Introducing Kittu Vasani | My Best Friend’s Son’s Wedding

She may be in her forties, but things are really looking up for Minty Sood. A single mother of a twenty-two-year-old boy, she is the toast of Delhi’s social circles, Puneet Bhalla is suave, wealthy, and wants to marry Minty. So, of course she accepts! … Twenty-four hours before her son proposes to his girlfriend! Now Minty has to switch gears from bride-to-be to mother-in-law-to-be, which is awkward enough to begin with, but there’s also the intimidating mother of his son’s fiancee, a secret love affair and a crazy best friend to deal with.

From the bestselling author of Koi Good News? comes a rib-tickling new novel about family, friends and not one but two big fat Indian weddings. Read this extract from My Best Friend’s Son’s Wedding to get a taste of the shaadi flavour:

 

The Memoir of Kittu Vasani

(This is a working title. It may change to Party Girl or A Suitable Girl or something else later.)

I was born in Delhi to Raveena and Mukesh Jain on 26 February 1977. My father had a flourishing glass factory and my mother was a sophisticated housewife-cum-social worker. I was their only child for six years till my brother Rishabh came along. I was an ideal child – obedient, conscientious and hardworking.

My mother did a lot of charity work, and was an active member of the Jain Sanstha for Working Women. That’s where I get my talent from (check if charity qualifies as talent).

I studied at the St Mary’s Girls School in New Delhi. I was an all-rounder. I excelled in academics, sports and arts. I cleared my twelfth grade with distinction and was awarded with the Outstanding Student of the Year prize. I was studying interior design when Vineet Vasani, popularly known as Tuttu, saw me at the Gymkhana club with my parents and immediately wanted to marry me. My to-be father-in-law had a garment shop textile business in Sadar Bazaar, Delhi’s largest wholesale market, and was very well respected, so my parents instantly approved of the match. (I approved of the match because back then Tuttu had a head full of hair, fit into shirt size medium, was fair skinned, shy-looking and could pass off as ‘cute’. Also because back then you could actually see his smile and not just the rolls of fat that kind of gather under his chin when he tries to smile now.)

I also approved because he was best friends with Sunny Sood. The Sunny Sood. Of Sood Hospitalities. For everyone who has forgotten, Sunny Sood was the rage back then. He was the most eligible bachelor in town – rich, successful, handsome. He was always in the news and was Delhi’s very own Shah Rukh Khan. In fact, in the early ’90s, more people in Delhi knew of Sunny Sood than of Shah Rukh Khan. But by the time Tuttu and I were engaged, it was the summer of 1997 and Dilwali Dulhaniya Le Jayenge had released, so Shah Rukh Khan had raced ahead of Sunny Sood.

Tuttu and I have two sons, Ranvijay and Yudhveer. (Mummyji, my mother-in-law, insists on calling my children Jai and Veeru, even though I hadn’t intentionally named them that way.)

We live in a palacial bungalow in Punjabi Bagh West (important to specify as West is far closer to the famous Punjabi Bagh Club than East), but I’m actually a South Delhi girl from Greater Kailash Part I. (Also important to specify the part because Greater Kailash Part 3 is not really Greater Kailash, it’s Masjid Moth.) And while we live in a palacial bungalow in Punjabi Bagh West, it’s only because of our emotional attachment to the house (it was built by Tuttu’s forefathers) and not because we can’t afford one in South Delhi.

Basically, we may sound like West Delhi people but we’re not, and both my kids have studied in the Great Britain Scholarly School and have taken A-levels and O-levels like they have them in the UK.

I had to stop writing midway because Ranvijay sauntered into the room and took my laptop from me. Snatched it just like that! You see what I mean? He has no manners whatsoever. I don’t know where I went wrong in raising this boy. He walks around like a zombie most of the time, dressed in black, thick headphones around his neck, his face buried in his phone, unkempt hair flopping on his forehead.

I really want to tell Ranvijay off as I do so many times a day but in hindsight, he’s the better son. At least he’s around. Yudhveer, my younger one, I haven’t seen in weeks. Bhutia Bai informs me every morning that he had returned safely the previous night, but if someone were to kidnap him, I would be unable to help the police make a sketch of my own son. That’s how little I see of him. Though I realize now that they won’t need a sketch of my son, but the kidnapper, but you know what I mean. And I know that you don’t need a sketch at all in the age of mobile phones, because I have more than enough pictures of my son on it. Not of the kidnapper though. You’d still need a sketch of that.

Anyway, Ranvijay coolly returned my laptop after a few minutes and told me that first of all, it’s ‘palatial’ not palacial. Second, that I have to stop exaggerating my achievements, especially in school, because he’s seen my report cards and unless scoring in 50s were the then 90s, I had little to boast about. He also snorted at my mention of outstanding student of the year achievement. But he may snort all he likes; I really was nominated for the award. Mrs Meena had told me that I was her choice for it, even if they didn’t officially give it to me. If only she had been a more important teacher and not just the chemistry lab assistant who knew my mother through the Jain Sanstha for Working Women kitty, she would have made it happen. So you see, that award was as good as mine.

Then he tells me, my very own son, that I’m a fool to think that the publishers want to print the memoirs of my baap- dada. ‘The only reason you’re famous is because you are best friends with Minty Masi. It’s Minty Masi who is famous,’ he said. And added that actually what the publishers were looking for was Minty’s story. But of course Minty being who she is, can’t write a book about herself. So, they had approached me.

I was furious, and afraid that he might be right. I immediately called up Frieda Lalwani. I accused her of ulterior motives and waited for her to defend herself. She did not.

Instead she said, ‘I’m so impressed by Ranvijay. He really is sharp. Yes, that’s what we want this book to be focussed on. Of course you can write about your life too, wherever you feel it’s appropriate.’

Wherever I feel my life fits appropriately in my own memoir.

I slammed the phone down and let out a string of expletives that I can’t put down here because one day my grandchildren will be reading this book, but it suffices to say I was very angry. Very, very angry.

I had a good mind to cancel the project all together, but then Frieda called me back and convinced me that actually our lives – Minty’s and mine – are so entangled that neither of us could ever tell our own story without telling the other’s too.

Which, I agree, is very true.

I thought about it, and I suppose I’m still going to be a published author, whatever I write in my book, and that was my purpose. So I’ve decided that I’m going to go ahead. Only now it will be called The Life and Times of Kriti and Minty (working title).

 

To read more from Zarreen Khan’s latest novel, order your copy of My Best Friend’s Son’s Wedding today!