This should be a photo essay - 1

The constant sound of ceiling fans is what you miss the most, and its absence is a little peaceless. London is silent and there's a chill in the air, but in my mind i hear a jamboree. It was like a Durga Puja, and best of all, i was playing Durga, outwardly. This fits with what a uni friend, Partho, used to say about my face - maa durga ki shakal. He made sure and told me on my wedding day, when i had just taken off mukut and veil - aaj tu aur bhi maa durga jaisi lag rahi hai. had he planned it?

It would all have been completely different had Pa not hired the bungalow at Number 5 Ashok Road. The original plan was to do all the gharelu things, like Mehendi, Ai Buro Bhaat (my last official meal as a bachelorette) and Gaye Holud (an ancient form of giving the bride a facial with turmeric paste the morning of her wedding), at Vasundhara Enclave. East Delhi's premiere retirement / co-op housing destination, which is our present address in Delhi and the permanent one on my passport. But Delhi to me has always meant the generous and graceful capital built by Edwin Lutyens in the 1920s. I grew up in the shade of a wide Champa tree, had little adventures in the crop beds in our back garden, and hid any number of barbie dolls in the knots of the amrut tree. Delhi meant clean air, peaceful roads and wide pavements on which to ride my bicycle, Chanakyapuri's somewhat spoilt playmates, and later, momos at Chanakya. I never really dwelt elsewhere in is city. So when dad hired this amazing palatial bungalow (designed by Inigo Jones?) it raised the tone a great deal. We drove to it past national monuments and the Homes of Personages, and it became a Big Fat Delhi wedding.

Think of a sprawling but elegant one storey building, with a round porch and round columns (actually the design is more french colonial, come to think of it). A sizeable front garden, with a banyan tree in the middle. A massive back garden with three banyan trees and a rectangular covered verandah (plinth) between the house and the garden. This set the stage. Columns eventually became wrapped in garlands of fresh flowers and impromptu dance parties broke out on the back verandah. My little genius cousin was coached by his mum under the shade of the Banyan tree, while my happy little helpers put diyas in picturesque roots to set the mood for events of an evening. I would escape to the back garden when my bear would call me on the mobile i borrowed from my dad. I put a very annoying baby elephant type tune on the phone for some reason, and it raised many smiles and many more exasperated looks, when the bear, kept away from me by force (for 3 whole days!) would call. I would run away to the back garden when my mother's obsessive regret cycle would begin every once in while - if we had known about this bungalow we needn't have booked the Club. If we hadn't bought this silver plate last month, we could have saved 20 rupees today. If you hadn't switched the lights off, i wouldn't have forgotten to wake up.....

The house had lots of rooms, and only rooms. No corridors. This is similar to the bungalow i spent the first 23 years of my life in. At 5 Ashok Road there were beds everywhere, and assorted relatives sat in heaps, wrapping the totto (nuptial gifts) or bitching about the food, drinks and each other. Somehow i was overlooked in the counting; i had no bed. I ended up sleeping on the 'control room bench' in my parents' room. The control room was an insitution. My dad kept his three laptop computers and million cameras and memory sticks there, and constantly made phone calls. Most of these were for wedding purposes, to be fair. Sleeping in the control room gave me access to the inner workings of the wedding machine, which any bride should strictly avoid. My job was only to show up and look good, but insensibly, i got involved in discussions about menus, drivers and once, mosquitoes. I am sure my comments were very useful.

to be continued. (let's hope)