The 30-Kilometer Hostage Situation

I don't like car travel.

Motion sickness is my constant companion, and 30 kilometers is exactly 29 kilometers too many.

But it was my brother Angamba’s wedding reception.

"It's once in a lifetime," my sister-in-law said. (Emotional blackmail works. Every time.)

"You have to be there," my mother insisted.

So, I went.

0 Minutes in:

I arrive at the resort. My head is spinning.

I see a caricature artist. A "free of cost" sign is basically a dinner bell for a crowd.

They swarmed him like it was the last drawing on earth.

I didn't want a drawing; I wanted a pillow.

Hour 1:

I find a quiet corner. I take a nap.

Hour 2:

My cousin Akash and his brother arrive.

Energy returns. We see the swimming pool. There is a fence.

I decided to jump it.

Rrrrip. My kurta pyjama decided it was time to become two separate pieces of fabric.

Note to self: Formal wear is not for parkour.

The Buffet:

There was meat. There was drink.

And there were guests who looked like they hadn't eaten since the previous monsoon.

The hunger in the room was... intense.

The Escape:

My neighbor arrived straight from her office.

She looked tired. I looked like I’d been through a fence (because I had).

"I’ll drop her home," I told my mother.

The perfect pretext. The "Professional Gentleman" card. Mother agreed.

I was back in a car, 30 kilometers from home.

Sick? Yes.

Tattered clothes? Yes.

But I was leaving.

The Lesson:

I managed to sleep in my own bed instead of a resort.

Information flows one way at weddings: from the stage to the guests.

Usually, it’s "We’re so happy you’re here."

My internal monologue was: "I am never doing this again."

Because sometimes, "once in a lifetime" is exactly the right frequency for a party.

- Athouba