The shaadi (wedding) season is upon us, a time when the Indian man is confused about whether to dress up like the long-gone gora saahibs (White overlords) or try and mimic some erstwhile maharaja’s attire. A suit or a sherwani — the choice rests on which version of Stockholm syndrome you are particularly prone to. Attending a wedding is like time travel. You meet people from your past — relatives who held you in their arms, cousins you grew up with, and that cheery uncle with paan stained teeth who grabbed your father’s ancestral land. And even the same judgemental guests who comment on the bride’s weight and the wedding feast alike.

Wedding dates are almost always decided by astrologers, and hence converge at that particular time of the year that has a bunch of “auspicious dates”. For the rest of the year, it is back to dating apps and matrimonial websites for the “eligibles”.

“Thirty-six thousand weddings in Delhi today”, a headline throws a dizzying number at you, hinting at a murderous supply crunch of banquet halls, caterers, pool-sides, bandwalas, pandits, make-up artists, and, inevitably, roads one can drive on. It is entirely a man-made scarcity that jacks up prices so bad that it eats up middle-class life........

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