O you sweet little man! you are not alone
I see you regretting acquaintance with the bride in you head ,
I see you fiddling in your phone
I also see your face turning yellow then pale blue and then finally simmering red.
O you clueless little man! your curses are not unheard of the moment in which mighty first car was invented
You were forced to drive the car for the bride shopping and now you are being driven up the wall crazy,
You may feel dehydrated, you may feel like a piece of furniture in whole crowd, you may feel demented
You may seek a professional help but the memories of Chandni Chowk in your mind will never be hazy.
O you poor little man! you are not invisible in the crowd of crazy brides high on hormones and/or pheromones
One can easily spot the choked up sobs in your throat and dried up tears in your right eye ,
The uneasiness is evident when you are shown pink and pink but told they are entirely different tones
You may conclude that the majestic dress tried on/asked about/bargained infinite times is the one, But oh you poor man you dream too high!
O you frustrated little man! your attempts to suicide in that immovable crowd of people are little lame
I forward my sympathies to you for thinking the shopping will involve rational and sensible decisions,
I can offer my shoulder for all the time you and shopkeeper exchanged the glances of him cursing at your woman and you apologizing on behalf of same
By now in your heart the drill must have been etched of entering a shop, inspecting every cloth in the shop and abandoning the shop and an exhausted shopkeeper with great precisions.
O you Delirious little man! if you think that your women will exhert and exhaust then stop at once b'cz the bride and her team may have 99 problems but stamina ain't one
The bling of gold or shine of swarovski may blind you for a while but be prepared for the miles you gotta walk before you can go home and tend to the blood in your shoes,
The jewelry, the choodha, the Anarkali suit , the 100th saree , the matching clutch ,the contrast Dupatta and that Manish Malhotra Lehenga son
So my withered little man till the bride does not cry her way into vidaai, you embrace the miseries of being a colour/fabric/style blind XY Chromosome and call it truce!
I see you regretting acquaintance with the bride in you head ,
I see you fiddling in your phone
I also see your face turning yellow then pale blue and then finally simmering red.
O you clueless little man! your curses are not unheard of the moment in which mighty first car was invented
You were forced to drive the car for the bride shopping and now you are being driven up the wall crazy,
You may feel dehydrated, you may feel like a piece of furniture in whole crowd, you may feel demented
You may seek a professional help but the memories of Chandni Chowk in your mind will never be hazy.
O you poor little man! you are not invisible in the crowd of crazy brides high on hormones and/or pheromones
One can easily spot the choked up sobs in your throat and dried up tears in your right eye ,
The uneasiness is evident when you are shown pink and pink but told they are entirely different tones
You may conclude that the majestic dress tried on/asked about/bargained infinite times is the one, But oh you poor man you dream too high!
O you frustrated little man! your attempts to suicide in that immovable crowd of people are little lame
I forward my sympathies to you for thinking the shopping will involve rational and sensible decisions,
I can offer my shoulder for all the time you and shopkeeper exchanged the glances of him cursing at your woman and you apologizing on behalf of same
By now in your heart the drill must have been etched of entering a shop, inspecting every cloth in the shop and abandoning the shop and an exhausted shopkeeper with great precisions.
O you Delirious little man! if you think that your women will exhert and exhaust then stop at once b'cz the bride and her team may have 99 problems but stamina ain't one
The bling of gold or shine of swarovski may blind you for a while but be prepared for the miles you gotta walk before you can go home and tend to the blood in your shoes,
The jewelry, the choodha, the Anarkali suit , the 100th saree , the matching clutch ,the contrast Dupatta and that Manish Malhotra Lehenga son
So my withered little man till the bride does not cry her way into vidaai, you embrace the miseries of being a colour/fabric/style blind XY Chromosome and call it truce!
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