Dolly Chopra, all five feet two of her, stood that day draped in her favourite sky blue chiffon sari. Impressive diamonds twinkled on various parts of her anatomy. At 55, she still considered herself young and desirable, failing never to mention that fact to her friends, family and above all her husband, the long-suffering Mr B. K. Chopra. He of the meringue-round and laddu-soft demeanour.

An air of excitement hung over the Chopra household that day. Feverish activity could be observed in every corner. Baby-pink chandeliers with shiny open glass mouths were being polished to a diamond shine, mother-of-pearl inlaid coffee tables were pushed from one corner to another and the Lladro figurines of dancing ballerinas, (Mrs Chopra's pride and joy) were being feather-dusted by none other than the chief peon from the French Embassy. Not that all this scrubbing and shining was entirely rare, after all Mrs Chopra as the doyenne of the South Delhi social set was used to flaunting her house as a repository of good taste and opulence. What made this day different from any other was one simple fact. Anshu, their only child was flying home to introduce his American fiancée for the first time and Dolly Chopra wanted to leave no stone unturned in her quest to impress her American daughter-in-law to be.

The news of the engagement had come as a shock. Mr Chopra as usual had shrugged his shoulders philosophically, muttering about fate and destiny, before beating a hasty retreat to his import-export factory in Noida. Dolly Chopra reacted quite differently: for two days and nights she hurled virulent abuse at the heathen, cow eating, non virgin who was wresting away her son from his cherished homeland. When Mr Chopra quietly reminded her that it was they who had pushed Anshu into doing his post-graduation in the US, he was shouted down. Dolly Chopra had other plans for her son. For a start there was Mr Nanda's daughter, an only child, who had an intrinsic talent for cherry-picking the biggest jewels in town. Every September she would decamp to Dubai, coming back laden with the most exclusive Cartier creations, ready to hit the Diwali party circuit.

Delhi was teeming with eligible, fair-skinned, convent-educated only daughters who would make an eminent match for Anshu, but Dolly Chopra's entreaties were to no avail. Anshu insisted in letter after letter, phone call after phone call, that he had met his soulmate. "Let her be your soulmate," Dolly had pleaded in vain. "Have your fling but at least get your worldly mate here in Delhi." The phone invariably went silent at this point. But Anshu was now finally coming home, worn down by his mother's persistence over the phone. He wanted to bring Katherine home, not for approval or veto, but merely to introduce his wife-to-be to the whole conundrum that was India.