More than two decades ago, my princeling cousin brother was astride his steed to fetch his bride. I, heady with a mix of elation and a few afternoon tots of rum, was dancing out front along with village locals, as raucous as Shiva's hordes. Just when the villagers dived down to collect the small change showered from above, I was unceremoniously yanked away into the family fold, where I received a stiff upper lip reprimand in a voice terse with pedigree: "Baraat ke aadmi naachtey nahin!”" (Family folk do not dance in public.) For a half-blood ne'er-do-well like me, that was that.