Life changes in fucking seconds man.
Kshama's getting married this Saturday. Its okay if you don't know who she is. I dint either till about an hour ago.
So there I was. The molecules in my thighs were integrating themselves with the couch. The Stand by Stephen King was in my hands and life was a slow Thursday night.
30 minutes later, I was out of my ratty home duds gyrating onstage to, umm, well Jiggy-Wiggy.
Nobody tells me anything in this house. Things like Kshama's (who is very Awesome. And hot) getting married and that and her sangeet and mehendi party happens today. My dad and her's have major business plans in the offing, so there were increasingly frantic calls to make our presence felt at the event.
Mom and Jenny were AWOL, so my Dad's extensive emotional blackmailing skills were exercised on me.
My ass was hauled away from the couch. Semi-decent clothes flung out on the bed and in a daze, I was enveloped by girls in shiny salwars and led to dance.
A stage, 50 glittering ladies(and a Marwari woman knows glitter. Every diamondy bit of it) and a video cameras.
I was nudged onstage by Kshama. Frantic pleas for help intensified when I realised I was expected to dance alone. Alone. With big strobe lights. On a stage . And a huge room full of people looking at me.
Awkward shuffling on stage. Silence. Pained silence.
Then the asshole DJ plays Jiggy-Wiggy with you.
What's there to say; most of you have seen me dance. I eliminated the slutty bits, reduced the butt gyrations a tad and danced away.
For the full frickin duration of the song. Aunties smiled, Kshama laughed and the DJ gaped.
And these guys know how to do a wedding. The colours!! The food!! The music.
Life drags you by the hair, spins you around and leaves you feeling massively foolish and strangely happy. And spontaneity is so underrated.
I think I need Stephen King now. His wry, searing uncut wit should get this stupid Jiggy-Wiggy thing out of my mortified head.