Women decked out in gold and draped with saris made of exotic banarasi taste, mostly striped with crystals reflecting the white light, luminous. Men wore suits made from light tweed and shirts in satin embellished by cravats worn in hues of all variations. Children were coy in their own little discoveries, running here and there, joyous and nimble. The carousal was in full swing, full of anomalies and ostentatious dispositions. Indian songs were played often, distasteful and raucous, that’s what I thought. Why was I so obnoxious? Such a societal event in grand display, cuisines of delicate taste, people adorned all kinds of exquisite clothing and ornaments of which I was nonchalant about and like that I was lost to apathy. I made myself comfortable in a nook and sat there for hours speculating the essence of a sunflower in my life. Not a worthy topic to be observed with when one is in company of such noble kinfolks yet I couldn’t resist myself into trying to dampen such a glorious situation I was exposed to. i rarely am. I guess addiction to commit escape from the confronted situation, oblivious inclination. I was too self-observed. Well, when am I not? Rejecting the mirthful conditions of life, swerving myself from happiness, sinister thoughts crawl brain like a spider, slowly yet deliberately waiting for its prey while I reek of misery. And why should I be obliged to celebrate other people getting married? Our uncanny ability to deceive ourselves into happily ever after! I just don’t understand.