Mornings with hot chocolate milk served in bed…. Bhajans let gone for the early morning “Munni badnaam hui”. Unmade beds not inviting attention, allowances to roll in till late galore.
Moving about in Spaghetti and shorts, orthodox eyes turning mellow. Unending footsteps – in and out. No shoes in the house policy – let loose.
Screams for more tea… the never put off gas burner. Demands of an upset stomach, while the hand reaches out for just ‘one bite’ of the egg delicacy.
Wake up calls to discuss if the nail colour makes the hand look darker (!!!!) … Career counselling gives way to pouting lips shopping demand. Gifts exchange. Lists compared. Screams and squeals.
Old ‘Missy Baba jokes’ in tones that make the neighbourhood lights flicker. Stern eyes of the mother looking around for the noise aversive grandma. The old woman chiding the mother in turn, for she says the noise makes the house a home.
A sentimental mother of how the house is barren. Four pairs of hands hugging her to take her breath away. Squeals. A pseudo hurt call. Pseudo pamper calls. Breath taking smothering follows. Squeals.
The father puts off the office work, lest the papers are torn away. The mother calls of her evening drama rehearsal, she has enough of theatrical performances at home today.
Discussing in hush tones about cousins and then giving away their names over loud laughs. Trips to the neighbour for the fridge can’t store more. Demand for ‘something’ to eat, but the something not fitting the criteria of the over flowing freezer.
The father chiding the mother to bring the ‘something’, the mother losing cool. The screaming parents bursting into giggles as the daughters shoot up old Hindi movie peace songs to drown their accusations.
Screams complaining of stealing of delicacy bowls. The beat pout and ‘you will scold your princess?’ look towards pseudo anger eyes. Sulks. The mother bringing out a secretly preserved bowl, for this is not the first time. Squeals about partiality. Dancing and prancing, food fight again, though the stomach threatens to throw up.
The mutton-lover-fish-hater meeting the fish-lover-mutton-hater, delicacies to balance the “both daughters” loved promise 😉 … matching of sarees … sulks over the other’s being better…. Screams and mock fight. Saree exchanges. Lamenting over ‘no jewellery ever enough’ syndrome. The aunt bursting into a silly womanly song. Rolling of male eyes. Unending camera rolls – pouting lips and mock make up sessions being flaunted.
Jokes about single status turning raunchy till the old woman glares. Stuffing off the mouth with delicacies to prevent protest as the hair is oiled and braided.
The usually quite household bursting with noises of various kinds, the perpetual stirring of pans, the unending phone calls with words being thrown from one end of the room to the other in high pitched voices.
A hassled family friend who is not used to such deviance in the otherwise quite household looking totally lost. Requests to stay back for lunch – Of course, how can he not eat the specially imported Hilsa from Bangladesh (with stomach filled with eggs – for the fish hater).
A bemused onlooker asking the father what’s the occasion as he stares at the surroundings. And then it seems just out of the movie Jab We Met, when as Aditya drives Anshuman and Geet home, the bemused Anshuman asks the same question looking at the commotion at Geet’s house.
And just as Aditya then, the father replies –
‘Kuch nahin ji … bas beti(yan) nau mahine baad ghar aayi hai’. (Nothing major Dude! Just that daughters have come home after 9 months!)