The women activists wud surely like this one as it shows some place and time where the bride gets to ride on a royal horse chariot to her wedding unlike the normal way where the to be slaughtered gadha goes on a ghoda. I find myself among this huge crowd going somewhere. There's a horse chariot in the middle and people all around it consisting of bandwallahs and kids and aunties and uncles and of course the bride. It is more like a rath-yatra that the good for nothing neta log of this country take out every now and then.
Somebody on the loudspeaker then starts calling my name as if they are looking for me. I get the impression that I am the bride's brother and that some ritual needs to be performed before the procession enters the grooms' territory. I move towards the chariot and take a look at the girl. A flash in the inner sanctums of my brain says 'No way in the world could that girl possibly be your sister'. Sensing trouble, (by the way, in my dreams I have senses more powerful than what that kiddo Peter Parker calls his spidy-sense) I try to move out of the crowd and towards the sidewalks from where I run towards the building that looms large straight ahead.
It is the railway station, but quite unlike the ones we have here in India. Again, my senses tell me that it looks more like a British station, somewhat like they have in Harry da Puttar. The platform is huge. I pause, drink water and then keep moving forward until I enter a large hall.
A large audience is seated in that auditorium. As soon as I enter, a few attendants come by my side and escort me to the stage as if I was expected there. I don’t have a clue as to what is going on. A quiz competition is what the audience is there for and I am a member of one of two teams. I take my place and the questions start.
Round after round passes on and we collect very few points. My teammates look annoyed with my performance as if I was the genius supposed to give all the answers. We lose and ….
Somebody on the loudspeaker then starts calling my name as if they are looking for me. I get the impression that I am the bride's brother and that some ritual needs to be performed before the procession enters the grooms' territory. I move towards the chariot and take a look at the girl. A flash in the inner sanctums of my brain says 'No way in the world could that girl possibly be your sister'. Sensing trouble, (by the way, in my dreams I have senses more powerful than what that kiddo Peter Parker calls his spidy-sense) I try to move out of the crowd and towards the sidewalks from where I run towards the building that looms large straight ahead.
It is the railway station, but quite unlike the ones we have here in India. Again, my senses tell me that it looks more like a British station, somewhat like they have in Harry da Puttar. The platform is huge. I pause, drink water and then keep moving forward until I enter a large hall.
A large audience is seated in that auditorium. As soon as I enter, a few attendants come by my side and escort me to the stage as if I was expected there. I don’t have a clue as to what is going on. A quiz competition is what the audience is there for and I am a member of one of two teams. I take my place and the questions start.
Round after round passes on and we collect very few points. My teammates look annoyed with my performance as if I was the genius supposed to give all the answers. We lose and ….
