The Wedding and the Hot Seat

My niece got married last weekend - a full-blown Palakkad Iyer affair with all the usual ingredients: silk, sandalwood, and a sea of relatives. It began peacefully enough smiles, small talk and cousins pretending to be interested in the rituals while really scanning the buffet.

Then, like clockwork, the concerned aunt brigade assembled. I don’t know how they do it maybe there’s a secret radar that activates when they spot an unmarried person in the vicinity. Suddenly, I was in the hot seat. “Don’t delay!” one said. “Loneliness is terrible!” sighed another. “Who’ll look after you in old age?” came the final blow.

And I just stood there thinking, “who knows if anyone will look after me, or if I’ll end up looking after them?”

Some cousins, sensing drama, came by to check what was happening. I told them flatly, “I just don’t want to live a miserable life like my mom and die with regrets.” That silenced the table for a bit but not Dad, who’s been loudly lamenting my single status to anyone within earshot. At one point, I simply had enough. I got up and walked out. Just stepped outside the mandapam and stood there away from the noise, the questions and the pity. The breeze, the temple bells, and the faint smell of jasmine felt far kinder than any conversation inside.

Honestly, that quiet exit said more than any “fitting reply” ever could. Sometimes silence is the attitude.

And isn’t that India in a nutshell? Everyone has an opinion about everyone else’s life, free of charge. All these self-appointed advisors will happily lecture you for hours but not one of them will ever bring a good alliance to the table. Reminded me exactly why I try to skip my dad’s side family functions.