It finally happened. You know, for a while now I'd been wondering what was wrong with me. I have a good job, a decent haircut, an unremarkable odour and a witty sense of humour (just gulp that for a while - this story supports it). There is nothing particularly revolting about me, except perhaps my feet, but I conceal them well. So, I was wondering why this hadn't happened earlier.

So, I was in Mumbai a few weeks earlier, and while leaving home, my grand mother, in her ever-feeble voice, said, "Arjun, tujhyasaaathi ek mulgi sangun geli aahe". Now I had no frigging clue what that meant, so I put up my clueless Maharashtrian-boy-brought-up-in-Bangalore look. My grandmother got the hint rather well... though sometimes she overdoes it - one time recently she even tried telling me how shrikhand was made. I was plain offended. Every Maharashtrian boy worth his modak should know that!

However, this time she was right on the money. So she explained "Arre, laganyasaathi" (for a marriage [to you]). "Dentist aahe. Tichya aaini vicharla, tujhyabaddal." (She's a dentist. Her mother asked about you). Ah!

So I said, "Majhe daat sagale ajun nighale naahi aahet. Nighalyanantar baghuya". (All my teeth haven't popped out yet. Once they do, we'll see). My sisters giggled, my grandmother grimaced. And that was the end of that.

I don't think my grand mother will be 'helpful' again soon!