If you’ve read my last three posts, you know by now that I was very sick at this point. I reached the cocktail party that night wheezing and coughing, not to mention feeling like a block of ice thanks to my inappropriate clothes.
By the next morning, I’d completely taken to my bed. We had a heater in our room but no power for most of the day. So, I stayed huddled under the bedcovers in pajamas and socks. There was a nine course traditional Nepali dinner planned for that night and I knew there were only two options open to me.
- I stayed huddled under my covers. This essentially means I’d flown all this way to attend my best friend’s wedding but wouldn’t actually be leaving my hotel room to do it.
- I could hack and cough my way through the dinner passing on my flu germs to several other wedding guests and maybe even the bride and groom. A perfect wedding gift.
Did I mention that I actually had forgotten the wedding gift at home in Hyderabad? A fact that I realized when my plane touched down in Kathmandu. I was the wedding guest from hell.
Around five in the evening, W bravely knocked on my hotel door to check on me. My Rudolph inspired glory was truly a sight to behold. He looked more than a little alarmed as he took it in.
“Should we go to the hospital?” He asked, warily.
My mom and I vetoed the idea. I was prone to these attacks and we were used to handling them. Except, I’d forgotten to pack my medication. It was on my bedside table at home. Right next to the wedding gift.
W made a few halfhearted protests when we told him we wouldn’t be able to attend the evening’s dinner but he didn’t argue with it. Wisdom prevailed all around and I snuggled into bed with a hot water bottle. Bliss.
I would have skipped the sangeet ceremony the next day too but my sluggish conscience woke up. So, I slipped into my sleeveless salwar kameez (yes, that’s right…sleeveless) and joined my mother and the other guests.
W in the meantime had gathered quite a following for himself with the female half of the wedding guests. Unfortunately, for the poor guy, he was delegated to take care of my mom and me. We were his special assignment for the wedding. So, he spent time with us while a bevy of women floated around us sighing and casting wistful glances at him.
Conversation struggled. I couldn’t speak because more than two words brought on a coughing fit. He couldn’t speak because he was unable to find anything in common with me to talk about. In the end, my mother and he settled in to a comfortable friendship while I sat around hacking and coughing.
The wedding and reception concluded the next day uneventfully and then, thankfully, we were packed and waiting for the cab to take us to the airport.
As I got into the cab, W popped his head into the window and said, “Could I call you once we’re back in Hyderabad?”
“Why?” I asked, suspiciously. I’d been friends with his brother for ten years and we’d never felt the need to talk or even exchange numbers before.
“I’m looking to write my GMAT soon and my brother said you were the best person to talk to about it. Well, about anything studies related.”
Oh. Right. I was the resident nerd.
“Of course. You can. I’ll give you all the material I have.”
And with that, the big fat Kathmandu wedding was over…Suffice to say, no one wrote their GMAT in the end and not much studying happened but that, my friends, is a story for another day.