A couple of nights back, I went for the wedding reception of a friend's son...

And I saw that half of Hyderabad was there.

The Audis, the Beamers and Bentleys, the Chevvies, the Mercs, the Porsches, the Rolls...the coupes,the sedans, the limousines, the SUVs...

All fighting for turf in the hotel's driveway...and while one growled, the other purred.While one glistened with the sheen of the reflected lights the other bronzed its muscles with the matte black look that menaced the crowd.

Drivers held heavy doors open waiting for their masters...one pathetic Honda...or was it a Toyota...car with a flashing red light on top and a meaningless sign in front navigated through the cobblestones.

The valets were in full attendance...orgasming on the drives of their lives...most of the owner driven cars were but Suzukis and Hyundais...just.

And in the softly lit, shimmering white interiors of the HICC hall, the mannequins preened and turned their heads around to display signs of life. The bank lockers wrapped around their bodies made nary a sound and the textile mills they had adopted for the night swayed in unison.

The air was full of sprayed on fragrances. After shaves, colognes, perfumes...gently sometimes splashing around in the cesspool of scotch vapors...and beery burps.

A thousand stories were told...hundreds of them for the Nth time...snacks were nibbled on and plates served the customary meal.

And I, a bit of a misfit in jeans and a crumpled shirt looked at the changed cars, the obvious affluence and the ever unchanged parade of vapid hens...

Wished the newly weds all the best and made a mental note to myself...to track down the idiot who had first suggested that the men wear suits at such formal functions and made fools of themselves...because quite frankly they would rather have been in pajamas or worse...dhotis.

Eventually…having spent more time waiting for the valet to bring me my car than I had meeting my friends inside…I went back home to a curd rice & pickle welcome…