It’s that time of year. The stars have aligned, the mahurats are perfect, and most importantly, the Marine Drive gymkhanas are ready. Weddings are coming. And as a half-Gujarati, I get invited to about four billion a year. If I so choose, I could be the Kishen Mulchandani of weddings, racking up four a night, with awkward photos to prove I was there. But I’d rather eat used needles.

People my age are rejecting their parents’ notion that weddings are where you pay off all social debt. So they’re not inviting that one aunt who invited you to lunch once, or dad’s distant business contact who may or may not want to sign a deal next year. Representation pic/Thinkstock