The other one pretends to admire the thick booklet of a card. Have these people considered that the card, which must've cost a bomb, is after all just informatory and not the work of art it's pretending to be and will be relegated to 'raddi' the very next day? I bet not.

Entreaties of 'You have to come!' and the earnest promise 'Of course, of course!' are exchanged before they leave and i wonder aloud, "Who in the world were they?"

Hubby too has his brow wrinkled, "I think I met him a few years ago or maybe he was your acquaintance from school?" He tried to pass on the blame to me but I back off from ever having seen the couple - in school, college or my last birth. So, the moot question is, should we go? Like the idiot who never learns, bowled over by the anxious entreaties, we decide in favour.

Dressed in unfamiliar finery where the sequins keep getting entangled in one's hair, one reaches the venue after a long traffic jam compounded by 'baraats' moving at a speed calculated to shame a tortoise! The 'singer' belts out the old and new with abundant panache and the dancing baraatis give intruding cars dirty looks: what business do cars have on road when they are there?

Bypassing them is tough but clever manoeuvring sees us through and we find ourselves inside. The rest is a cakewalk. Hand over the precious 'lifafa' to somebody keeping a meticulous list of gifts and walk over guiltlessly to the food side. Meeting or greeting the family? They've already bid us a hurried 'Namastey' before rushing off to tend to more urgent things than the invited guests. Wishing the new couple? The bride hasn't arrived from the parlour yet and the groom is still surrounded by his dancing friends. Food seems to be the only logical solution and we get over the awkwardness of helping ourselves by solicitously asking some other guests whether they've eaten. And leading the way to the most crowded part of the place.

But go to India? Nope. Too crowded. Too dirty. Too sexist. Too traditional.

But then I got a call from my best friend who was getting married in Delhi. I tried to make up excuses and tell her I'm too busy with work, but my friend was having none of it. I was guilt-tripped into attending the Big Fat Indian Wedding: a four-day affair with 300 guests and the groom arriving on a horse. At least it wasn't an elephant, I thought.

Ten months later, I found myself at Indira Gandhi International Airport. I steeled myself and stepped out to breathe the polluted Delhi air.

Day 1: It's the mehendi night, when the womenfolk sing songs of grooms arriving on horses, while the bride-to-be and her friends get henna tattoos. The designs are pretty, but try doing anything when you have goop that takes hours to dry. I submitted to the minimal amount on my hands and escaped to the verandah as soon as I could. I was soon joined by the bride's father (mehendi nights are the only time men feed women since they can't do it themselves).

I asked him for a beer. He blinked with surprise, but raised the glass to help me drink. After more strange looks from the the auntijis, it occurred to me that I was the only female drinking. Oops.

Day 2: Another pre-wedding ritual: the sangeet, a.k.a. more obligatory Bollywood singing and dancing from family members as they serenade the couple. Think awkward and grimace-worthy. No way was I taking part.

Then the guilt-tripping started. "You're her best friend, you dance professionally, blah, blah, think of how happy it will make her to see you do Bollywood," urged the bride's sister.

I do love dancing, so I reluctantly gave in. But would my sari stay up? I find it hard enough to walk gracefully in a sari, but dancing wrapped in nine yards of cloth would be an even bigger challenge. Freaking out, I ran to all the auntijis looking for safety pins to strap in my sari, but no one had any. In desperation, I used bobby pins. And in the midst of my Bollywood dance, I started having a good time. Perhaps I even enjoyed the wolf whistles and cat calls. Okay, so maybe the Big Fat Indian Wedding wasn't so awful.

A: Brighter is better. Don't be afraid to wear a bold color; that will help you fit in with the Indian guests who'll be dressed in vibrant colors and eye-catching jewelry. If you don't have a traditional sari or lengha, don't worry. A jewel-tone dress with a shawl can mimic the festive look.

A: A traditional Indian wedding lasts an average of three days. On the first night, a priest will often perform the ganesh pooja, a ceremony that usually happens at home with only the couple, the bridal party, and close relatives in attendance.

The second day begins with a mehndi ceremony. For this, the bride and her female friends and family members will have intricate henna patterns drawn on their hands and feet. That evening, the sangeet takes place. Every wedding guest is usually invited, and it involves an introduction of the couple's families, mingling, a meal, and dances or other performances.

On the third day, the main ceremony, cocktail hour, and reception take place. You may be invited to the last day of the events, or to any part of the three-day celebration. Your invitation should clearly state what you're being asked to attend.

A: One of the first things that might surprise Western guests is the baraat, or groom's procession. For this, the groom arrives to the ceremony on a decorated white horse. Guests dance around him to the beat of the dhol, an Indian drum. After that, the bride and her family greet the groom, and the couple exchanges floral garlands to wear around their necks to symbolize their acceptance of each other.