An evening with a paunchy uncle

I love being an Indian (it’s not like I have much choice) for only here can we have kamasutra and all its intricacies as well as women with 10 children acting like a blushing virgin.

I (unfortunately, or may be fortunately) hail from the majestic, highly acclaimed Nagar clan; global population of which is a measly few thousands yet it is a solar system of its own.

If you’ve ever had the good fortune of meeting one of the tribe members you ll notice glaring differences between them and the rest of human species. The Nagars consider themselves high above the social, cultural and intellectual ladder. They are the script writers of the old old laws, they are matriarchal, rule makers and changers, avatar garde attitude and such great attributes. If you actually happen to hear them, watch them or observe them at a distance (except me) it ll make you think of a floundering plastic bag in a weak breeze tethered to the ground weighed down by discarded green chutney.  At least my relatives are almost like that picture above. For even a plastic bag thinks it’s new age innovation, slowly changing the world.

One fine day, I got married and started my life as a couple. I even went for a few dinners (my side of the family) where I gritted my teeth more than chew on the dinner. I even smiled while my brain swirled with amazingly inappropriate thoughts; things I wish I could say to shut them up but couldn’t.

My stint in Delhi opened up spirited avenues for me, after spending my life in a dry state, criminally acquiring the firewater in dark alleys from secret service agents, I drank in the day while I waited for the night. Of course too much alcohol, buttery mughlai food and zero exercise lead to too much contentment which well hugged my fabulous self all the time. Since my fabulous self had already snatched a catch I didn’t care about the extra weight. This grande state of me went for a dinner in my homeland, to meet a few uncles and aunts that I cared not much about.

I met this old paunchy thing who isn’t my uncle but a cousin brother-in-law, twice removed. He has a nasal sing song y tone that drones on and on about how great he is, all he knows, and his glorious ancestors. While I forced myself to eat some bland concoction , his family recipe that had made a few dead people famous (famed in his small dinghy well) I was told conversationally, as a remark, ‘ you have put on weight, it happens after you marry!’

The half cooked potato in my mouth was just as dumbstruck as me while he continued his discourse on how all the rounded women in our family are married and thus well rounded. A while later it was stated that I had been in my current state since a year now. “Wasn’t it the same time  you met your husband?” Quaistio inappropriatus!!!

Have you ever been in a situation where you  realised that this is the moment you turn a new leaf, the feeling of re-birth of you and how your life shall never be the same ever again? I had that adrenaline running through me and I finally and for the first time said what I really wanted to say! But politely. After nodding a bit and bobbing my head about , softly and unsurely I began.

Why marriage, I asked, is that got to do with being sexually active? Although it was alcohol and my lifestyle  that lead to my weight gain and yes I had met my husband then and yes we met a lot, partied a lot but we were always with friends. It’s rude to imply and question or be curious about my sex life. Regarding the myth that you mentioned, I feel it’s lack of orgasms that make these women around you fat. Oh! And you are Fat too, even after 20 years of marriage.

I must say, my parents were proud of me! Well almost after their fallen jaw made its journey back to normal . And as for the uncly cousiny relatives, they always smiled at me from afar!!!!!

Bliss!!!!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s