Generic life update - part deux

Since several beloved readers have been mourning the demise of this blog, this is my latest, and perhaps last, attempt at its revival. Unfortunately for blogging, life has been moving along rather superbly, and the bits that aren't have mostly to do with my job, which I can't write about anyway.

Anyway, two Sundays ago Mama and Papa fivefeetzero decreed that it was time to get Baby fivefeet hitched. Baby's much screaming and shouting fell on deaf ears and she was hauled off to meet Gaudy Gujju Guy (henceforth referred to as Triple G).
Consequently, the fivefeet family arrive in their spanking new Octavia (which Papa has taken out solely to impress Triple G's family) at the city's best 5 star. As Mama steps out of the car in her Sunday best (quite literally), she finds that, horror of horrors, Triple G's family has also arrived, but in a lowly Indigo. Not to be disappointed so easily, Mama recovers from the shock and looks up to see a huge man, dressed in gold glasses and a matching gold bracelet, also stepping out from the car. Mistaking him for the groom, she is about to pass out from the double shock. But then she sees the real Triple G, who while straight-laced and nerdy, is god-like compared to his Fat Cousin. Mama's faith in Triple G is once more restored.
At this point, Baby too descends from the car. (Side story: After much agonising Baby has decided to dress uber-fashionably in white pants and a semi see-through blue kurti top. She intends fully to shock-and-awe the seemingly simple Triple G). She catches sight of the Mother Triple G - a slight woman in garish silk, chunky jewellery and oiled hair - and after recovering from the initial recoil, is rather unsuccessfully trying to control her mirth. By this point, all she can think about is how this is going to make for some fun blogging.
Both families, having by now realised that this can only result in the unholiest of matrimonies, trudge sadly into the hotel. It's too late to back out now - the initial meeting must be carried out. At the table, Baby sits next to Mother Triple G.
Mother Triple G: Tamaru naam su chhe, behen? (Aap ka naam kya hain, behen? ie What is your name, o sister of mine?)
Baby: (looks at Mama fivefeet, and is about to burst out laughing)
Mama: (Pinches Baby under the table and forces her to reply politely).

Eventually Papa fivefeet sends Baby and Triple G off to another corner of the hotel. It is time for them to 'discuss'.

At the table, Triple G, obviously put-off by Baby's snobby south Mumbai airs, rapid-fires questions at her.
"I heard you tell my mother that you switched from science to journalism. Why? I have known since the age of 15 that I wanted to become a chemical engineer. I dislike people who are confused about things."
"What is your routine like? I go to sleep at 10 pm because I want to be at work by 8 am. My work is my life and I don't like to go out. Movies don't matter to me."
And finally...
"I believe it's a man's world. My wife is free to work if she wants to but if my mother were to fall sick it would be her responsibility. She'd have to not go to the office, I wouldn't miss work."
At which point of course, Baby politely says: "We should go. They're waiting for us downstairs."

Back in the car, Papa profusely apologises to Baby for putting her through the ordeal, and takes her for some much needed retail therapy.

She is now the proud owner of beautiful Fendi sunglasses.

Anyway, in other news:

Love life: is still precarious. Not much to say here, except that I'm not sure if I've over thought/over imagined/over evaluated the situation and that it's actually much ado about nothing at all.

M: is still not on speaking terms with me, but has graduated to emailing.

Work: is sucky.

That's it from fivefeetzero and her team in the sunny city of Mumbai. Good night and Good luck.