per agenda, and one for general country information.

I attended a Conference in Hyderabad, and firsthand experienced the potential to network, as I made friends from around the world. As a result of the Hyderabad experience, I became closer to juniors at school, understood their stories, and was taught about the art of persistence. Being away from home and having a bad day with committee just meant inflicting self-hate, thinking about how unwisely your parents had spent their money, or otherwise, how unenjoyable the experience was slowly becoming.

But the good Conferences, my God.  The romanticism attached to Model UNs really stood out. All delegates were well-researched, as was the Executive Board. The Board recognized all delegates equally. Unmoderated caucuses involved very little yelling, and a lot of discussion on how to make committee move forward. Breaks in session were meant for socializing – making friends who you’d meet later on at some other MUN Conference. Breaks were also meant for pep talks – a bit of gyaan from senior delegates to motivate the first-timers, some enthusiasm to get everyone’s adrenaline rushing, and general inside jokes that would become a part of a delegation’s identity.

I loved Model UN for these reasons and more. Without the activity, I wouldn’t have read the newspaper outside of the Sports section. Without the activity, I wouldn’t have realized how much public speaking meant to me. And far more importantly, without the activity, I would have been left in the wrong MUN circuit, confining myself to a locality I was comfortable with. I wouldn’t have met friends across the city, nor would I have known people from different schools. All of that would have meant a gaping hole in my already basic level understanding of Bengaluru.

That would have been most depressing.

I went to Delhi with the hope of experiencing similar emotions. I told myself that in a phase where I devote my time to moots and debates, amongst much else, I’d re-discover my love for Model UN. I left, starry-eyed, and research on my laptop – for the first time. I had never used laptops in session before.

What I discovered was that the reconstruction of a romantic activity will never yield the same emotion.

Attending a Conference in a circuit I was unexposed to meant ‘fitting in’ to the culture of the circuit. And I couldn’t. I could not, for the life of me, over three days of session, give up the ideals of the Bengaluru circuit. Consequently, I did not win an award, and I was extremely disappointed with myself.

Over the course of Day 1, I realized I wasn’t enjoying committee at all. I made a valiant attempt to enjoy Day 2, speaking and raising my placard everytime motions & points were sought. However, my inability to speak the way other delegates did made it impossible to get recognized. Day 3 was just boredom. Paperwork and whatnot.

I persisted through all of this because I was desperate to relive what I had felt when I MUNed in Grade 9. I also continued till the end of the Conference because I was surrounded by incredible people, three to four of whom I am closer with today, than I was on Friday.

I am, however, unlikely to Model UN in Delhi in the recent future. Which is a sad thought.

What Delhi did give me, however, was two nights with friends, one night with seniors, and three days of continuous motivation from people via text. (Thanks, 3000)

Back to Khakhraland and Fafdadventures now.

 

 

 

This is a daily prompt that a friend suggested looking up, and while at first, I was rather intrigued, I was extremely unconvinced I could pull this off. Especially after seeing that the word of the day was pluck.

I started off writing “Pluck, go the strings of my heart”. This was intended as a piece about how the piano has never been an instrument I have loved inherently, but an instrument I have grown to admire. It was also meant to be a piece about how I’ve been desirous of learning the guitar, to the extent that I have a left-handed guitar sitting at home, but I haven’t had the courage to get it to University. I was also, at some point going to discuss how I wanted to learn the violin, and I’m hoping to learn the violin someday. There were going to be multiple layers of reference to how the strings of my heart loosely relate to my relationship with string instruments, and how there are things that tug at the strings of my heart – each time that I look back on things I have failed to do. Upon thinking about this elaborate plot for 5 minutes, I got down to business, composed 500 words, and then deleted all of them because I felt like someone would feel I was writing a love song when I was not.

Then I went and I saw posts that people posted using this particular daily prompt. I came across some fabulous pieces (all here: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pluck/), till I clicked on this link: https://juantetcts.wordpress.com/2017/07/05/daily-post-137/ and I saw this incredible Buddha quote.

So I thought maybe I could model a piece around that for the day. And I figured I could talk about how University is this unrelenting experience of discovering what you love, because instead of plucking at things, or letting go of things, rather, what you’re doing is watering and setting the foundation for the plant that is the rest of your life. I was going to include a few jokes and some incredible philosophy about how we do this at every single moment: in that every moment is this fantastic learning experience that somehow adds up. At some point I wanted to talk about Physics, for it’s one of the only things I’ve been forced into and absolutely, completely detested (and then loved).

Then I realized that Buddha quote had the word love too. And that this post also had the likelihood of being perceived as something it was not.

At some point I wrote 200 words and deleted them.

Ultimately I had nothing remotely exciting to talk about today, so I decided to chronicle my creative process of using the backspace button, and also discovering that Ctrl+A (select all) is the toughest combination of keys to reach from the typical typists position: using your little finger for Ctrl & your fourth finger for A. The next letter I pressed was Delete.

I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get over my brain thinking every post will be perceived in a way it isn’t meant to be. And perhaps I’ll have interesting things to share.

I’m also attending an MUN in Delhi this weekend, my first MUN after two whole years. To say I am excited is an understatement.

 

To be in a position where I can write a piece targeted toward first-years entering the gates of my University is ridiculous. It makes me wonder about what I’ve done in the past two years being here, but also creates the realization that I have only three years left here. Time’s really slipping away.

But hey! Hello!

Welcome to this centre of learning, and to a place you’re going to reluctantly call home for the next 5 years. Lest you change your path and move on to fresher pastures, you are likely to remain here for a bit. So breathe it all in, and take it easy.

This isn’t going to be an advisory about how to survive Law school – I know I’m definitely still figuring it out. It’s more about the way I’m personally approaching this entire thing, and is something for you to consider.

At this juncture, I’d like to inform you that my third years are now your fifth years. Why is this relevant at all? Because that batch is graduating this year, and I cannot tell you how much I will cry when they leave. I’m very attached to several people in that batch, and cannot envisage what this campus is without them. So if you see me crying some time around the 2nd of May, 2018, you already know why.

Coming back to what I wanted to tell you.

Over the next few days, you’re going to meet a whole bunch of new people. Apart from your classmates and batchmates, with whom you’ll be spending a majority of your time, you’ll meet several seniors.

A lot of us are cynics. It is but a reflection of our time here – confined within grey walls, that all we’ve come to do is criticize. It’s very easy for us to find things we have grievances about, and far easier for us to point out issues that we could improve on as a University. But, none of us do anything about it, and that is a massive problem.

Why? Because it’s a reflection of the fact that deep within, while we recognize that issues exist within the ecosystem that we presently inhabit, we’re also mindful of how incredibly, incredibly privileged we are.

Take a moment to breathe it all in again. You’re at a fully-residential campus that has amenities comparable to some of the best Universities in the country. You’re at an institution that, as a result of it’s national recognition, will enable you to interact with people from all over the country. And, you’re at a place that will help you discover yourself.

Very few within the Indian society, or any society, get to have this experience. Far fewer get to shape the experiences they have – often, as a result of rigid institutional rules, or rigid structures placed to confine them within the shackles of their own imagination.

Here, you’re independent. Quite literally, independent. Everything you do is in your hands, not accounting for luck, the ways of the world, amongst other things.

Embrace that.

Last evening, as I returned from the Gujarat High Court with a batchmate, I conversed with him about his experiences living in Junagadh, which is South of Ahmedabad. I stay with a roommate from Rangia, in Assam, which is a minimum of 52.8km away from Guwahati – perhaps the place you’ve learnt about for CLAT.

Every week, I think, I go through this insane moment of reflection, often very late at night, where I realize that I’m left with a week lesser at this place.

When you meet the cynics, try recognizing the optimist that resides within each of us.

I don’t think that’ll ever leave.

And apart from all this abstract stuff I’m writing, genuinely enjoy yourself here.

Do things that make you happy. It keeps you going along.

P.S.: Please say hello. I don’t know who you guys are and you’re going to be my neighbours for the next 3 years I am here. I will make attempts to speak to you as well. Thank you.

 

Over the last weekend, I set out on a citytrotting expedition back to Bengaluru. Less than 5 days after my semester began, I decided I had had enough of Gujarat, quit, packed a suitcase with my toiletries, and left campus for my mother’s rasam.

You know that’s not true. In reality, what I did leave Gujarat for, was for a surprise birthday party, among other things. The perk of going back was that I got to see my parents again, and I got to eat rasam three times. Or was it twice? No, three times. I missed an opportunity to dine outside, and eat ice-cream, but all in all, a very fulfilling two days was spent at Kannamangala. (The most happening place in Bengaluru)

The surprise party itself was grand, and my aunt pulled it off spectacularly. With my uber-cool aunt and mother, sometimes I wonder whether I missed out on those genes. Other times I chuckle and remind myself I am the coolest of us three (a claim that is undeniably untrue).

Also, I got to meet Arnab Goswami at the airport, which was pretty cool. I was wearing an orange shirt, so in my head I was thinking of all the BJP funding jokes I could think of in under a minute, but, irrespective of your views on the man, he’s done a lot of good journalism. Some bad, but a fair bit of good. And Republic is free to air, which means atleast people get some information for little/no paisas. Had a very enjoyable conversation with him, and while taking a photograph, my inability to keep my hand steady showed. It was rather embarrassing. But I got a nice photo anyway.

Upon take-off, however, as I read Ashlee Vance’s book on Elon Musk (read, read!) and moved to reading Asimov’s Foundation series, I got to see Bengaluru from the air. It’s perhaps the only time I’ve got to see the length of the city. I’m usually asleep on flights, and very rarely have I flown out at a time where light is everpresent. What struck me was a disastrous thought about all the mistakes we’ve made as a species on Planet Earth.

At the cost of progress, we’ve messed up repeatedly. Think of land allotment and land acquistion, or building industries along riverbeds and lakes. Look at the state of public schooling, racial biases, resource crunches, all of which we’ve created for ourselves as a species. There are several more issues, but the worst thought was how pathetic we are at getting cities right.

I think it’s an art – a fine-balance between the rigidity that Boey Kim Cheng describes in this poem (Gandhinagar), and the utter chaos that is a city like Bengaluru. It’s rare to find something that’s bang in the middle. I love namma ooru, but, it’s universally agreed that urbanization messed up the city in more ways than one (though I live in the ubanized part of the city, that didn’t exist 15 years ago).

Then I thought about something.

What would our species look like trying to build society on another planet, right down from scratch? What sort of economic system would we have? What sort of allocations would we prescribe? What sort of governance would exist, should we get to Mars?

I have no answers to these questions, mere counterfactuals.

And that’s a disturbing thought. I mean, is humanity worth saving?

At that very moment, I received, in my hands, a basil pesto mayonnaise tomato cheese sandwich.

Humanity is worth saving after all.

 

What’s up?

Offlate, I’ve recognized that in an attempt to prolong conversation with an individual that I’m enjoying conversation with, I ask “What’s Up?”, or variants thereof, which extend to “What’re You Upto?”, or “What’re You Doing?”

While only a part of this is because I legitimately am interested in what people are doing, because it provides an ample opening to gauge what hobbies individuals have, often, I ask this question to escape the monotonous route conversations have died off into, in an attempt to resuscitate them, or to provide a segue to some more interesting conversation.

Recently, someone I was chatting with asked me,  “How was your day?”

A question I’ve only heard from my parents before.

And in an instant, a rush of things I had done in the last 8/12 hours passed through my head. I found it so thoughtful and concerning that an individual was interested in how I had spent my day, and whether I had actually enjoyed it, or, how everything I had done made me feel.

I was buzzing, and my hands typed out things rapidly.

Till I took a breather from my phone and picked up a book, kicking back on my bed to read, and realized.

That “How was your day?” was just a macro version of “What’s Up?”. Because “What’s Up?” refers to a singular moment or minute, while “How was your day?” refers to 8/12 hours, or a longer period of time.

This confused me greatly.

Apologies for the June posts, I know I wrote far less frequently than I did in May. Maybe I can make up for everything in July.

Here’s a start.

 

I didn’t write for a week because I actively stayed away from writing for a week. Clarifies things? Yes? No? Okay.

My summer vacations are over, and as of one & a half hours from now, I’ll be changing my e-mail signature to say “Year III” in place of the “Year II” that it previously carried. This post will be a short, succinct summary (we shall see if this is true) of what my summer has been, and what I’m looking forward to in the upcoming year.

Summer has been that feeling of waking up in your own bed and the comfort of your own home daily. It’s been that feeling of being pampered by my mother’s food, eating rasam nearly three times a week, and being able to watch TV while sitting on my spot on the sofa.

What summer was, was escape from the life I live in University – that adventure that is restricted by grey walls, and being around the same people daily. Meeting different sets of friends, making new friends (hello to all who now follow this blog!), and getting back to the light blue shades of my life. It was pure, simple bliss.

On the side, I successfully completed a four-week internship at a marvellous place, where I learnt that I possess a liking of Tax Law, amongst other Laws, and am not completely averse to the idea of a desk job. I also understood that I can eat out of a dabba only when it is packed by my mother or my aunt, and that I am eternally grateful to the dabba gods for ensuring dabbas came in different sizes. Else my mother would have stuffed me even more.

Additionally, I wandered around using #NammaMetro, something I’m incredibly proud of. Bengaluru needed that Green Line. What a blessing it’s been. I got from Jayanagar to Blossoms in 25 minutes.

If you don’t know what Blossoms is, you have problems.

I also read a bit, and tried learning how to read & write Kannada, my mother tongue. I can now write 5 letters. Slowly, but surely, I’ll get there.

What didn’t I do?

I didn’t play Basketball everyday, like I set out to. I managed to play for three weeks(?) or something, before my body gave way to the warmth and comfort of my bed.

I also didn’t learn enough of the Piano. I bought two Piano books, hoping to learn a couple of new pieces. Eventually, I learnt two. I’ve now carried them back to University, in the aim of playing some more this semester.

So what am I hoping for this year?

I don’t want to be as mechanical as I sound on this blog. While I don’t believe I’m mechanical in real life, when I reflect on my day, I often find that I make the same observations daily, or that I go through the same set of emotions daily: Happiness, Frustration, Happiness, Comfort, Anger, Happiness, Sleep.

Yes, sleep is an emotion.

But, yeah. I find that University days throw up different challenges everyday, but that my response to these things are fairly predictable. Or, are responses which I am capable of foreseeing.

I see no point in that.

I’m hopeful, that more than anything else, I’m able to share some new observations here daily. Something different that starts a train of thoughts that eventually leads to a semblance of a blogpost.

That’s all I’m hoping for this year.

Break some shackles of creative monotony, and write things that communicate the gnarly waves of my brain (thanks, 3000), to my doting blog-readers a bit better.

Also study some Law.

Like, really, really study some Law.

Because that’s what I’m here for.

And also because I am, at the very core of my being,

A massive nerd.

 

Yesterday evening, I marked myself present on an attendance register that is invisible and non-existent to the attendee, but very much a sub-folder in someone’s brain, somewhere. To phrase it another way, I attended a wedding reception.

And in a rarity, I didn’t whine too much about it. Often I see that I search for things to crib about: a lack of good company, the distance I have to travel, being paraded around by my mother, not remembering anybody’s names, having to listen to “OH YOU’RE SO BIG NOW”, and countless other things.

But yesterday was just an all-round good function. Even though I had to travel from Whitefield to West of Chord Road, and bear the full force of horrible BDA planning, and the most ingenious utilization of BBMP funds known to mankind.

I digress, however. This post is not about the misfortunes of living in a country with below-average governance. This post is about the joys of attending a wedding reception.

Let’s begin, shall we?

I had an inkling yesterday would be pretty good when I left from home. As I got stuck in my first traffic jam of the day, I took some time out from staring at my mobile phone to really think hard about who’s wedding reception I was attending. I knew his name, his parents’ names, and how he was related to my father. But I wasn’t quite sure how he knew my mother.

Then, in the cool way that brains function, I found myself navigating through every branch in the family to see a cool dotted line joining my mother’s cousin to this groom’s father. And everything was clear again. My heart-rate considerably relaxed, and the sheer amount of concentration and willpower it took to figure out the familial connection put me into the dreamiest sleep.

I woke up 30 minutes later to a song from Mungaru Male (the best film of all time), the rain, and another traffic jam.

At which point I began to wonder who all I’d get to meet at this one function.

You see, at it’s worst, a wedding and it’s allied ceremonies can be thought of as a week-long proceeding of meeting people only your mother remembers, smiling, learning of their names, and then not meeting them for another 5 years. At it’s best, the function provides the perfect opportunity to catch up with people you met ages ago, but recently enough for there to be a continuous stream of conversation and no awkward silences.

Again familytree.exe opened up in my brain. I plugged in my manually handcrafted formula, which I have conveniently reproduced below:

If Tejas = X, and Amma = Y, Appa = Z, let immediate family = {X,Y,Z}
If immediate family = {X,Y,Z}, then let extended family = {Y}^m * {Z}ⁿ = A, where m = Number of cousins of Y and n = Number of cousins of Z,
Then A = Number of potential relatives Y can introduce you to,
And A-mn = Number of relatives whose name you actually remember.***

Nonetheless, the formula works. And a depressing thought follows: why is it that my generation is not as adept with names/family trees as the previous one?

The answer, as with everything else, is somewhat rooted in Technology and how it’s pulling Millenials farther apart.

In any event, my calculation yesterday resulted in a computation of somewhere around 60, at which point I was extremely optimistic about the company I would get and the fun I would have at the wedding.

Till I checked how brilliantly Pakistan were playing in the final. At which point my mood dipped considerably.

To add to that I got stuck at Yeshwantpur. Hopeless, I tell you.

At that point, when Google Maps turned this horrible shade that is only comparable to clotting blood, I found my messiah in the thought of South Indian food.

There is no word that aptly describes the emotion that rushes through your body at the thought of an eight course meal (extendable to eleven, of course, or even fifteen), and the sound of a crispy dosa leaving the tava.

There is no word within the English dictionary that can explain the taste of the rasam prepared at weddings, or the pineapple gojju that has now become mainstream.

And no English phrase can tell you about the emptiness of your soul and the full-ness of your belly as you consume wedding food off a banana leaf, having given in to the people serving you food and hosting you, egging you on to take that extra serving of rice you knew you should never have been tempted into it.

It is pure joy coupled with salivating mouths.

It was amidst these thoughts that I realized I had arrived at the Mantapa.

Though I expected a Bollywood number to play in the background upon my entry, I was left disappointed. But then again. This isn’t my wedding after all.

After pleasantries were exchanged and I managed to have some mind-blowing conversation with my third(?) or fourth(?) cousins, I noticed a queue forming at the side of the stage. With the bride and groom stationed and positioned perfectly for the camera lens to get their 32s, everyone was in a rush to meet them.

When I noticed another queue heading down toward the dining area.

My Eureka moment!

I present to you, the Reception Theory.***

At every reception, you have a window of 6.42 minutes (the Scientific method has been followed to the tee: my independent variable is me, the dependent variable is the time taken to reach the start of the queue. Hypothesis has been verified with strong positive correlation after 60+ weddings) to make a choice:

Option 1: The Meet and Eat – Where you meet the newlywed to be, get some photos clicked, offer the groom an opportunity to catch up with the Indian batting scorecard, and subsequently rush to eat dinner.

Option 2: The Eat and Meet – An unconventional strategy that bloomed in the early 2000’s, with doting mothers attempting to pacify their children prior to taking them on stage. Where you eat food first, and get photos clicked later.

Neither option is without it’s flaws. With the M&E, you could potentially end up with a crowded line (if you move too late), and a crowded dining hall, where you’re forced to eat pani puri because all banana leaves are occupied. With the E&M, there’s the nasty situation of not being able to climb the stairs to the stage because you ate that laste spoon of mosaranna with too much pickle.

The M&E presents another unconvential challenge: you may miss highlights where the camera is on your face as you eat, because everyone is eating alongside you, including the cameramen. With the E&M, cameramen are evenly split to get photos of people relishing food and people meeting the bride/groom, so you’ll 100% get your Kardashian moment.

It’s a tough choice to make. One I hope my mother continues to make for me for a few more years.

Till then I’ll dream about takeaway food from these weddings and revel in that comfort.

***Denotes that Patent is Pending. Any attempt to plagiarize and utilize the formula and/or the theory in whole or in part for any attribution, commercial or non-commercial purposes whatsoever will attract strict legal action.