The first family wedding; first of six. As the grandchildren are now adult-feet-tall, we each stand in line for partaking in the ceremonies of the Gods. We were told it was practice for when our time came. Livid with responsibilities, we each trudged along that devious path but plastered smiles on our faces in the name of beauty. We were caught short by a long tradition. We towed the line. The streets of Old Delhi that once lay in the great Mughal rulers’ wake were rummaged by my kin to procure, in bulk, items of class at minimal rates, for obvious reasons.