A play with the third

(This is an essay from our December 2015 print quarterly 'The Marriage Issue: Loves, laws, lusts'. See more from the issue here.)

Several years ago, as tourists in Pune, my friend and I visited a homeopathic doctor. His clinic was a simple whitewashed room containing a shaky table, a swivel chair and a black-and-white photo of a sculpted naked torso. As we sat down, the chubby, grey-haired doctor volunteered the information that he had been Mr India for bodybuilding, 30-odd years ago. There was no guessing. Besides the doctor's ardent eyes and the same avid expression, the two bodies were unrelatable. But both men meant business.

After giving my friend a quick check-up, the doctor invited us to his daughter's wedding. Taken by surprise but flattered, we accepted. He said he'd send a car to our hotel. We spent the rest of the day trying to find a suitable gift and outfit for the evening's celebration. With a set of tea cups and dupatta for the bride, we arrived at the crowded tent around seven o'clock, before the party had really taken off. The two of us, complete strangers to the family, were treated as guests of honour. The doctor and his wife seated us at the centre of the banquet tent and served us personally. The courses were endless: creamy dal tadka, sweet-scented biryanis, tandoori chicken and paneer, radiant green mint chutney, lightly-charred butter naan, koftas and curries, firni in clay cups, syrupy gulab jamuns. A band played Bollywood numbers. We were periodically asked to pose for photos onstage with the couple and members of the family, and then escorted back to our table. After hours of eating and dancing, we were driven back to our crummy hotel in a shiny limousine, groggy from the lavish hospitality.