It was all Rasta’s idea. A friend of his cousin invited him to the wedding. I expected to have an invitation card at least, but there was none. We all went anyway, Fatso, Rasta, Baba VaTata and me. There was room enough in Baba VaTata’s car and everyone was in a jovial mood. Over the past few days, the sky had specks of cirrus clouds with no promise of rain and on this day, the sky looked a spectacular blue and it was hot. In that kind of weather, it was easy to sweat under the armpits and without spraying some perfume, people around you would be uncomfortable because of the body odour. Their looks would speak a thousand unkind words!

By the time we arrived at the wedding venue, the party was already in full swing, but we could not enter the hall immediately. At the gate, the security guards demanded to see our invitation cards which obviously we did not have.

“The wedding is strictly by invitation,” said the security guard who was in charge. At this, we all looked sheepish and looked at Rasta who had invited us.

“Where is your friend who invited you?” Said Baba VaTata.

“Let me try to call him, he will come and explain,” said Rasta.

“This is embarrassing, it does not look good,” I said, as I observed those with their invitation cards easily enter the venue of the wedding and giving us peculiar looks.

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“My friend is not even here, he is not even coming,” said Rasta, shaking his head from side to side.

The friend had apparently decided to stay away from the wedding.

“So why are we even here, this is bad,” I said.

“Let’s go back home,” said Baba VaTata. I could see that a volcano was slowly building up in his body. I was surprised that he had not yet burst out in anger for being taken for a ride.

It was just at that moment that one of the invited guests recognised Fatso.

‘What is your problem?” he said.

“There is a bit of a complication here, we don’t have invitation cards,” said Fatso.

“So what?” he said.

“Allow them in, they are my guests,” he said. He had some influence and the security guards let us in. That was how we gate- crashed. It was embarrassing enough and I told myself that it should not happen again in future. It is quite uncomfortable to be an uninvited guest.

Apparently, our problems were not over. As we entered the hall, I noticed the exquisite decorations as we tried to find a table. There were red and white rose flowers and the aisle had numerous small balloons that reminded one of Cupid,  the Greek  God of love, portrayed as a winged infant or cherub, armed with a bow and arrow, which he used to instill love or desire in his targets. Likewise, the ceiling was richly decorated and the red lights added to the splendor. The cake looked outlandish in gold and red, the colours of the bride and groom.

We could not find a vacant table and some guests were turning their heads to look at us. It was awkward. I could see that Baba VaTata’s back was stiff. He was seething with anger and rightly so. I was slow to anger but I was slowly getting there. I blamed myself. Our folly was to accept Rasta’s  verbal invitation which was worth nothing in the scheme of things.

 We failed to find a vacant table and one of the ushers showed us some chairs at the back of the hall. It was quite obvious that we were unlikely to get any refreshments or food and there was no one to blame except ourselves. Instead of taking the offer of the chairs at the back, we all shuffled outside the hall, afraid of further embarrassment. The big lesson is to never go where you are not invited or wanted so that you keep your dignity intact.

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