Wedding Vibes

Chapter 6

Why do I always end up with so much food? I'm wandering around the massive lawn searching for Amma, Papa or Sheetal di, so that I can sit with them and devour the portion of my dinner I want while they sigh and finish the rest like they usually do. Usually, I'd spot Sheetal di in an instant, but today my Family Radar seems to be malfunctioning slightly. I'm growing grouchier by the second; I'm hungry, and why is there no open table to sit at? All the tables are occupied by either A, a gaggle of aunties and uncles joking loudly about something or the other (seriously, a story about how Gagan once broke a chair has no entertainment value), or B, some loner oldie picking at their food or pretending to be interested in something happening too far away from them to hear. Ugh, this is exactly why I usually stick with my family when we have food at a social event. I'm about to say kick it and think of ways to converse with a ninety-year-old grandpa with arthritis and a walking stick when something brushes by me. A soft voice whispers in my ear, "Boo," and like the idiot I am, I jump about a foot in the air and nearly spill my bowlful of dal on myself, though I manage to stop it from doing any real damage. I spin around to see familiar two-toned eyes that gleam under the bright lights and messy black hair. 

And like the pissed off asshole I am, the first words I say are, "You absolute asshole."

He slaps a hand over his heart and gasps in fake horror. "Do I mean that little to you?"

"Less and less every passing minute," I deadpan. "How come you're not eating?" 

"Have you seen the queue? There's no way I'm standing in that crowd just to get a plateful of rice and dal. I'll go later, when the rush hour's died down."

"Been there, done that," I say, lifting up my plate. 

"That's a lot of food," he says, lifting his thick eyebrows. "Even for you, that is."

I sigh. "Yeah, I know, those waiters are the worst. I mean, considering they're the ones who have to scrape the waste food off of the plates, I'd have thought they'd watch out for how much people want. Bah. Anyway, I'm hungry and not in a mood for a food wasting lecture from Papa. Want to share?" A part of me wonders whether that's weird, sharing a plate with someone I barely know. Eh, doesn't really matter. I used to do the same thing with other kids at such functions when I was little, right? But crap, I hope he doesn't think of this as-

"Yeah let's go, I'm really hungry."

Well, that answers that.

We hunt around for an acceptable table. As the minutes tick by, the scowl on my face deepens. Where's a frickin table when you need one?!

"Okay, crap. I'm starting to learn that hungry Kalki is cranky Kalki, and cranky Kalki is... not good," he comments, eyeing me somewhat with apprehension. I don't reply, though I know that he's pretty much spot on in his observation.

"Let's move it, slowpoke," I all but growl. I know I'm being a little rude, but I don't think I imagine him moving a step farther away from me, which is just as well; if I don't get to eat soon, my anger is going to burst like lava out of a volcano.  

"Okay, I'm going to stop- TABLE!"

We swoop down like bloodthirsty vultures on the relatively clean table on my right. Unfortunately, it's a standing one, so no chairs, but at least I get to rest my plate somewhere. The uncle walking away from the table gives us a weird look as he eats the last of his strawberry ice cream, but I'm officially fresh out of damns to give, so I just shoot him a half apologetic, half sarcastic smile as I dive into the rice.

Thankfully, I have enough sense left to divide the steaming pile into two halves, and then drench my half in dal. I'm silent as I devour a couple more spoons of it, and when I'm done chewing, I look up to see Siddharth giving me this look.