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Chapter 1: The Bakshi Chaos Begins
The Bakshi mansion looked like a warzone disguised as a wedding venue. Half-decorated walls, forgotten ladders, and a stray goat (courtesy of the groom’s uncle, who insisted it was “good luck”) added to the atmosphere. Somewhere in the chaos, Nikhil Bakshi, better known as Niki, was attempting the impossible: staying invisible.
“Niki, beta, stop hiding behind the sofa! Come here!” his mother’s voice boomed, making him flinch.
Reluctantly, Niki emerged, only to be handed a tray of samosas.
“Take this to the aunties. And make sure Aunty Vimla doesn’t eat more than two—doctor’s orders,” his mother added.
“Ma, I’m not a waiter!” he protested.
“You’re not a waiter yet,” she snapped. “But keep refusing work, and you might become one.”
Grumbling, Niki shuffled into the living room, where Aunty Vimla was already eyeing him like a hawk. He held out the tray. “One per person, Aunty. Doctor’s orders.”
Vimla scoffed, snatching two samosas. “Your doctor doesn’t know my cholesterol levels. Give me another.”
Before Niki could argue, his younger cousin Chintu skidded into the room, wearing sunglasses indoors.
“Niki bro! Emergency!” Chintu exclaimed dramatically.
“What now?”
“I need you to drive me to the tailor. My sherwani’s too tight.”
“Maybe stop eating the leftover gulab jamun every night,” Niki muttered.
Chintu gasped, clutching his chest. “How dare you? That’s wedding energy snacks! You’ll never understand.”
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Enter Niha
Meanwhile, Niharika Sharma, or Niha, entered the mansion like a general inspecting her troops. Clipboard in hand, she zeroed in on the living room chaos, where Niki was now trying to wrestle a third samosa out of Aunty Vimla’s grasp.
“You,” she barked, pointing at Niki.
Startled, he dropped the samosa. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Who’s in charge of this circus?”
Niki blinked. “Um… technically, God?”
Niha rolled her eyes. “Great. I’m dealing with a philosopher. Listen, the decorators are late, the mandap looks like it belongs in a horror movie, and—why are you holding a tray of samosas?!”
“Community service,” Niki deadpanned.
“Put that down,” Niha ordered. “We have an emergency. The catering manager just called—they’re out of paneer!”
The room fell silent. Somewhere, an aunt fainted in slow motion.
“Out of… paneer?” Niki repeated, horrified.
“Yes,” Niha said grimly. “Do you realize what this means? If there’s no paneer, there’s no butter masala. If there’s no butter masala, there’s no wedding!”
“That escalated quickly,” Niki muttered.
Niha smacked his arm with her clipboard. “Focus, Niki boy! We need a plan.”
“First of all, don’t call me that,” he grumbled.
“Fine. I’ll call you Tofu instead, since you’re clearly useless under pressure,” Niha shot back.
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The Missing Necklace
The next disaster struck during the jewelry rehearsal—a bizarre Bakshi tradition where every family member admired the bride’s accessories for no apparent reason.
“It’s fake!” Sanya screamed, holding up the prized heirloom necklace.
“What do you mean, fake?” yelled the groom’s father, spitting out his chai.
“See for yourself!” Sanya thrust the necklace at him. “This isn’t gold—it’s… it’s plastic!”
Pandemonium ensued. Aunties clutched their pearls. Uncles muttered about family curses. Chintu suggested selling the plastic necklace on Instagram.
Niki stood frozen in the corner, hoping no one would rope him into this. Unfortunately, Niha had other plans.
“You,” she said, grabbing his arm.
“Why me?” he squeaked.
“Because you look like someone who has nothing better to do,” Niha replied with a sweet-but-deadly smile. “Now, let’s go. We’re solving this mystery.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
As they marched out, Chintu called after them, “Hey, if you find the real necklace, can I use it for my next TikTok?”
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To be continued
Stay tuned
