Follow the story of Nitin ‘Tony’ Raaj as he embarks on his journey towards marriage. Nitin’s story is one of trials and tribulations and much hilarity, as he negotiates competing demands from various folk. An unmissable take on the pressures of being a modern Asian groom…
Saturday, December 22nd 2012
Oh, mother. The walls felt like they were vibrating, my vision was instantly blurred. Got the water, paracetamol and checked my goolies. Yeah, I’d survived. We all had – so much for that Mayan prophecy.
The previous night after a relatively civilised Christmas meal at Kettners in Soho, it got messy. Messy with a capital M. Couldn’t remember a daft bloody thing. Gary, my boss, persuaded me to go to Tiger Tiger in Haymarket with the rest of them…that’s all I could recall…why…?
We are both married men. Well, almost. Sonia and me are sweet. We’ve been going out over a year now and man, this is the real deal. You know…till death do us part and all that…but did that matter to the other members of my marketing team…they say ‘No ring on the finger, you can still pull a minger’…yeah, that is their level. It’s frightening…my mantra was to stick close to Gary – he is just all banter and blarney – he wouldn’t ever do the dirty – no way, Tina would put him through an incinerator, still breathing.
It all started as ‘one for the road and a bit of boogie’…but the rest of those sad bastards were up for it and a lot more – their eyes lit up like you had told them Kelly Brook was going to be there being all liberal with the mistletoe – yeah, fat chance, you losers. Get a life.
I regretted it.
Had a typically mad scramble for my phone next, that only added a few more pounds to the weight of my head. Found it in my overcoat pocket…how and why did I put it there? A mystery…and then just below it in the same pocket…was a flipping g-string…must have been the guys from work…their sick idea of humour.
Checked the phone, no message from Sonjs. But a silly picture of me and some fancy blonde chick – had no idea who she was or how anyone had snapped us like that, under the mistletoe. Then it hit me: Suki. Has an eye for these things and such mischief. Couldn’t get hold of him, so sent him a message…’Ha ha leave it mate. Don’t upload to Facebook’.
Then Sonjs called. Had to snap out of it.
She asked a question or two. Nothing too taxing, I ducked and dived and came out as clean as a nun’s knickers. She signed off with a worrying, ‘I want to talk to you about something’. I tried to delve but she said it could wait till we met at Baroosh in Staines, that evening at 6.30.
‘I don’t want to talk about it on the phone,’ she repeated with an air of defiance. Dammit. I checked Suki’s Facebook as soon as I got off. Phew, nothing there.
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To be continued this week…