This must surely be a test from the Almighty. A trial placed before me so that my faith may be tempered. Sacrifice my first born, abandon my family to the desert, Yes My Lord, I Submit, willingly! but not this. Hear my importunate pleas…
Not this… not this…
My littler cousin wants me to be her bridesmaid. Oh, the mortification! I wouldn’t mind so much if it meant just looking pretty and hanging around. But no, the indignation escalates. She’s having one of those Indian weddings with a ‘stage’ set-up. This means that I will be effectively displayed before her 300 guests in all my turquoise finery (yes turquoise, apparently it’s very In this season, she says).
If that wasn’t ghastly enough, I will also be the oldest woman ‘on set’.
My cousin-to-be-wed and the other bridesmaid are barely knocking 20 and the groom, well, he doesn’t really count, but he’s a few months younger than me anyway.
All eyes on me.
But not in that celebrity ‘no autographs please’ kind of way.
My mother will probably have to field the questions: “So that’s your daughter? How old is she? Is she still studying?” This roughly translates into: “She should be married by now. What’s wrong?”
I envision the scene, mouths full and busy with gajar halwa, the darting looks, the frenzied conversation, possible enquiries regarding my sexual orientation. (ok, maybe not the last one, but “why else isn’t she fixed/engaged/married?”)