Living in a locality that is most proud of being secular, I take complete advantage of the variety of cultures and the people who practice them. Sharing a wall with a Punjabi not only means good smelling lunch and dinner, never breakfast though, but a folk of people who never fail to amaze my watchful eyes. So somebody in their family decides to get married and the “ladies” decide to have a musical night. They also think it customary to decorate their hands with a herbal paste in intricate patterns.

As a good neighbor I was duly invited and made a quite appearance and exit, without anybody’s grand notice. And how would they notice me, I was almost lost in the blitz of the glittering clothes, lights to enhance them and music with more than drums in a groovy tracks. And one important point of focus, not just me, but most were lost because of a 30 something aunty being the spotlight of the evening.

She, a size massive colossal, was in a stark copper sulfate blue glistening like its made of polished leather “suit” as they call it, a Salwar Kameez to rest of the world. Her clothes, together with her stole which was there only to add to the radiation from her clothes was emitting more light than a sodium powered floodlight. As the hot “item number” songs played in more than the permitted decibel level, she transcended from a mother and a wife to a breast thrusting dance maniac. Her necklace almost touched her chin from her low neckline when she jumped to the tunes. She shook her humongous hips to every third beat of the song sending shook waves and mild tremors which only I seemed to feel. Then she drank in one gulp an entire glass of water, left a few drops around her lips and resumed her pelvic and breast thrusts.

Her jewelry had an extra ounce of golden shine, polished to sparkle and hurt the eye and the semi-precious stone of every color glistened as if to compete with each other. Her pungent sneeze awaking perfume, mixed with her body odour and the smell of raw onions amalgamated and made an aura around her as she continued to dance with a sweat patch under her arms steadily increasing. She shook her body, almost every inch of muscle going in different directions and she lipped the lyrics of the song, with English phrases thrown in here and there.

Punjabis show their creativity in the names they pick and ‘Bunty’ ‘Dolly’ Goldie’ Pinky’ seem to be hot favorites. She seemed to respond to the name ‘Sweety’ and shook her massive ass all the more when someone from the audience tempted her with some money. She promptly took it from them and tucked it in her cleavage or somewhere in the vast area inside her bra. When she noticed me looking at her mannerism, she probably felt she owed me an explanation. She mentioned that she was dancing to reduce in terms of weight. But I later caught her slurping while she explained a butter chicken recipe to a relative.

She took a small break and gobbled the dinner share of 6 people with finger that were clad in stark pink nail polish. She then lapped up a few scoops of ice-cream and washed her cup clean, while without her knowledge she grooved to the loud Punjabi ‘Balle Balle’ numbers. Now she smelt like hot oil, when she repositioned herself on the dance floor. The people on the dance floor, immediately cleared out place for her, the width of a king size bed and greeted her a big hue and cry, when she was ready to swing again.

After more hours of dancing, she made me heave a sign of relief when she decided to stop. She probably had a few sips or shots of booze while she was dancing, but it was her spirit that amazed me grandly. Whether she was a close relative of the one who was getting married or not, dint seem to matter as much as the fact that she seized an opportunity to let her huge self loose. When she was on the dance floor, it was evident that her obscene moves, became elegant in ugliness, her enormous size was like a bouncy ball and the leather shiny texture of her clothes were a spectacle by itself. Still I like such shockingly pleasant, beautifully obscene oxymoronic surprises. It makes me hopeful for the next boring ‘family function’.