Champagne Under the Stars

"So, this is a fancy wedding," West remarked, his eyes on the champagne fountain in a corner. It wasn't something you typically see at a Bangladeshi wedding, only Bengali elitists and drunkards drink in public. Bapi had remarked that it was a method of giving oneself delusions of Western (well, and Christian) grandeur.

We were following the gang of cousins back to the centre of the room as the bride and groom sat on a royal blue sofa on the stage, posing for photos. Just a while ago, they'd exchanged their vows and wedding rings.

"Yeah. It's pretty much the fanciest I've ever been to," I replied, smiling at the kid who'd just toppled over a mound of sweets and was looking around to see if anybody had noticed.

"Adi!" I halted at Bapi's voice. West paused as well. Bapi briskly walked over to us, staring curiously at West.

"Er- Bapi, this is West, he's the groom's family friend, and my classmate at EA," I explained, low-key impressed by my own proficiency at lying.