I was in a black dhuti and cream kurta, looking quite the quintessential Bengali. My father ACTUALLY pulled out a dress shirt for the occasion! Of course that was after a lot of nagging and cajoling, but I never thought it would actually work. My mother, for some reason, decided to do the whole mohur-route (for those who know her).
The gathering was small- about 400. There was a lot of warmth between everyone, and the bon homie was evident. Of course, such occasions are seldom without a few barbs floating about hither thither- the truant cousin, the snide aunt, and so on.
On the 1st, my sister arrived from Delhi. After a wait of two and a half hours at the Howrah Station, and the constant bickering of my father of how inconsiderate it was of Dyuti not to receive any calls or tell us that the train was running late, she arrived. It was with much effort that I managed not to vent on her! The poor thing- she had worked all of January without so much as one leave so she could come home for a week.
On the 3rd, we went for Debjani's and Santanu's reception. It was a small affair, as Santanu's mother had passed away merely a month or so back. In fact, for the longest while we were apprehensive about celebrating at all.
Something or the other went wrong- my father and I went down with food poisoning 4th onwards, and we are still convalescing as I write this! Last evening, I felt as weak as a mouse! Missed out on a lot of fun at the Tolly Club. The Red Hot Chilli Pipers had come down from Scotland. Apparently it was quite nice. The turnout was large as well. However, had I gone there, I would have possibly been running to the loo everytime the bagpipes hit a high C.
Thank you Ben- without your CIPRA, I would not have been able to write all this, and gab away on the phone too!
