I can barely hear you.

Kumuda was late to the evening event which was one of 12 such carefully orchestrated stages of pre-wedding parties of cousins of guys we marry. She was supposed to meet with Kailash “right outside” the gate. Of a building that had five gates altogether, discounting the one that had rusted into some kind of metallurgical anomaly. Kailash was also running late, because his long day at work was still not done. That meant Kumuda had to contact Mrs A (A is not for Awesome), her husband’s mother. Not.a.good.late.evening.plan.

Kumuda texted her identifying her location and asking for directions to this complicated sanctum sanctorum where this party was. Mrs A had scoped her out in minutes, and rushing to her, making her loud “emergency evacuation in progress” noises, she was already pretty close to annoying Kumuda grievously.

“Kumuda, you are not appropriately dressed.”

Yes, yes, I see that. I am wearing my best Wednesday work-wear ensemble which means I only have four pants going around which I must cleverly contrast and pair with my shirts to make sure I don’t violate any dress code policies at work. I get off work early, making small talk at the elevator and avoiding direct eye contact everywhere else to make this cousin-pre-wedding-mayhem-chapter 8. I should be having extra dark hot chocolate somewhere. Why should I listen to you? All F words deleted.

“Mama, I did n’t get the time to change. So I wore this FabIndia stole over my slightly long shirt, which is also called a tunic. It is considered almost semi-ethnic in some parts of the world.” Is what Kumuda said.


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