My Three Weddings With Mia

The names used in this story are made up.

Why? Because it's fun to blur the line between fiction and fact. What actually happened is irrelevant if you can put a delicious narrative around the events.

Wedding #1: Raj Weds Simran

          Date: Thursday, November 6, 2014

          Location: The Leela Palace Hotel, New Delhi

          Event: Cocktail Party

My flight from New York landed in New Delhi at about 6 pm. I'm already late for where I'm supposed to be, so I call Raj immediately. He has a car waiting for me, so I head straight to his house.

Thanks to the majestic Delhi traffic, I arrive around 8pm, right when the groom's party is heading to the hotel. Dressed in just a black shirt and jeans with no time to change, I join the party bus heading to the hotel. I had been awake for over 20 hours, and had consumed a couple (four) glasses of wine on the flight. As soon as we get on the bus, I'm handed - in traditional punjabi fashion - a neat glass of whiskey.

I wouldn't prefer it any other way really.

Over the 20 minute bus drive, several things happen. The bus I'm in is exclusively filled with Raj's high school and close friends (about 20 or so) - people I haven't seen in the 8 years I've been away in the US. The nostalgia of it all makes it a must to drink a drink with every person who remembers me by name or by face. By the time we reach the hotel, I've probably consumed 4 refills of my whiskey, along with a couple Jager bombs because...Delhi.

We reach the hotel at about 9pm, fashionably late since the time on the invitation was 7.30 pm. Again, gotta love this city and its unspoken rules of in-etiquette.

Tonight is Cocktail night - basically a big party before the wedding day where the groom's side throws a lavish extravaganza to celebrate the fact that one of their own is about to become a permanent member of the married club.

Now, if you know Delhi, you know how much our people love to play dress up. The wedding season - arguably at its peak in November - is the equivalent of a fashion show where the who's who wear clothes and suits and dresses designed by the who's who's good friends who happen to be the most expensive designers in the country (and by extension, the planet). Showing up to such an event in jeans is quite possibly the easiest way to get noticed - and immediately unnoticed. The excited mothers of eligible daughters will not pay heed to any boy-man who doesn't look like he spent the last two hours being turned into a modern-day prince.

I enter the party, jet-lagged and gentlemanly-drunk. Right away, I look like I don't give a shit.

My newly-acquired best friends from the bus want to head straight to the bar. On the way to that island of magical potions, I see a girl.

The girl.

Our eyes do that thing that every guy thinks they do when he spots the girl. And when you're in that blissful state of the aforementioned jet-lag whiskey jager, you'd think that this is clearly a mutual instant eye-lock.

The eye-lock doesn't last long because I almost crash into her, unintentionally.

Maybe, subconsciously, it wasn't not not-intentional.

The almost is good, but not for the guy in front of me who I did crash into, and who did spill his drink.

"What the----," he exclaims as he turns around.

His expression turns from anger to confusion to joy. He recognizes me. I don't.

"Lakshya! How's it going bro! How are the hookers in New York? Hahaha."

This is where I run into a little un-luck, as the girl hears that, gives me another eye-lock for two seconds, a tiny hint of a smile, and walks away.

Thanks, guy I don't remember but will now have to get a drink with.

After consuming another Jager bomb with the guy I now remember to be named Suraj (not due to my own recollection but due to listening to his stories where he refers to himself in the third person), I get back to the friends I came in with.

The Girl is nowhere in sight. Perhaps it was just one of those experiences that brings two strangers together once and never again. Or perhaps I'm over-romanticizing a mere look.

The rest of the night is a blur. Since the wedding the next day is in the same hotel, Raj's family booked a few rooms for us - a terrific idea considering how none of us remember most of what happened between 2am to 4am.

By the time I got to sleep, it's 6am, which is about 7.30pm in NYC. I've been awake for over 32 hours now, and at this point I'm thankful the alcohol put me to sleep.

Finding out who the Girl is will have to wait till tomorrow.

          Date: Friday, November 7, 2014

          Location: The Leela Palace, New Delhi

          Event: The Wedding

So if you're not impressed with how little the title character has appeared in this story so far, you're going to like this next bit.

I'm woken up at 10 am, which let me remind you is only four hours since I slept (passed out), by a beautiful face that looks quite a lot like the Girl.

"Wake up!"

Well, first of all, I like her voice. However, I did not quite appreciate the bucket of water that accompanied it.

Completely drenched, I sit up, noticing that I've been sleeping on the floor of the room. I'm not alone, and when my eyes open up fully I see that three other girls are throwing water at the other three guys sleeping in the room.

The girls laugh and the guys squeal because the girls just ruined their designer clothes.

All this happens within seconds, and as the other girls run out of the door, the Girl gets up to leave too.

But she can't leave, because I'm holding her hand.

With water dripping down from my eyelashes, I see a blurred view of this Girl, dressed in a traditional Indian - specifically, Punjabi - salwar kameez, her face glowing brightly against the pink from her clothes. Do I see a hint of a smile?

"Let go!" she yells, rather authoritatively, but also quite cutely.

"Tell me your name," I say, calmly.

She pinches my arm, causing me to let go, and laughs. 

As she runs away, she says --

"Mia."

Is this becoming a bollywood movie?

-

Luckily, Raj has had my luggage delivered to the hotel, and now I have some decent clothes to wear. This entire trip was unplanned, so I still don't have any Indian wear to...well wear. So I get a white shirt and black trousers and get dressed. Can't go wrong with that.

The afternoon event is the Haldi ceremony. Basically another reason to drink for the young people.

Obviously, I'm not looking for the Girl - oh wait, I can call her Mia now - so I'm not looking for Mia as I enter the lawn where the event is. Am I looking for pink?

Because there are several women dressed in pink.

"Looking for me?" a sound comes from my left shoulder.

I turn around, and it's Mia.

"I'm not sure," I say as I turn around, "I almost can't recognize you without the bucket of water."

"Drink?"

"Anything but water."

We walk to the bar.

"So I hear that you just got here from New York last night," she says.

"News spreads so quickly?"

"Welcome back to Delhi."

"I've missed this."

"How long were you away?" she says as we reach the bar.

"Two mimosas," I tell the bartender, and then turn to her, "about 8 years."

"That's a long time to be away from this life."

We turn around, and what we see is a sea of Delhities - something we call ourselves even though I'm probably not eligible for this club of extravagance - expensive clothes and sunglasses and decorations and alcohol and even more expensive attitudes.

"Do you live this life?" I ask her as we pick up our drinks and walk towards the herd.

"Do you want to take a walk? Away from this?" she says as she looks into my eyes from her 5 foot 4 inches stature.

I nod, and we walk towards the less occupied pastures.

"You haven't answered my question," I say. Of course I'm curious.

"Hmm I thought I did by asking you to take a walk away from it."

Good answer. Can I tell her I love her already? Shush, Lakshya.

We walk towards the greener side of things.

"So, will you tell me your name now?" she asks, playing with her long, lavishly glowing brown hair, "We're unbalanced on basic information."

"Lakshya," I answer.

"Nice to meet you, Lakshya," she says as she pulls something out of her pocket, which I am surprised by, "you smoke?"

She has a joint. Woman, please stop being perfect.

"Yes, please, before Samar sees me and judges me for being a pothead."

“Is this Samar an uncle of yours?” she asks as she lights the joint.

“Close. He’s actually my best friend and we’re the same age. But he acts and judges like an uncle."

“Ah, good to have friends like that.”

“Yeah, he’s a keeper. He’s getting married in next week."

“Will you be attending his wedding?"

“He would kill me if I didn’t. It’s the only reason I’m here. When I heard from Raj that he was getting married too I just booked an earlier ticket."

“Hmm. So you’re just here till?"

“I leave next Sunday," as I pass her the joint.

There is a sudden loud noise, coming from the haldi area. We turn around to see a group of men holding big drums hanging around their necks, as they hit the sides of it with sticks.

“Looks like the dhol-walas are here,” Mia says as she starts walking towards the event. She turns her head to look back at me, “do you remember how to dance, american boy?"

She smiles, and continues to walk away from me. I can’t help but follow her, but as I do, three of my friends emerge from nowhere, probably the bushes, and grab me.

“Time to drink, american boy!"

Oh Delhi, how can I love you and hate you at the same time?

As the girl walks away, I get dragged in the opposite direction, to the hotel’s pool-house. There I find, unsurprisingly, all the boys from last night, as well as a few new faces. In the center, I find Raj, doing a keg stand.

For the uninitiated, a “keg stand” is a drinking game. Actually, more like a drinking method. A keg is a barrel of beer. Usually about 20 or 30 or 50 liters. A keg stand is when you put a pipe through the keg’s opening, and turn a human being upside down, as he fights against gravity to drink a pressurized gulp of beer. The usually-self-volunteered victim is timed in seconds, and the game ends when he can’t handle it anymore.

America has integrated itself into India, unapologetically.

“Lakshya!” Raj yells, as he gets back on his feet, “Your turn, bro!"

“What the fuck is this, Raj?"

“Listen bro, you and a few others weren’t there for my bachelor party in Prague,” he speaks as he orders two of our friends to pick me up, “so consider this an impromptu final-day-bachelor party!"

I get picked up, and turned 180 degrees. Let the beer binge commence.

5 seconds.

10 seconds.

15 seconds.

Maybe it’s the hash that’s keeping me from giving up - or finding it weird that I’m upside down drinking beer out of a giant keg.

20 seconds.

No more.

I do the signal, and as expected from Delhi men (boys), they still keep me up for another 5 seconds, just in case I wanted more. I make another signal, and they finally turn the valve off.

My view of the world is returned to the normal level, and I see a cheering crowd. I have apparently broken the keg stand record for the day.

I grab Raj, and take him to the side. Then he grabs a nearby waitress’s tray, and picks up two shots.

“Seriously?” I say as he hands me a shot, “I just drank over a liter in 25 seconds."

“It’s my wedding jackass. You shouldn’t be the one worried about getting drunk."

He clings my shot glass for a cheers, and we both instinctively down it.

“Alright,” I begin, “listen, I met this girl. I think she’s from the girl’s side…"

“Simran."

“No…her name’s Mia."

“Not her name, douche. The “girl”. My to-be wife. Her name is Simran."

“Oh, right! Of course. So this Mia, is she Simran’s friend?"

“Hmm,” he pulls out his phone, “let me ask her."

I try to stop him, but I realize that I’m a bit high and also drunk-ish, and since he’s just drunk (probably), he’s way faster in his texting than I am in stopping him. I give up and step back.

“So?” I ask after a few moments.

“Well,” he reads from his phone, “she is a school friend of Simran’s…she’s from Delhi…went to college somewhere in California…and now runs some nonprofit in Delhi...oh..however..."

Before he can complete the sentence that sounds like there is important information in it, he gets picked up by two drunk people and thrown into the pool.

To avoid the same fate, I back away slowly, and return to the area where Mia went. I look around, and there is a moment where I see her from behind, and she - just like in the movies - turns around towards me (dramatically, at least from my viewpoint), and our eyes meet. She sees me, and I see her, and we both smile. She's dancing, and in this moment where I see her in the sunlight, glowing in pink, appearing to be in slow motion but that's probably because of the hash and beer, I just want to stare at her.

I walk towards her, and we have a big synchronized dance off for 4 minutes just like they do in Bollywood movies.

...

..

.

That was a joke. Because real life in India isn't like a Bollywood movie at all. Our dance routines at weddings take days - if not weeks - of preparation and expensive choreographers, and we still are barely in coordination due to the mandatory drinking we partake in during the multi-week wedding extravaganza.

But in this moment in my real life, I did walk to her. And we did dance together. I spent a few moments on a beautiful Saturday morning with this girl I just met doing an uncoordinated dance with a big group of fellow happy people at a wedding. This must be what happiness feels like.

The rest of the day passes by quite quickly, given how I was drunk for most of it. We are staying in the hotel where the wedding is, which only means unstoppable amounts of liquor is to be consumed. That’s kind of the whole point of keeping all events in the same location. It’s just more efficient.

I'm now going to skip to the part with Mia, given that's the whole point of this story. However, that will make the story slightly confusing. Or interesting. I can barely tell the difference between those two sometimes.

Alright, so this next part will make sense within a couple minutes (or paragraphs), I think. Just go with it.

Side note: do you think she's reading this?

The time is about 8.45pm, and the baraat (the groom's wedding party with a live band) is about to reach the wedding area (given that it started at the gates of the hotel 500 meters away, but has spent the last 45 minutes dancing it's way to the event, and still has about 30 minutes before it reaches the main entrance).

However, I'm not in the baraat anymore.

I am, in the Indian equivalent of a Mexican standoff.

For the uninitiated, a Mexican standoff is when you have two, or three, or more people aiming guns at each other. If one shoots, everyone dies. It's a common occurrence in (I'm assuming) Mexican movies, but has been made popular by Quentin Tarantino in films such as Reservoir Dogs and Inglourious Basterds.

The standoff I'm involved in consists of three people: Me, a girl named Dia, and Mia. Luckily, there are no guns. Instead of guns, the weapons of choice are misunderstanding, exaggeration, and confusion - with a touch of slightly-intentional bollywood masala.

Here is the verbal exchange that took place right at 8.45pm:

Dia: Is she your girlfriend? (Pointing at Mia)

Me: Uhm, yes.

Mia: what?!

Dia: what?!

I like to call this the Great Indian standoff. I'd also like to be credited as the person who coined that phrase if and when it's used in any form of media in the future.

Alright, let's try to make sense out of this.

Oh wait, before I try to even begin unraveling this mess, I should inform you that a fourth person has just entered the standoff, although at this moment it's hard to tell if she is a participant or spectator.

This fourth person is my mom. And she just walked in to this standoff/conversation between me, Dia, and Mia right when you did.

And her contribution to the standoff is ---

Mom: what?! (Slightly more excited, while equally shocked, compared to Dia and Mia)

Alright, time to rewind.

As you may or may not know yet - I can't tell if I've already mentioned it since I'm still a lil drunk and/or high right now from the haldi ceremony events this afternoon - I used to live in Delhi until I was about 17.

In that time, I may or may not have been involved with some girls - now women - in an extremely casual way. Or at least that's the story my mom knows.

One of the girls that was always on the speculative list was Dia. A nice girl who lived in my neighborhood and was a couple years younger than me. Word on the street - neighborhood - was that she always had a little crush on me. That's all it was - a speculation that I never explored to find the underlying truth.

On this fateful day - today - however, fate decided to bring Dia back into my life, right when rumors about me and Mia started floating around.

Alright, in case you're not a person of Indian - scratch that - DELHI - origin, I should explain. In Delhi's upper class, rumors run the mills. If something is happening, word definitely gets around. If something might be happening, word still gets around, although slightly more discreetly and anonymously. The rumor mills don't want to ruin their credibility, obviously.

So post the daytime "let's go for a walk", followed by "let's share a joint", and then also the "Bollywood dance number", it was impossible for stories and rumors about me and Mia to not spread around.

Add to that the small technicality of people screwing up the names of people involved in rumors, and you have a typical misunderstanding snow flake, that's about to most definitely become a giant snowball.

So since everyone in Delhi knows everyone else, of course Dia is also invited to this wedding. I haven't seen her in about 8 years. I'm not going to lie - she turned into quite a beautiful stunner. Besides the face, which was always cute, her body just...

Let's not digress. Bottom line: Dia is hot. Damn it.

So around 7pm, I'm at a pre-baraat cocktails thing at the hotel bar for friends of the groom and bride. Because of course that is a thing people do here. I'm probably exaggerating this, but I'm pretty sure this is a set up by the groom and bride to put all their good friends in a intimate situation with alcohol to instigate future couples (read: probably just one night stands) so they can have couple friends. Mia is nowhere to be seen, so I walk to the bar and order a drink, hoping to avoid the guys from earlier today to avoid getting drunk twice in the same day. Also because I know the wedding itself will be quite a drink-fest.

I get a tap on my shoulder, and I'm not going to lie, I'm hoping it’s Mia. Fate listens, but almost. Because the person tapping my shoulder is Dia. Who, and I'm not going to lie again, looks amazing in a red sari that looks like it was molded for and from her figure.

I mentally curse myself for meeting Mia last night, because if I hadn't this sight in front of me would be a lot more appealing. But then my brain reminds me with a mental image of Mia and some quick screenshots of our time together, and then I forgive my brain. Fate chose well.

So Dia and I get a drink and get talking. You should just assume at this point that I'm going to use the phrase "I'm not going to lie" a few times when I want to state something honest, so imagine that phrase at the beginning of most statements.

I'm enjoying my conversation with Dia, who I learn is now in fashion design and literally designed the red-body-hugging-tastic sari she's wearing.

Also, normally this would just be a figment of my imagination to feed my always-up-for-bite ego, but the girl was quite obvious with her ever-lingering crush on me. But what does a teenage crush graduate to when you're a hot, single 23 year old? The pre-Mia me wants to finds out. Just for curiosity’s sake, obviously.

But since the me-at-7pm doesn't have proper confirmation of Dia's interest in me, he ignores the few passes she makes at me. Well, he still enjoyed them, but brushed them off as friendly gestures. We finish our drink and decide to catch up later in the evening. I end this conversation thinking we probably won't, given how fake-but-harmless promises are a valid currency in Delhi.

The cocktails end around 8pm, which is when everyone heads to the baraat. The mission has been accomplished, and almost everyone is tipsy, if not just drunk. It’s Ego, and not blood, that really runs in the veins of the people of Delhi. And egos here don’t allow saying no to a drink.

However, coming back to my story, literally everything that could happen, happens in the next 45 minutes.

I don't know where you are from or if you've witnessed a grand Indian wedding before, so I don't really know how much emphasis I should put on describing the concept of a baraat.

Alright, I have a short but efficient description: a baraat is a slow-moving, always-dancing tribe made up of the groom’s family and friends. And by slow, I mean slow. I have been part of baraats ranging from 1 to 3 hours. Honestly though, when you’re in the belly of the baraat-beast, it’s hard to tell where the time really goes. It’s basically a rave, but with about a 100 people.

Here’s the conundrum: information about Me and Mia flows through this baraat like wild-fire. However, some of these people don’t know me, and some don’t know Mia, and some don’t know either of us. However, some of the people in that group know who Dia is. So in some real-life version of chinese whispers, the name “Lakshya” and “Mia” become interchangeable with “Lakshya” and “Dia”.

Even more however-ly, most of the information flowing about us is in the form of a question, without any actual evidential data.

“Did you hear about Lakshya and Dia?”

“I’ve heard something’s happening between Lakshya and Dia. Is it true?”

“Apparently Lakshya has a thing for Dia?”

“I always knew there was something going on between those two. Didn’t you?"

All of this happened, and we’re still only at 8.20pm.

That is when I get a tap on my shoulder, and without even hoping for it, it’s Mia. She’s wearing a golden sari, and in this moment I’ve forgotten everything I’ve ever known about good looking women. Because in this moment, all I see is this beautiful girl dressed in a golden sari in front of me. And everything else is nothing.

This moment could have lasted for several moments, but it only ends up lasting for five seconds, because after she taps me on the shoulder and I turn around and stare at her for five seconds, she says “Hi."

And that “hi” is when my brain resets again.

“I’m so exhausted, do you want to go get a drink?” I ask.

She looks like she’s been dancing for a while too, but any kind of sweat that a normal human body would create after almost 30 minutes of intense indian freestyle dancing looks like golden beads of glow on her.

I, on the other hand, am completely sweat-ed out. So, without any secondary motive, I ask her --

“Do you mind if we stop by my room? I’d like to change my shirt,” I say while pointing to the very wet shirt I’m wearing underneath my suit.

“Sure, let’s get our drinks and we can go to your room,” she says, perfectly.

We get our drinks at the bar, and head to my room.

“You look quite tired,” she says, “long day?"

“You could say that. Where did you disappear to after the haldi ceremony?"

“I had a…meeting to get to,” she says, with some hesitation, “and I wanted to avoid getting drunk during the day. Something I think you couldn’t escape?"

“That obvious, huh? Well, I did escape it for a bit. I feel a decent tipsy right now, given how the last 30 minutes of dancing probably helped me wash away most of those drunk calories."

We reach my room.

“You might remember this space,” I say, mockingly, “from the strong rain forecast earlier this morning."

“Yea, it looks familiar,” she smiles, “although being the one entrusted with waking up your room was quite by chance."

“Really?” I say, turning towards her as I start taking off my shirt.

“Really.” she says, looking at me undressing (well, technically, un-shirting), but then looking away towards the view of Delhi through the window. We both know that the reflection from the glass still shows me un-shirting.

“Honestly?” I ask.

“Honestly? Hmm, well I did kind of hope it was yours, so I guess you could call it a happy happenstance” she says as she turns around towards me, this time very opening staring at me with my shirt off.

I pick the black shirt I want to wear, and as I put it on, I walk towards her, saying --

“That was quite honest, Mia."

We’re about two feet away from each other, as I’m buttoning up my shirt.

“You asked for honesty,” she says, as she continues to stare into my eyes.

Now, fellow human beings, this seems like a pretty perfect, god-given moment to have a first kiss, right?

My question is - how do you know? How do you really know if a kiss is the right thing to do? What if it’s too soon? What if the teasing is supposed to go on for longer? What if this was all just a big, almost-convincing misunderstanding?

Luckily, since I’m decently tipsy, my brain doesn’t ask or worry about the above questions. I’m in town for just two weeks. What’s the worst that could happen?

Me-from-8.45pm could answer that. But he’s still a few minutes away.

I move towards her, as I button my shirt. I wait just a little bit, to see if she comes towards me too. In quite unexpected fashion that makes me fall for her even more, she moves forward and buttons my last top button.

Alright, let’s get real, this is pretty filmy, right? I mean, I’ve had dates and relationships before, but this..this is unexpected.

As I think that, she moves to my closet, and starts looking at the ties I brought.

“Hmm,” she says as she picks a tie, “do you like this?"

Why wouldn’t I?

I nod yes, and she starts tying it around my neck.

I’m at a as-expected loss of words since I’m not James-fucking-Bond, so I start thinking of the cleverest thing to say. The result is --

“Mia, you are…what’s the word for perfect?"

Major fail in clever-ness.

“Perfect?” she laughs, quite confidently but also adorably (she just invented that combination), although her slight pause in tying the most perfect tie a person could tie suggests slight blushing.

“Yea, but…it’s not enough,” I say, looking into her eyes, which, given that she’s wearing heels, are about 4 inches downward from mine, diagonally.

She smiles. And looking at it I’d like to declare that for all possible futures in all future timelines in all the universes that may exist, this is what a smile should look like.

“That is,” she starts as she finishes up tying my tie which I can tell without looking is most definitely flawless (a trait it picks up from the person who tied it), “a very nice thing to say."

She stands back, and for some stupid reason that my brain thinks is valid enough, I sense some reservation. Sober me would have taken that as a “maybe not” message, but tipsy me wanted to take the chance to go forward, if only to find out why not.

So, trying to be as subtle as possible, I move slightly forward while still staring into her light brown eyes.

Light brown, you are now my favorite color. Good-bye, orange, you’re now number two. Actually you’re number three because gold is number two now.

I know, I want this kiss to happen as much as you do, if not more for obvious reasons, but like most movies, it doesn’t happen.

Just kidding. We kissed. Although it was quite brief because my phone started ringing three seconds into it.

It says “Mom calling..” which, I must say and am quite sure you’ll agree with me, is in the top five mood killers.

“I should go,” Mia says, looking like she just zapped back into a reality I won’t prefer.

“Wait...” I whisper, holding her hand as she attempts to walk out of the room.

But it’s too late. She’s already opened the room. And outside it stands Dia.

Welcome to 8.45pm. Welcome to the Great Indian Standoff.

To avoid any sort of corridor-based incident, I ask Dia to come into the room, which, being a suite, is large enough to have this standoff.

This where you entered, previously.

Dia, looking confused, but still hot, and slightly furious, says, "what the fuck is going on?"

I am slightly aroused by seeing this street-girl side of Dia. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Dia,” I begin, maintaining some distance from both the Ia’s, "what are you doing here?"

"I…(trying to calm down as she furiously walks across the suite) I have been hearing people all night about how you..how you are into me…so i came up here to…but…I…who is she?"

"Dia…listen…,” I say, trying to sound like an adult, slightly aware that this method won’t fly.

At this point, Mia tugs on my hand, which is when I realize that I’m still holding on to it.

Then Mia says, "Lakshya, I…"

Then Dia asks, "Is she your girlfriend?"

To which I reply, “Uhm…”, and then continue to take the longest pause anyone has ever taken in a standoff, finally ending it 10 seconds later with - “Yes."

Alright, so now you must be wondering why I said that. Well, here’s the thing...

Around the time that Mia and I were getting the drink downstairs before walking up to my room, I started seeing messages on my WhatsApp speculating (yet again) about me and Dia. At first they were only on the groom-side guys-only group, but then they started showing up on the groom-side friends group. And then my local friends group in Delhi, and right before we entered my suite, it showed up on my family group. Damn you, Delhi, you lightening fast mistress.

So yes, rumors travel faster than reality in Delhi, and it only took about 45 minutes for speculative journalism about me and Mia and also Dia to reach my family, who I should mention, I haven’t met yet (in the 24-ish hours I’ve been back).

And yes, in my slight moment of panic, I said “yes” to Dia’s question about Mia being my girlfriend, because no one in my family has any idea who Mia is. My mom, especially, has every idea who Dia is, and if she or any of my other family members believed the Dia rumor to be true, it would ruin the rest of my ten-days left vacation. So yes, when faced with the question by Dia if Mia was my girlfriend, my tipsy-ish mind said “yes”, assuming that this would end the Dia rumors, and the flame would stop before it reached the first ignition. If Dia knows that the rumors aren’t true, that should quash future snowballing of speculation, right?

But of course, that’s not what happened. Because you know who else was listening in to this conversation. So I might as well write the rest of this standoff conversation ---

Dia: Is she your girlfriend? (pointing at Mia)

Me: Uhm, yes.

Dia: What?!

Mia: What?!

My Mom: What?!

I am, frankly, exhausted. I think it’s because I’ve been dancing and drinking, but this situation has really evaporated all the alcohol in my blood (metaphorically, at the least), and I feel spent.

So, somehow sensing that I don’t really have a response to what just happened, this is when Mia lets go of my hand, and walks out.

If this was a TV show, this would be a pretty good end-of-episode cliffhanger. And if I was writing that TV show, it would also give me an easy way out of not writing the rest of this scene, and instead I would just pick things up the next day or something.

Well, this isn’t a TV show. And the after-math of this standoff is quite anti-climatic.

Why? Because when Mia left, Dia left too, although in the opposite direction. Then it’s just me and my mom standing in my suite.

Nothing could be more awkward than this moment, but since she’s my mom and I haven’t seen her in six months, I give her a hug and tell her I’ll explain everything.

I step outside the door, and give myself two seconds to decide.

I turn my head to the left, towards the direction of Mia. I can’t see her.

I turn my head to the right, where Dia should be. I can’t see her either.

Left or right?

What would you do?

Wedding #2: Veer Weds Zaara

          Date: Saturday, November 8, 2014

          Location: Devarana Hotel, New Delhi

          Event: Sangeet Night

Alright, spoiler alert, this story’s title says “Mia”, not “Dia”. Unless this was just a huge misdirection and it is Dia who is the unexpected heroine of this story.

So I'll tell you what happened last night: I turn left. I look in the lobby. I look in the bar. I can’t find Mia anywhere. As I step outside the hotel entrance, I see a glimpse of someone in gold stepping into a car. But I can’t go after her, because between that car and me, is a 100-people-strong baraat, and I’m dragged into the belly of the beast.

So now it’s Saturday, and I don’t want to talk about last night. I couldn’t find Mia, and then Dia wouldn’t talk to me either. Which is okay, because I was too proud and drunk to apologize during the wedding. it also felt like any sort of explanation would only make matters worse.

So today, I’m not going to think about Mia. I don’t even know her last name (although I could ask), and I don’t have her phone number (although I could ask for that too).

I decide to forget about her. What was I thinking anyway? I barely know her, and I’m going back to New York in 12 days. I mean, there is no way I can even think about falling for this girl, right? I’m probably better off just hooking up with Dia. That outcome would be a lot less stabby on the ol’ conscience. Although the probability of that happening is a lot lower now given the events of last night. Just saying “I can hook up with that girl” sounds cool in front of other trying-to-be-cool guy friends, but making it a reality is a lot harder. Also, in reality I’m a bit too respectful of women for my own good. Indian girls are just too precious to screw around with.

Scratch that. I mean ALL girls. Obviously.

So I say 'Fuck it'. It’s Saturday. I’m going to meet some friends, hang out, drink, and forget about all of this.

Or so I thought. I text my Delhi friends group and it turns out everyone is busy - they are all going to this sangeet night for some wedding. I don’t know the groom or the bride personally. But they encourage me to crash, given how I’ll know at least 20-30 people at the thing because…well...Delhi.

I say 'what the hell', and at 10pm we all arrive at the Devarana Hotel. Sangeet nights are more traditional, and everyone is dressed to reflect that. In recent years these nights have become themed parties, and tonight’s theme is Arabian Nights. Yes, seriously. We’re at at posh hotel in Delhi, and everyone is dressed like extras from Aladdin. The rich kind of extras, obviously.

I am still costume-ly-challenged, given how I didn’t plan on being here, and also how I didn’t have any time to shop or get Indian clothes so far in the 48 hours I’ve been back home. Some (most) of these people spent weeks in dress-outfitting and tailoring to look like this, and I look like I just didn’t give a fuck (DGAF). However, unlike America where DGAF-ing is cool, in Delhi you give a fuck for this shit. We love weddings and god damn it if we show up to one unprepared or un-themed.

So dressed in - yet again - just a shirt and pants, I take my unappreciated DGAF-ness to the bar.

I’m not thinking about Mia. I am honestly not. I couldn’t care less than the amount I’m caring currently about her, which is quite close to zero. So when I see someone who looks like her, dressed in a green dress, I don’t look at her for more than three seconds. Because it only takes me three seconds to wait for her to look at me, and when she does, I stop looking at her. Why did I do something so teenage-ish? I don’t know. I was taken aback by the fact that it is actually her, and I didn’t know how to handle the situation.

I get two glasses of red wine from the bar, and walk towards her. She sees me coming, and in retrospect her expression and sideways head-nodding could have been classified as a “don’t”. But I don’t see any of that. I should have, because when I do reach her, this happens --

Me: Hi.

Mia: Hi…Lakshya…this is...

Stranger: Hey, man.

So yes, I didn’t notice that there was another person standing next to her. A person of the male gender. Who looks about our age so is probably not her dad. Because that would be scary-ish.

Maybe her brother? Or just a friend. Any of of those two options will do.

Because I’m a gentleman, who also wishes to mark his authority, I turn to the guy and say, “hey, I’m Lakshya."

He in turn, looks at me, smiles, shakes my hand, and says, “Gaurav."

Mia begins, “he’s…"

Gaurav finishes, “her fiance. Nice to meet you, man."

Now, I'd rather prefer that it was her dad.

Authority has been transferred. Actually, it has been stolen. Even more-tually, looks like I never really had it.

Luckily, at least on a relative scale, Mr. Fiancé gets called upon by some of his friends, and I’m left there with Mia.

“Lakshya,” she says, without really wanting to say more.

“Mia,” I reply, making it quite clear that I’m not the one who is going to say more.

“You know, I could say something cheesy like “I can explain…”, but we both have unexplained secrets."

“You are correct. I made up a harmless lie about you being my girlfriend to avoid being linked to someone else, and you made up an entire living breathing fiancé."

“That’s not fair,” she says, quite furiously. There’s more happening here, and I want to know. But I don’t think she wants to tell me.

She does this slight turn, which positions her eyes away from mine. I don’t give up, and follow her turn at the same angle, maintaining our gaze.

“Then tell me what’s fair."

She looks at me. For a while. Then she looks towards my left shoulder, and on a slight turn I can tell that Guarav is returning. I turn back, and stare into her eyes.

“Talk to me, Mia."

She looks back at me and says, “call me. Tomorrow."

“I don’t have you number."

She gives me that smile again, although a slightly naughtier version, and as she walks away from me, she says --

“Figure it out, American boy."

Challenge accepted.

          Date: Sunday, November 9, 2014

          Location: Devarana Hotel, New Delhi

          Event: The Wedding

Getting her number was harder than expected. Not because she was hard to find, but because I had to get in touch with Raj and then through him I got in touch with Simran, while both of them were on their way to their honeymoon.

But yes, by about 11am, I had her number. I spent the next 30 minutes figuring out what to say, and finally by 11.35am I have a well-strategized text --

…and then I remembered that I can just call her. I can skip the middle man of texting, and that wait period post-text which is worse than torture (metaphorically, of course, no offense meant to any real torture victims).

So I call her. And she doesn’t pick up.

Now what?

I have little time to contemplate the weirdness of this situation, because I barely spent time on it last night. As soon as Mia left, I caught up with my friends and we got hammered. It’s what I wanted and needed in the moment, and even if I hadn’t, they still would have gotten me to that point. I love my friends.

Anyway, I’m at home (finally), and having lunch with my parents. They ask me what my plans are for the day, and I say, reluctantly, “nothing.”

Then, because it feels like the right time to bring this up, my mom starts, “so…Lakshya, about that girl…"

“Mia!” I exclaim.

“Yes!” my mother responds, unexpectedly excited given how she didn’t expect me to acknowledge this person’s existence or even this conversation.

The reason I exclaimed Mia wasn’t because my mom was about to mention her, but because my phone was ringing and it said “Mia Calling...”.

I excused myself from the lunch table, and walked to the balcony as I picked up the call.

Me: Hello?

Mia: Hey.

Me: How did you know this was my number?

Mia: I have my sources.

Me: Simran?

Mia: (laughing) Yup.

Me: So…I need your help.

Mia: With what?

Me: Clothes. I need to stop looking like an outcast. Or poor. Or fashionally-challenged. Whichever is worse.

Mia: ha hah. Alright. I’ll text you my address. Pick me up in an hour.

90 minutes later…somewhere in Delhi where you can buy wedding-related clothes.

"I’m not worried about him,” I say while trying on some sherwaani, which I am so sure I’ll never wear again, and barely want to wear even once.

“Acha? Why not?” Mia says, without looking at me, and still somehow letting me know that she doesn’t like this sherwaani.

“Well, first of all, he said fiancé. Not husband. And secondly, he said it, not you."

“Well…” she says, still not looking at me, and pretending to be distracted looking at the racks and racks of clothes.

“Well, what?” I say, holding her by her shoulders and making her turn to face me. These eyes will be the death of me. Or the life of me. I’m not quite sure just yet.

She doesn’t say anything.

“You know,” I begin, letting go of her shoulders, but slowly sliding my hands down, and holding her hands for just a second before letting go, “I believe that talking can solve almost anything."

“Really?” she says, trying to hide a little smile when I brushed her hands, "I wasn’t aware there was a problem to solve."

“Hmm, well considering the events of the last three days, and the fact that you and I are here right now, seems like there is a problem in the making."

“I forgot to ask you something,” she says, making it so obvious that this is a diversion tactic.

“You forgot to tell me something too,” I retort with a smirk.

She elbows me in the stomach, and says, “how big is your wallet?"

“Depends. Who is asking? Mia, or my fashion consultant?"

"Depends on your answer."

“Well," I say as we walk into yet another store, “I can afford a few things to reflect a certain lifestyle."

"And did you earn it yourself?” she asks, rather earnestly.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not sure really. You look like a spoiled brat but you don't act like one."

"Did you mean that as a compliment? Because it almost sounded like one."

She doesn’t say anything, but it feels okay to spend this silence with her.

“Well, I did,” I say, "I made something in college that people liked, and then I made it into a company, and then I sold that company a few months ago."

“Why did you sell?"

“Hmm…I guess I just woke up one day, and it didn’t feel right. The drive to the office felt forced. I started waiting for it to be 7pm. I couldn’t live that life. Not even for a day."

“Maybe that day was a challenge. I mean, you can’t stop days like that. But you can't run away from them either."

I’m taken aback, and I think she senses that. She grabs my arm, and takes to me to another floor at the store.

“What about this one?” she picks this light gold colored sherwaani.

“Well, I don’t know if you know, since I didn’t know until a couple nights ago either, but gold is currently in my top two favorite colors."

After trying out the outfit, I say, "Hmm…this would be good for Samar’s wedding."

We pick out some more clothes, enough for Samar’s events, along with some backups.

“Will I see you tonight? At Veer and Zaara’s wedding?” she asks, as I pull up my car in front of her house.

“I wish I could, even though I would still be crashing. But tonight’s Samar’s youngsters. Can’t miss that."

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll see you around."

She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, and gets out of the car.

“Mia!” I call after her, stepping out of the car. She turns around.

“Hmm?” she says, pretending to smile.

“Come with me."

“What?"

“Tonight. Come with me."

“I…I can’t."

“Why not?"

She pauses.

Say something, Mia.

“I have my own days that I need to get through sometimes," she says with a tired, but well-meaning smile, "I can't run away from them like you do."

I don't know how to respond to that. So I walk towards her, hold her by the waist, and give her a kiss.

This is the point where I realize I'm kissing a girl right in front of her house. This isn’t a romantic comedy set in New York or London. This is a real person’s house in a pretty conservative country. We may do many things behind closed doors, but we do not dare to do such things in front of someone’s house on the street. There are just too many variables to consider - passerbys, security guards, parents, siblings, domestic help, neighbors - basically anyone who has any idea who Mia is could spot us and all hell could break loose. Hypothetically.

However, the time I spent thinking of the above scenarios, is pretty much how long we were kissing. So Mia helps me out by giving me a soft, adorable little slap on the face. That brings me back to reality.

Right then my brain thinks of a good response to her dialogue - since it’s no longer multi-tasking - and as I pull away, I whisper in her ear ---

"Sometimes staying is worse than running away."

And then, to avoid finding out if anybody saw us, I turn around, get in my car, and drive away.

Wedding #3: Samar Weds Meera

          Date: Sunday, November 9, 2014

          Location: Chattarpur Farms, New Delhi

          Event: Youngsters Party

“…and then I came here,” I said as I finished telling the highlights of the day to my friend, Samar.

We’re at Samar and Meera’s youngsters party, which is basically a big, extravagant (can’t think of another word to describe Delhi things) event where all the friends and basically “young” people from the bride's and groom’s sides are invited to let it loose. These parties happen a few days before the wedding, so that everyone can get drunk and/or wasted with enough time to recover and/or detox before the wedding.

Think of it as a big bachelor bachelorette party. Without the strippers (sometimes).

It’s 11pm, and four hours have passed since I dropped off Mia at her house. I haven’t had anything to drink at the party, which was shocking to everyone. Am I sulking? No. Am I thinking about Mia? Obviously. Is that a good idea? Stop with all these interrogatory questions, will you!

The thing is, ever since I met Mia, I haven’t made a single logical decision. I mean, even before this fiancé situation came up, I had no practical reason to fall for this girl. She seems like a good-hearted, smart Indian girl. We live in different worlds. Geographically, and metaphorically. And now with this Gaurav person in the mix (although he could say the same about me, if he knew), things just got unnecessarily complicated. Is she more attractive to me because she’s unavailable? I don’t think so. But do I want her even more now? Yes!

See? Illogical.

I’ve been dating for over 10 years now, and never have I ever had this kind of experience with a girl, ever. And I’ve only known her for three days.

I mean, on one hand I’m thinking this: I met an attractive, smart, like-minded person. That’s more than I needed at the time. If I never see her again, this would be one of the best moments of my life. I’m happy. I met someone. I had a conversation with her. She was nice to talk to. I don’t need to know anything about her past or be a part of her future. This really was enough. I am content.

So I can do nothing. I can choose to not call her again. I can just let it go because it doesn’t matter what happens next. Maybe there isn’t a long term happy ending here.

I can choose the ending to be this moment, and walk away.

However, the rebel in me - the one who likes to believe destiny only works backwards and the future is only in our hands - likes to change things up a bit by taking these risks. I’m quite proud of this rebel, because if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be who I wanted to be and who I actually am today.

So, what should I do?

I raise that question to Samar, who has an as-expected response --

“Bro, if you do nothing, you already know what happens. But if you take one little risk, the future is uncertain. And you have to admit - that excites you, just a little bit."

“Hmm,” I mumble.

“Or - you can turn that frown upside down, drink this shot,” he says as he hands me a shot of tequila, “turn around, face the party, and find the next Mia."

He hands me the shot, and as I’m about to drink it, by phone buzzes and it says --

Mia Calling…

Alright, destiny. Smart move.

Samar sees that the call is from Mia, smiles, gives me a cheers, and we down the shots.

Then, I pick up the call.

Me: Hey.

Mia: Where are you?

Me: Chattarpur farms. Is everything okay?

Mia: Does your offer still stand?

Me: (slightly happier) Where are you?

Twenty-ish minutes later, I’m in the parking lot of the Devarana hotel, where the Veer-Zaara wedding is happening. The time is about midnight. I step out of the car, and wait.

Like a reverse-Cinderella, Mia comes running out of the wedding, dressed in a blue-and-gold sari. She sees me, and stops just two feet from me.

“Hi,” I say with a smile.

“Hi,” she says with her lips.

I give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

“Let’s go!” she whispers in my ear.

We get in the car, and start driving away.

“I need a drink,” Mia says, sounding exhausted from the short sprint she just ran.

“I figured you might,” I say as I pull out a flask from my jacket pocket, “so I brought you a little present for the journey."

She laughs, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and takes a swig. We alternate sips as we talk.

“Ahh, whiskey. Just what I needed!"

“So…rough night?"

“Hmm…let’s just say that the problem has been solved."

“Really? No more fiancé?"

“Gaurav was never really my fiancé. Our families know each other, and this year when I turned 25, my parents wanted to fix me up. I had been resisting for a couple years because of work, but I didn’t want to disappoint them. So I said okay to meeting Guarav. He’s not a bad guy, so I figured I’ll give it a try."

“Alright…so what changed?"

“Uhm, I guess,” she says, looking at me, “after this weekend, I couldn’t see myself going back to that life."

I turn to face her, take her hand, and say ---

“I think we’re about to have a few more problems."

“Looks like it,” she says with the smile that started this whole thing, “but tonight, let’s not try to solve anything."

“Agreed."

We arrive at Samar’s party, and within five minutes of walking in, all my friends have met Mia, and we’ve already consumed four shots. Everyone is having a good time, and by bringing Mia here, I’ve confirmed all possible rumors about us being a thing.

So, to recap --

I’ve met a girl.

I’ve kissed the girl.

I’m with the girl at my best friend’s youngsters party.

It’s still just Day 4.

So, happy ending, right? I mean, everything seems to be going our way. She’s happy, I’m happy, and we’re not worrying about tomorrow. What could really go wrong? This isn’t a bollywood movie where this is the point something happens that separates us. There has hardly been any deal-breaking miscommunication or misunderstanding. Everything looks pretty solid.

Well, this wedding isn't over. And reality, although less Bollywood-y, still contains enough drama and twists.

          Date: Friday, November 14, 2014

          Location: Oberoi Hotel, Gurgaon

          Event: Cocktail Party

Alright. So today is Friday. I've skipped through Monday - Thursday on purpose. Partly because it was my short week of consecutive dates with Mia. Which, as much as I'd like to share, was super personal. And mostly because this story is structured by wedding based events.

I mean, I don't see you telling me intimate details of your dates and time with your significant other, so you can't expect me to give you every detail too, right?

Look, it only seems fair to do it this way.

Right?

Alright, fine. I guess I can give you a quick date-by-date recap.

Let me warn you - these aren't the transcripts of every date and every conversation. This is more like the highlights. It keeps the mystery alive, while also maintaining some privacy that Mia has requested I keep. So imagine this to be a quick supercut of scenes from each date, which I guess in video form would be about 30 seconds to 1 minute each. Like a mult-date montage! With some nice background music.

MONDAY

I've barely explored the New Delhi - I don't mean the city, but I mean the literal "new" Delhi that has happened in the past 8 years that I've been gone. This city and its night life changes every few months, and I'm very keen on seeing things that Mia and I would experience if we were locals (which she is, but I mean in a romantic way).

So for this first date, I take a recommendation from a friend and bring her to this classy Japanese restaurant in Mehrauli. It's Monday night, so it's quiet, intimate by design, and perfect for a one-on-one chat.

After two drinks:

Mia: I don’t think I believe in fate.

Me: Why not?

Mia: Well, I think fate only really works backwards. We look back into our past, even if it’s some recent events, and we justify how things just had to have worked out this way. But fate is just a forced criss-crossed line we make by connecting dots that were quite random.

Me: So you’re saying that we think it’s fate, but it’s just our own decisions, that over time, either affect us positively or negatively.

Mia: Yeah, something like that.

Me: Well, doesn’t that sound too neutral?

Mia: And you’d rather believe in a romanticized version?

Me: Why not? If it really is just a collection of decisions, why can’t we see it as something that could have been predestined?

After three drinks:

Mia: Hahah. Next you’re going to tell me you believe in God...

Me: Well...

Mia: No!

Me: I personally don’t care whether there is a God or not. But I don’t think there is something wrong in believing in God. Hope is important for survival.

Mia: Say what you will. But I’ve seen a lot of bad shit through my organization to explain any sort of grand plan. And even when things go right, I worked hard for it. I don’t want the credit or even the blame to be shared with or attributed to some unseen entity with a magic wand.

After four drinks:

Mia: Alright. Back to fate. You really think that you and I, were destined to meet?

Me: (slight pause for composure, and also dramatic effect) Well, I think that I’d rather believe that because it helps me move forward. Coincidences and random series of events don’t make people happy. I think in order to have - or even secure - a content future, we must believe in something in the present.

Mia: (impressed?) Hmm, so it’s all some kind of self-prophecizing, never-ending loop of destiny?

Me: (smiling) Maybe.

Mia: Alright. If that’s the way you want to see it, I won’t stop you.

TUESDAY

Location: Taj Palace Coffee Shop

Mia: So you’re going back on Sunday?

Me: Yes.

Mia: And what will you do, once you’re back?

Me: I…I don’t know. Start something new.

Mia: What about your company? Your employees?

Me: Well, I sold the company six months ago, and technically I’m still employed. The company that acquired us wanted to keep me on, so my employees wouldn’t leave. So now I’m a glorified product head, but the passion is gone.

Mia: So you’d just quit? Is that what a leader does? Abandon his people?

Me: I guess a leader should know when it’s time for someone else to lead. Someone who can serve his people better. I trust my people. They’ll do right by my dream.

Mia: I don’t think I could do that. I’m too close to my people, and the people we help, to let them go. I think I need them more than they need me.

Me: But how long do you think you can keep this going? Doesn’t it take a toll on you to live everyday in the service of others?

Mia: We all have our own ways to find happiness. My way is just a little less glamorous and a little more thankless.

Me: Do you think you’re addicted to it a bit? Putting strangers before yourself?

Mia: Maybe. I guess I’ll find out when I quit.

WEDNESDAY

Location: Soi 7 Brewpub, Gurgaon

After three beers:

Mia: Can I ask you something?

Me: Ask away.

Mia: Why did you kiss me?

Me: Which time? There have been a few.

Mia: Very funny! The first time. In the hotel room.

Me: Hmm…do you want the clever answer or the honest truth?

Mia: (smiling) Are they different?

Me: Not to me...

Mia: Hmm, alright, I guess I’ll judge that. Proceed.

Me: Well, I call it my illogical timeout. Ever since I saw you, my brain and my heart seemed to fuse together into one. I couldn’t tell a bad decision from a good one, or a practical move from an illogical one. I saw you. And from that moment I wanted to come closer to you. And closer, and closer...

This is when I lean in to kiss her again, which we do.

Me: (post-kiss) Well?

Mia: Hmm…I guess I can’t tell the difference either.

Me: Good. Do you want to tell me why you kissed me back?

Mia: Hmm…I couldn’t tell if it was real attraction, or just a momentary want. So I had to find out.

Me: And?

Mia: (teasingly, because she knows I love it) I’ll let you know when I know.

THURSDAY

Location: Some nice, intimate, little restaurant that Mia picked, somewhere in South Delhi. The name has been redacted, just for fun. I want this to stay as our private place.

Me: Do we have to talk about this?

Mia: I don’t see why not.

Me: Because it would ruin our dinner?

Mia: We can’t pretend like everything is okay, Lakshya. I’ve known you for a week, and we both know what’s happened in this time. But this time next week, you won’t be here. Isn’t that something we should acknowledge?

Me: We do acknowledge it. That’s why we don’t talk about it.

Mia: I’m not asking you to stay. I don’t want to become a fork in the road for you. I don’t want either of us to be that for the other person. Because we both know what happens when you pick a path...

Me: …sooner or later you wonder about what the other path would have been like.

Mia: Exactly.

Me: So what should we do?

Mia: I think we need to decide when this ends.

Me: So we pick our own happy ending?

Mia: Do you have to always put a story-related pun on things?

Me: Alright, I’m sorry. But humor me a little on this. Do you think that’ll work? This isn’t a movie where we the characters stop existing after the story ends. We’re two people who will still be here when our story ends.

Mia: Lakshya, I don’t want to have hope for something that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place. What if this isn’t supposed to last beyond these weddings?

I don’t respond.

Mia: What?

Me: Do you think we’ve lived so long in the real world, that we forget that we can still make our own?

FRIDAY

Tonight is Samar and Meera’s cocktail party. Last night didn’t end so well. Even though we moved past that conversation topic, it was obvious it didn’t leave our minds.

I asked Mia if she wanted to come to the cocktail party, and she said she wasn’t sure if she could - or should. She says she wants me to enjoy my best friend’s wedding without being worried about us. I didn’t push her on it. I dropped her home, and the timer that I had been ignoring - the one counting down the days and hours to the end of this trip for me - just started getting louder and louder.

Now I’m sitting on a table at this party, alone but surrounded by the closest people in my life. I feel like I’m at the “before” end of a decision that will decide the rest of my life. And for the life of me, I can’t think. Because thinking would mean I have to weigh the pros and cons of two options. And I don’t even want to start that thought. I don’t know if I’m in love. Not because I think I’m not, but because this isn’t any kind of love I’ve felt before. This is a new feeling. It’s like I was just introduced to an emotion that I have never experienced before. Do you remember the first time you felt happiness? Or fear? Or surprise? Or sadness?

Do you remember the first time you felt love?

I am almost wishing you could talk back to me, just so I’d know if I’m making any sense.

So here I am, sitting and thinking about something I don’t want to think about. I’m actually wondering what Sunday would be like. Getting on a plane. Never seeing Mia again. Going back to a life that I’ve lived for so long, but now seems alien to me.

But hey, no one around me knows what I’m feeling or thinking, so I just look like a guy who has had too much to drink. Even though I’ve been sipping Sprite all night, lying to my friends that it’s Vodka. I mean, who is this Lakshya? Sitting alone at a table at his best friend’s cocktails night, not drinking cocktails?

Right at this moment, enters my dad. He brings two drinks, and sits next to me.

“Thanks, dad, but I’m not…"

“I know you’re not drinking,” he says, pushing a drink towards me, “that’s not a drink. It’s a moment I want you to share with your father as you tell him who this girl is, and what makes her so special that you’re sitting here with the saddest eyes at a party that you should be a part of."

I turn to face my dad, genuinely stunned, give him an “I’m impressed” nod, pick up the drink, and give him a cheers.

“I guess I shouldn’t ask how you accurately predicted that,” I say, sipping my drink and realizing that my dad even got my drink right - it’s a Sprite.

“Because my son,” she starts off, quite proudly, “every once in a while a man gets lucky enough to meet woman who shows him that everything he has ever believed in was just the beginning. And that she is the rest of the story. The story he’s meant to live."

I don’t say anything. Because I’m lost in the truth of that sentence.

“So,” my dad continues, as he gets up, “tell me, is she that woman?"

          Date: Saturday, November 15, 2014

          Location: Oberoi Hotel, Gurgaon

          Event: The Wedding

Today is Samar’s wedding with Meera. The entire day has been one giant metaphor for happiness and love, with everyone I know and love being a part of that celebration. This wedding is why I came back to Delhi after so long, and I couldn’t be happier for Samar.

The time is 8pm. The baraat just started at the gate of the hotel.

But I’m not there.

I’m currently a part of another kind of standoff. One where there is just two people. There are no weapons. Not even misunderstandings. Or exaggeration. No Dia either. Or an unexpected special appearance by my mom. There may be some slight confusion, but that will be solved in a few minutes.

I’m standing outside Mia’s house. So is she.

How did I get here? What happened after my talk with my dad last night? What events happened today that led me to this moment?

I could tell you that. But it’s not that relevant. What matters, what really counts, is this moment. So I’ll just tell you what happens now.

I’m standing in front of Mia. The sun has set. The weather is slightly chilly. Mia is dressed in a tank top and pajamas. I’m slightly overdressed for this encounter - given that I’m wearing the sherwaani Mia helped me pick to wear at Samar’s wedding.

I think Mia is almost as confused as you are.

But I don’t care about any of the above. I look at Mia, and say ---

“I’ve been looking for something. For a while now. I didn’t know what it looked like. What it felt like. And I’m not even sure why I was looking for it. But when I met you, I felt like I found it. And I don’t want to know what it would be like to lose it. I felt like I did lose it last night. But not again. Not ever. I don’t want to find out what a day looks like without you in it. I’m not interested in the other choices down the road. This is my choice. You are not a fork in the road for me. You are the road."

To which Mia responds, quite lovingly, slightly teary-eyed, and unsuccessfully hiding it with a smile, “that speech got a little cheesy at the end."

“Well, this next part will definitely top that in cheesy-ness,” I say as I get down on one knee.

“What are you doing?"

“I’m making a decision. And I’m asking you a question."

I pull out a box.

“This is a placeholder ring, obviously,” I say as I open the box, "I had no idea about your ring size, and to be honest this one belongs to my mom. But I couldn’t do this grand gesture without an actual ring."

“Lakshya, this is insane."

“I know…it makes the least amount of sense,” I reply, standing up as I take the ring out of the box and hold it in front of her, “but also…it feels like it makes the most sense I’ve made with anything I’ve ever said or done."

She pauses. I stand there, slightly awkwardly, and just a little worried about the outcome.

“Something you want to say?” I ask impatiently.

“I…” she begins, and takes a pause that feels a little too long, “don’t think I heard a question in that monologue."

“Ah!” I blurt out, relieved, “the question. Alright. I’m still working on the phrasing in my head so give me a second."

“Really? Doesn’t seem like you to be at a loss for words," she says, being the kind of tease I want to spend my life with.

“Mia, you’re not standing where I am, looking at what I’m looking, about to do what I’m about to do,” I say, pointing to her, “I need a few moments to catch my breath."

“Quit being charming and get to it!” she says, excitedly and impatiently.

I look into her eyes, and with the ring in my left hand and my right hand on her cheek, I ask ---

“Mia, will you marry me, so we can make a little world of our own?"

She smiles this new smile that I’ve never seen, one I know will keep me alive and happy for the rest of my life, because it says that she loves me too.

“Yes."

This is it. 

This is where the story of My Three Weddings With Mia ends.

What will we do now? Well, Mia will change really quick so we can make it back to Samar and Meera’s wedding. I texted Samar and my friends the outcome of her answer, so they will make sure the baraat goes as slow as possible until we get there.

And what will we do tomorrow?

Figuring out what’s next is the easy part.

Because now I have Mia.