Our lovely relatives!
Again one of those species whom we love or hate, but cannot ignore. They help us to have a so called social life, they give us the tag of "family person", they help our parents to look for a match for us, they help others in gossiping about us and such. You find them interfering when you are in your twenties. You become the interfering one once you are in your thirties.
But, no matter what we think about them or how we react to their "concern" for us, we always welcome them home with a smile on our face. Those lunches and dinners together have always been a fun affair. Well Almost a fun affair I should say.
Since morning, we see our mother running around, arranging for crockery, new table cloth, shining cutlery, etc. Windows wear new curtains too. The menu is decided two days in advance, consisting of one sweet and couple of special dishes, with starters, deserts and welcome drinks in place.
There are certain instructions issued to us about behaving ourselves (even dad gets the same), wearing certain kind of clothes and keep an eye on their plate while they are eating. All said and done, with many rounds of laughter and saying good bye officially; it is a time for the door conference!
I am sure, most of you will be saying now - oh ditto happens with us too.
We all fail to understand - why is it so that people prefer talking at the door than in a room on comfortable sofas?
At least in my family this is a common phenomenon. My mother and aunties keep talking at the door for at least an hour, no matter what time it is! Our dinner plan usually starts late as people arrive after nine, but the door conference goes on even if it is past mid-night!
I once made one of the biggest mistakes of my life by asking my mom the logic behind this. She was too sentimentally attached to the ritual it seems. But well, I was "illogical and stupid" as I had asked such a dumb question.
My assumption - the door conference is usually a gossip session that the ladies never want to admit they do. But they are at their happiest at that time, so let the sleeping dogs lie.
Thank god my mother does not read my blog.