The b'fiss family bowl has recently been taken over by one nos. aunt, one nos. cousin and one nos. bride-to-be sister.

The aunt is the life and soul of the wedding party, never fails to mention that she has flown ten thousand miles for our sakes only and keeps reminding me that if I am to get married it must be after a minimum of four years and I am only allowed to pick a boy from the city. For those who know not the intricate details of our fishy lives my sister is getting married to a boy from Arambagh. Which is erm..somewhere in the state of Bengal, possibly in the district of Hooghly, but my geography being what it is, let's just say the place is a three hour drive from the city. The family has no inbred prejudices of course against anyone who should not chose to live in the very heart of the city but when it comes to a wedding it all gets very complicated. Right now our biggest worry is what time the groom will reach on the day of the wedding, there being just the faintest chance that he'll arrive at eleven at night when all the guests and possibly the bride as well have gone to sleep. The aunt is suitably traumatized at the thought of having to drive out three hours to attend the reception at Arambagh and every possible chance she gets she repeatedly urges me to ensure my life-mate lives on Southern Avenue but failing that anywhere within Calcutta or some major metropolitan city will do. Major arguments have arisen over this between the aunt and the father since the latter is currently insisting I marry either a Frenchman or an Italian or possibly a German. What I find most bewildering is this general insistence on my marriage given that I made it perfectly clear to the family from the time I was four and capable of constructing a grammatically coherent sentence that I was not getting married.

The cousin is presently giggling her way, somewhat hysterically, through her India trip. While the bfiss has never entertained the slightest doubts as to her ability to be entertaining, the cousin's sudden bursts of laughter are somewhat unnerving.

This ain't a fishbowl any longer it's a whirlpool.

After-thought : the difference between my cousin and me is when she's on the computer I very conscientously look the other way. whereas when I'm on the computer if she happens to be in the same room, she will, without fail look over my shoulder. I'm exceptionally fond of the kid, she's a year younger than me and one of those bherry nice types but this is a killer.
And since one reader athas questioned my love for my aunt, I have a minor clarification. This is the one aunt I actually like. Well one of three at least. Then again, family luuurbh is always on the border of love-hate-and-kill-yourself-before-I-kill-you.