A pressure cooker situation, very common in an Indian household, which comes as an accompaniment with a shaadi or a sangeet celebration.
Standing nervously in the midst of my loving mamus, my doting nanis and my over proud mother, I remember trying to coyly sneak out of the room, as the evergreen 'Lucknow Idol' ,a musical show, where kids of all age groups were required to display their talents was on. The winners returned with crisp Rs. 100 /- notes and lipstick stained cheeks.
A huddle of all Latas and Burmans, with SriDevis and AR Rahmans, waited in anticipation for the next performer. As the circus master or the host or the Gabbar announced without any prior notice about the next in line, I gulped as quietly as possible to make sure that my relatives forgot about my existence. The Gabbar with a pistol in hand with well shuffled 3 bullets in 6 free slots was all set to stage a mockery of our self-respects. The target, right now, was my little cousin, who could have given Madhuri - a run for her money, as she was an 'every occassion' and even a 'no occasion' dancer. She danced and sang flamboyantly.Tick,the bullet had missed her, making her a jubilant winner with on the spot accolades, whistles and cash rewards.
Next in the crossfire was my elder sister as Gabbar declared while strolling with his iron sole shoes on the parapet of the carpeted venue. With maths running in my head, it was errrr...3/5 i.e 60% probability of my sister getting shot down. She being naturally good at singing, sang one of her three patent songs (which by the way, in my world, is a huge option choice). Tick,the bullet had missed her too, as she managed to overcome her performing fright and that too superbly.
The only lame goat left was me. With a rebellion raging inside me, I realized I had 75% chances of getting 'declared-dead'. As all the requests started coming in, Gabbar mocked at me and I got ready for the execution, My mind became numb and entered a black hole, making me forget the entire world of Bollywood naach - gaana. No songs no tunes.A mute slow motion scene played in my mind, as my pulse dropped and my heartbeat soared when Phew...thankfully, my bail-out package - my sister came to my rescue to remind me of my most favourite bathroom numbers. Taking my pick, I voiced my squeaks into a crass cacophony.I sang, errr... I croaked out, "yahan dulha hai baraati hain...feeling hot hot hot". As this Bina Mistry's old catchy number, reiterated the state of my feverish body temperature, I knew even Kadar Khan could have sung better. DhishKao,I felt the pain of the bullet hitting me. It had achieved its' salvation. As my self respect lay splattered on the floor, I saw my mother sitting glumly in her chair. She knew I had just given a disaster performance,though I still received appreciation from my nanis. God bless them, for their big hearts and small ears !
Everybody decided that they had heard enough and left the venue.Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeee..sheeeeeeeee.......The cooker released its whistle, and the lid was opened. I could breathe again. The rest of the celebrations continued with all the hulla balloo, with gossip related to new gen relations, the brides dresses, the cribbing about the wedding arrangement, the devouring of the sweets and more.
But, somewhere in between, the 'white dwarf' dimmed and got lost in the melee of jubilations.My short lived performance was soon forgotten.I was much happier now, with no more pronto acts, atleast in this function. Knowing that soon, it will be time again, to display my tainted talent in the nebula of the next marriage of a yet another, didi or bhaiya in line, for a nuptial arrangement!!
Standing nervously in the midst of my loving mamus, my doting nanis and my over proud mother, I remember trying to coyly sneak out of the room, as the evergreen 'Lucknow Idol' ,a musical show, where kids of all age groups were required to display their talents was on. The winners returned with crisp Rs. 100 /- notes and lipstick stained cheeks.
A huddle of all Latas and Burmans, with SriDevis and AR Rahmans, waited in anticipation for the next performer. As the circus master or the host or the Gabbar announced without any prior notice about the next in line, I gulped as quietly as possible to make sure that my relatives forgot about my existence. The Gabbar with a pistol in hand with well shuffled 3 bullets in 6 free slots was all set to stage a mockery of our self-respects. The target, right now, was my little cousin, who could have given Madhuri - a run for her money, as she was an 'every occassion' and even a 'no occasion' dancer. She danced and sang flamboyantly.Tick,the bullet had missed her, making her a jubilant winner with on the spot accolades, whistles and cash rewards.
Next in the crossfire was my elder sister as Gabbar declared while strolling with his iron sole shoes on the parapet of the carpeted venue. With maths running in my head, it was errrr...3/5 i.e 60% probability of my sister getting shot down. She being naturally good at singing, sang one of her three patent songs (which by the way, in my world, is a huge option choice). Tick,the bullet had missed her too, as she managed to overcome her performing fright and that too superbly.
The only lame goat left was me. With a rebellion raging inside me, I realized I had 75% chances of getting 'declared-dead'. As all the requests started coming in, Gabbar mocked at me and I got ready for the execution, My mind became numb and entered a black hole, making me forget the entire world of Bollywood naach - gaana. No songs no tunes.A mute slow motion scene played in my mind, as my pulse dropped and my heartbeat soared when Phew...thankfully, my bail-out package - my sister came to my rescue to remind me of my most favourite bathroom numbers. Taking my pick, I voiced my squeaks into a crass cacophony.I sang, errr... I croaked out, "yahan dulha hai baraati hain...feeling hot hot hot". As this Bina Mistry's old catchy number, reiterated the state of my feverish body temperature, I knew even Kadar Khan could have sung better. DhishKao,I felt the pain of the bullet hitting me. It had achieved its' salvation. As my self respect lay splattered on the floor, I saw my mother sitting glumly in her chair. She knew I had just given a disaster performance,though I still received appreciation from my nanis. God bless them, for their big hearts and small ears !
Everybody decided that they had heard enough and left the venue.Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeee..sheeeeeeeee.......The cooker released its whistle, and the lid was opened. I could breathe again. The rest of the celebrations continued with all the hulla balloo, with gossip related to new gen relations, the brides dresses, the cribbing about the wedding arrangement, the devouring of the sweets and more.
But, somewhere in between, the 'white dwarf' dimmed and got lost in the melee of jubilations.My short lived performance was soon forgotten.I was much happier now, with no more pronto acts, atleast in this function. Knowing that soon, it will be time again, to display my tainted talent in the nebula of the next marriage of a yet another, didi or bhaiya in line, for a nuptial arrangement!!
