MBA punjab style

I have been neglecting my writing. It seems I just took on too much with life, social engagements, and functions (In Punjab we get afflicted with MBA) and this syndrome drives us mad. As the temperature plummets we all start wearing scantier clothes (invisible cloak of warmth with the diamonds and polkis and the toosh jama shawl! and start attending and smiling more and more social shinga dings. All, based on one principle, if we don’t go what will people say? Yes, some are done due to familial obligations but some are done merely to get rid off the shagun envelope. We feel so sad in parting away with the shagun, we mope, cry bitch (yes bitch about it) but we all try to out do each other.

Even the dialog of not having enough clothes is repeated again and again by the social matrons. I went for a wedding last week, and you have to believe me; the young man next to me was wearing brighter socks (coordinated with his turban) than my suit. A fluorescent pink. I wonder where they get this. Yes, he certainly stood out.

Its like men also strut around their feathers, the brighter the better. It s misnomer that women spend time, in dressing up, I think men take the cake. The fancy belts, the shoes, the straight trousers (weird drainpipes aka Beatles) and the brighter turbans and the old and new trend of carrying a shawl around the shoulders. Punjab’s latest craze is this tailor in Muktsar or is it Sangrur who stitches these stiff kurta pajamas with the fashionable tweed waistcoat and is set off with the bright kalmkari shawl. I just need to know, how do they balance all this. Mine refuses to behave on my shoulders.

And, what we all swear is by the food. Punjabis are gluttons, we will eat plates full, peck on the appetizers, make a beeline for the desserts and then we will gossip. Oh khana was not good, oh I need to start dieting and I swear I have gained three kgs. And, now we also have the emerging nouveau riche class in Punjab who swears by the virgin free olive oil along with pasta, or the green Thai curry with the fresh seasoning along with the steamed veggies with the Spinach ravioli! 

Where did my butter chicken go? Sad.

The bhogs are an other story, we enter dressed to a prefection in our off white suits, crisp linens and matka silks with the discreet solitaires peeping and shining fro m our ears along with the shawl carelessly wrapped around like a shroud. The concealer in place with the designer bag on the arm, wrapped in our shades we are in a cocoon of our thoughts thinking oh which boutique waali does she go to? Or worst still, who gets the house now and the lands. The sympathy, the tear are dabbed at Langar time courtesy Ambrosia and then we move on to take a short nap, ready for the next event.