This is a desperate attempt to create a story where none exists. As a young man who has freshly returned from the United States after announcing his white girlfriend, I expected some fireworks when I got home; but all was calm on the eastern front. I thought, perhaps an announcement that I will be moving to LA with her could create excitement; that did not help. Will it help if the cause if I make it clear that we have not decided to marry? That did not either.

I am sorry to tell you, my reader, that I have no story to offer: no fireworks, no excitement and nothing interesting to share. My grandma in her mid-eighties now demands to see Dr. K on Skype, and my family is preparing to meet her soon. As a demonstration of acceptance, a long list of people are bracing for her visit with a list of ENT ailments, and we are preparing to turn the guest bedroom into a clinic. Some complaints may require surgeries, and the family is considering installing a floodlight, an oxygen tank and a table with the hope of converting the bedroom into an operating theatre; after all, improvisation is a part of being Indian.

All this goodwill is very disappointing, for I have no story to share. I heard that happy people, like happy nations, have no history. It surely feels good to be happy, but the urge to make history is irresistible. Perhaps I should provoke an uncle or two with something really scandalous. The clock is ticking.