<p>Recently, I received an invite from one of my old friends for his daughter’s wedding reception. At the bottom of the invitation card was a note in fine print: ‘No gifts or bouquets, please. Your presence is the blessing’. I heaved a sigh of relief—not because I could not afford a gift for the occasion but because of the trouble that the man had saved himself from. </p>.<p>I remember the house-warming ceremony of our dream house a few years back. The number of guests, including all our near and dear ones, ran into hundreds, as we could not afford to ignore anyone who had invited us in the past—even if that invitation had come a decade or two earlier. With no fine print about wishes and blessings in vogue then, we were happy and amused to receive colourful bouquets and neatly wrapped gifts that day, only to curse our misfortune two days later for the very same reason: the gifts and bouquets. </p>.<p>Every display place in the new house was filled with idols of various deities, all smiling at us, with Ganesha presiding over the lot. The lilies and gerberas, which had adorned every corner in beautiful bouquets just two days earlier, were now drooping. Little flowers and ornamental grass lay scattered everywhere, unmindful of the freshly polished floor. Gift wrappers were strewn all around. </p>.Artemis and the great Moon race.<p>My wife—not to mention the maid—kept cursing her misfortune over the ordeal she was undergoing in the new house for the next two days. She nagged, “You had to call everyone, didn’t you? Who will come to clear all this mess now?” I could not disagree with her.</p>.<p>So naturally, I was happy to be spared the task of choosing a gift—crockery or curios, wall hangings or idols. I presented myself at the wedding reception of my friend’s daughter in my best attire, empty-handed, only to be surprised to see many of my friends carrying colourful bouquets and gifts. I smiled sheepishly at them, my hands firmly tucked into my trouser pockets. I whispered into the ear of a close friend, “There was a note in the invitation. Did you see it?”</p>.<p>He replied casually, “Yeah, it was in the fine print. So I ignored it. In fact, it reminded me not to forget to carry a gift.”</p>.<p>Though it embarrassed me, his reply did not amuse me. I was sure my host friend would thank me two days later for having heeded his sensible note on the burden of clutter. But as I stepped down from the stage after wishing the newlyweds, my friend hugged me, thanked me, and exclaimed, “The gift you brought for my son’s wedding last year was great!”</p>.<p>Was that his way of reminding me that I had taken the fine print a bit too seriously? </p><p><em>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</em></p>
<p>Recently, I received an invite from one of my old friends for his daughter’s wedding reception. At the bottom of the invitation card was a note in fine print: ‘No gifts or bouquets, please. Your presence is the blessing’. I heaved a sigh of relief—not because I could not afford a gift for the occasion but because of the trouble that the man had saved himself from. </p>.<p>I remember the house-warming ceremony of our dream house a few years back. The number of guests, including all our near and dear ones, ran into hundreds, as we could not afford to ignore anyone who had invited us in the past—even if that invitation had come a decade or two earlier. With no fine print about wishes and blessings in vogue then, we were happy and amused to receive colourful bouquets and neatly wrapped gifts that day, only to curse our misfortune two days later for the very same reason: the gifts and bouquets. </p>.<p>Every display place in the new house was filled with idols of various deities, all smiling at us, with Ganesha presiding over the lot. The lilies and gerberas, which had adorned every corner in beautiful bouquets just two days earlier, were now drooping. Little flowers and ornamental grass lay scattered everywhere, unmindful of the freshly polished floor. Gift wrappers were strewn all around. </p>.Artemis and the great Moon race.<p>My wife—not to mention the maid—kept cursing her misfortune over the ordeal she was undergoing in the new house for the next two days. She nagged, “You had to call everyone, didn’t you? Who will come to clear all this mess now?” I could not disagree with her.</p>.<p>So naturally, I was happy to be spared the task of choosing a gift—crockery or curios, wall hangings or idols. I presented myself at the wedding reception of my friend’s daughter in my best attire, empty-handed, only to be surprised to see many of my friends carrying colourful bouquets and gifts. I smiled sheepishly at them, my hands firmly tucked into my trouser pockets. I whispered into the ear of a close friend, “There was a note in the invitation. Did you see it?”</p>.<p>He replied casually, “Yeah, it was in the fine print. So I ignored it. In fact, it reminded me not to forget to carry a gift.”</p>.<p>Though it embarrassed me, his reply did not amuse me. I was sure my host friend would thank me two days later for having heeded his sensible note on the burden of clutter. But as I stepped down from the stage after wishing the newlyweds, my friend hugged me, thanked me, and exclaimed, “The gift you brought for my son’s wedding last year was great!”</p>.<p>Was that his way of reminding me that I had taken the fine print a bit too seriously? </p><p><em>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</em></p>
