They are all also devout Hindus, keeping utterly blameless people awake all night with their Vishal Bhagwati Jagrans (all-night musical devotional gatherings equipped with very powerful amplifiers; no one—and I mean no one—can sleep that night in that neighbourhood, unless you are stone deaf). Their weddings are a huge urban traffic issue (I suffered through it night before last, travelling through Ghaziabad, a city right next to Delhi, and part of the National Capital Region), because the groom, on a horse or in a horse carriage, is accompanied by a band, and scores of relatives, friends, well-wishers and unconnected drunks, who dance the last mile, taking up half the road—even if it is part of the Golden Quadrilateral of highways—and then they are met by the bride’s party who dance with them, taking up the other half of the road, thus bringing the GDP to a halt (trucks carrying stuff have to wait for hours), seriously subverting citizen rights (I want to get home to my family, but I can’t because Mahesh is marrying Pinky), and possibly causing many deaths (why should ambulances have a privileged status?).