This is an extract from one of the essays we're supposed to do for Bengali. Translated. NOT exaggerated.
'During the times of Nawab Sirajuddaullah the joys were many.
The children would listen to fairtytales told by their tender, affectionate grandmothers, and fall asleep on their laps.
The young men would walk around bare-chested, with the pleats of their dhoti swinging and a colourful gamchha thrown over their shoulders. They would generally carry an expensive songbird, but in the worst of conditions, at least a bulbul. A comb would be tucked into their long curls. With betel-juice stained lips half-parted in a whistle, they would roam the neighbourhood. The old men would eat to their hearts content, then smear oil all over their body, hit the bed and snore away to glory.
THOSE WIVES WHO WERE GOOD, would cook and keep the whole household happy. They would scold the children with their heads wagging and nose-rings jingling. In the evening, they would gather at the ghat and talk of oh-so-many things! The older ones were exuberant and emphatic, the new brides used hushed tones and assumed demure postures. These women would illuminat the ghat with their radiance and sweet laughter.'
This is the gayest thing I've read in my whole damn life. But it has it's positives, or rather, positivE. I got to see my mum enact the entire thing, mock-jatra style. I wish I had the video.