A Wedding Story
2000 HOURS. DHAKA.
JOINT FAMILY OPERATIONS.
BALL GARDEN, KURMITOLA.
The motorcade of five cars and a minivan pulled up in front of the community centre. With practised grace, all 15 doors opened in sync but no one got out. From the leading car, Tanvir emerged, touching his temple and talked into his earpiece.
“THE EAGLE HAS LANDED. BRAVO IS A GO. OVER.”
The minivan’s back door flips open and a five-foot tall man… boy in a suit jumps out and touches his earpiece, “BRAVO REPORTING. BRAVO IS A GO. OVER.” The boy quickly runs around the community centre and disappears behind it. Right at that moment, Tanvir spots the ribbon blocking their way in. The defences are up. He gestures at the motorcade, touches his temple and points at the entrance. “SQUAD, TAKE YOUR POSITIONS. OVER.”
Instantly, suits pour out of the vehicles and take their positions in front of the community centre entrance. Across the ribbon, clusters of girls in lehenga were loudly whispering to each other, pointing at the entrance. Tanvir heard something about the nerds being here and thought it’s best to start right away.
“Dulal mamu, I have come to bargain.”
“Excuse me, Dulal mama is on his way. You can talk to me,” says a girl in blue lehenga, shuffling across.
Tanvir instinctively reached towards his earpiece to ask where little Abir had run to behind the community centre. He was supposed to bring Dulal mamu to us. Damn it, Abir.
“We will only talk to Dulal mamu. Who are you?” Tanvir says.
“Where’s the groom?” she shot back.
Rajib’s voice crackled in Tanvir’s earpiece. “That’s my shaali, you idiot.”
“Oh, you’re Anika apa. Sorry. Let’s make this easy then. We think 2000 taka is a very respectable amount in today’s challenging economy. How about we bump it up to four and we split the difference?”
In the meantime, the bride’s side amassed what seemed to be all the kids born after 1999. She turned around to judge her side’s reaction, and as if on cue, the entire side burst into shrieks of derogatory laughter.
“I think we have bigger problems, then, bhaiya. If the groom thinks 4000 is a lot of money.”
“Seeing you guys, we thought we wouldn’t need more than 2000. But that’s okay.” Tanvir tries playing it cool, “We’re here to negotiate. How about 2010?”
This was met with loud jeers and whistles from the bride’s side. One of the older cousins, Nusrat, pushed her way in, “Isn’t the groom a software engineer at the country’s biggest ride-sharing company Pouchhao? Or was that a lie, hmm?”
Rajib’s voice crackled in again, “Are you guys going to get me divorced on my wedding day?”
“That’s not the point at all, apa. You have to understand that since he is a software engineer, all his decisions are formed through a machine-learning algorithm backed purely by artificial intelligence through agile neural network based on bio-linguistic methods. We invite you to this discussion regarding the value of this ‘gate dhora’. Please—wait. We are getting fresh data from our algorithm.”
The bride’s side were gawking at them now.
A 14-year-old with an iPad showed up and started swiping the screen vigorously. Tanvir and co. had a short discussion in whispers then he went back.
“Anika apa, we have went through the fresh data you provided us and it seems that the amount did increase. We are more than prepared to cut the ribbon, now for 2500 taka.”
“Look, bhaiya, it’s really hot under these lights. If you guys drag it on any longer, our makeup will start melting and you guys will have to add that amount to your damn algorithm. Let’s cut to the chase. The scissor goes through only at 50.”
“Uhh… apu?” said a bespectacled thin boy in a purple suit and yellow tie from the groom’s side, “The Dhaka Stock Exchange index fell by 13 points today. The economy simply does not allow us to make such an investment that has very little return. Please be realistic, apu. This is a BBB bond at best. You want a sensible groom, I presume? Let’s not encourage reckless spending from day one, shall we?” The groom’s side all nodded in agreement.
“I personally think 10,000 is an extremely respectable amount for both sides,” said Tanvir.
The older woman, Nusrat, replied “Hah. That doesn’t even cover our fuel costs for the gaaye holud rehearsals. And my husband paid 2,50,000 taka for the gate on my wedding. Are you guys trying to insult my cousin?”
“Wait, what? 2.5 lacs? Nusrat apu, I only got like—” a sharp elbow from Nusrat shut Anika up.
Tanvir quickly slunk back into the groom’s crowd and consulted his earpiece. “EAGLE, DO YOU COPY? EAGLE, DO YOU COPY? THE STAKES HAVE BEEN RAISED.”
“Tanvir, you really need to understand. I was in a boys’ school, then a boys’ college and then CSE at Euro-Atlantic University. This is my only chance and you guys are messing it up. I am getting out, you wait.”
“Na, bhai, Give me another chance. I have this under control. You just watch,” assured Tanvir.
Tanvir touched his earpiece again, “RED SPARROW, DO YOU COPY? IT’S CODE RED. I REPEAT—CODE RED.”
Suddenly, static crackles through the air and the letters H, B and O appear on the big screen inside the hall. A bespectacled man with a sharp nose, a greying mop of hair and a decidedly British aura shows up. A hush falls over the crowd as everyone braces for a typical 20-minute segment from John Oliver.
“Gate dhora. The South Asian equivalent of the Mexican standoff. It is true that policies like Universal Basic Income and such have a positive effect on the economy, but it’s important to ensure that the flow of cash remains within the economy and not stagnant inside the bank accounts of, well, aunties. While deterrents of UBI and such will argue that free money would make people lazy, the opposite is actually true. For example, just last week I gave Barbara in HR a hundred dollars. She has not yet returned my money. WHERE IS MY MONEY, BARBARA? WHERE. IS. MY. MONEY.”
The man kept repeating “WHERE IS MY MONEY, BARBARA?” and punctuated each sentence by pulling at his tie, slapping an imaginary desk, throwing his glasses on the floor and then finally running away into the parking lot screaming for Barbara.
Anika broke the silence, “You guys could pay John Oliver to come down here and do what he… did but paying 50,000 for the gate was too much?”
“I knew trusting you jokers would not be a good idea.” In the middle of the commotion, Rajib had slunk out of the car and joined with the rest of the guys.
“Tanvir, how on Earth did you get John Oliver? Why is he here? Why do you guys have fake spreadsheets on iPads? And what is Abir doing inside the community centre? This is supposed to be my wedding, not an episode of Kids Next Door! AND THAT IS NOT HOW ALGORITHMS WORK!”
Rajib turned towards Anika this time.
“My dear shalika, please. I have always looked forward to this day in my life where I would finally get to settle down and have the family I always wanted with someone I love. I know my brother might have given the impression that this charade had been set up so I don’t have to give you guys the money. That was not the case at all. Tanvir here said they’re just going to have some fun at the gate dhora and there were so many things to keep track of throughout the seven wedding events everyone insisted upon, I thought – sure, go ahead. I am very sorry this happened, apu. Can we agree on an amount and get on with it?”
“Yes, bhaiya. Fifty thousand is a good amount,” Anika replied, her face stoic.
“Okay, apu. How about you guys keep 10,000 and we give you rest of the money later? We don’t have that much cash on us at the moment,” Tanvir replied, following the script all the grooms did at every wedding he attended.
“Oh, don’t worry, bhaiya. We have a solution. Nusrat apu works in a bank after all,” Anika said, this time with a smile.
In the only useful display of tech the entire night, Nusrat produced a credit card machine from her handbag.
“Uhmm… Apu, dKash hobe na?”
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