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It was sometime around late 80s when I was whiling away a late winter evening by the Eskaton Garden Road, rats playing piano in the stomach. Back then, regular pocket money meant Tk10 at the most, and half of it went to buy cigarettes.

Anyway, when it seemed that some nourishment was badly needed, I saw a group of friends from the officers’ colony opposite the Navy chief’s residence walking towards us. Since they all looked neat, I could not resist asking where they were headed.

“Chol fao maira ashi,” they said.

Right, some of you may be a bit perplexed by the term “fao mara.” It’s a colloquial term which actually means gatecrashing a party, in this case, a wedding feast.

Oscar Wilde had always been my favourite, and recalling his line “never say no to adventure,” I was up for it.

The entire brigade walked in, had a marvellous dinner, and came out satisfied. The trick is, when you are part of a group, fear hardly touches you. And we also had a fool-proof strategy. Divide the group in three sections, sit at different tables and then, wave at one other vigorously as if we had met after a long time. This method sends the message that there are people in the hall that we know, and hence dispels all suspicion.

So, the fao mara initiation done, it was time for us to get really audacious. Why wait for a group to decide if you want to get a free dinner, my late friend Bachchu asked one day.

Daring that, the plan was to go with or without a group. Since I didn’t want to appear a coward, I agreed with all enthusiasm. They won’t beat us, if we are caught, I reasoned.

Wrong. Sometimes wedding parties can get physical when young men from either the bride or the groom’s side catch and rough up gatecrashers to prove an indirect macho point to the other side.

Weddings are all about competition! Sorry, did I ruffle some feathers?

Once a fao mara took a very ugly turn when some of my pals had to interfere to stop an altercation gone out of hand between the two sides. The reason was trivial. The custom of putting up coffee points was at its infancy, and one elderly person from the groom’s side, in his simplicity, asked if the brew had sugar in it or if it had to be added.

This comment managed to filter through, and some callous relative of the bride’s side passed a snide comment, saying that the girl was being sent to the wrong family, meaning she was being downgraded in social status.

These people have never drunk coffee …

Talk about throwing a match into a stack of crackers!

One thing led to another, and guys from both sides were soon at it; daggers drawn, literally, because in fury someone had picked up the carving knife placed before the solemn-looking roasted goat decorated with carrots.

The goat didn’t say no …

Thankfully, we had a political cadre with us, and sensing his moment, took over, shouting assertively his party position, and naturally we followed. Oi, we are local polapain, meaning we are local guys and this line always works like magic!

The groom’s family was dissuaded from leaving the spot, but the problem began when the girl, after the marriage was registered, refused to go to the boy’s house. Someone from her side had overheard this line: Bashae cholo tarpor bujhamu moja (let her come to her husband’s home first, then we shall see …)

In the end, it was decided that the couple would be staying at the home of our political leader, who was already the centre of attention.

Bhai, which side do you represent, someone tried to ask meekly. But when the leader reached for his waistline with an icy glare, all questions stopped!

Oi machine bair kor (oi, take out the machines), was enough to settle all curiosity!

In what turned out to be an eventful night, we came back with a married couple and a roasted goat!

It was a love marriage, and the guy and the girl had met at university. For the time being, catastrophe was averted, though in the long run, it did not last.

Both the girl and the boy re-married, and the leader, along with all of us, was invited. This time, there were no coffee machines!

At one point, the fao mara had become so ingrained in our circle, that on Fridays, we hardly ate at home and went about the city looking for the right community centre (wedding crawling as opposed to pub crawling).

One day I took a senior friend, a French teacher, to Shohag where a wedding was on, and he was under the impression that I was invited. Halfway through the meal he asked, whose wedding is this, and when I just looked at him and smiled, his jaws dropped. Mon dieu, was all he could say …

From that moment, he could not eat properly, and was looking around like a trapped rabbit, imagining that people were eyeing him suspiciously.

Anyway, I miss those days of reckless fun. We were short of money, but with a little courage, managed to have some great meals. To be honest, one of my pals became so comfortable that he could also confidently ask the waiter: Mamu, rezalar plate change koren to!Read more at:one shoulder formal dresses | mermaid formal dresses