Wedding date: December 12, 1989.Wedding venue: A hall in Golbari, booked with a non-refundable deposit, helpfully described as a mundane rectangular building for special occasions with dentist-chair lighting.The groom: A 26-year-old quick-witted engineer – an IITian, no less (cue appreciative nods). We shall call him Khochu, as his university peers did. Why? Because he was easily irked when goaded: Khoche jeto… aar ki? Illustration: Pariplab Chakraborty Fresh out of college, Khochu was seemingly devoted to no one and nothing besides weekend trips to Betla National Park, the affable Old Monk, and a moustache much too large for his face. This is to the best of my knowledge; the man died eight years ago with all his secrets intact, and thankfully no moustache.In 1988, Khochu’s parents had decided it was time for him to be a husband. For efficiency, they parsed the matrimonial columns of The Statesman for the top three bridal candidates.The bride: For starters, must not be otherwise occupied on December 12, 1989.Let the genteel Hunger Games for a husband begin. A goody-two-shoes 23-year-old History major’s stolid barrister father arranged for a laconic announcement in The Statesman. His elder daughter was now of “marriageable age”.Khochu, Lady Gaga and her father. Photo: Author providedSaid daughter’s daak naam was Gaga. A daak naam is a mortifying Bengali pet name bearing no relation to your bhalo naam, or “good name”, conveniently confusing everyone you meet for the rest of your life. We shall call her Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga’s father went forth with her photograph to meet prospective families. One asked him: “Aapnar meyer gaayer rong ki aapnar moto (Is your daughter’s complexion like yours)?”Progressive as Bengalis asseverate themselves to be, the seedy underbelly remains utterly besotted with Snow White.Lady Gaga later told me the euphemism for dark-skinned was shyam-borna, a phrase also often used to describe Lord Krishna’s dusky complexion. Strangely, Krishna’s epidermal hues proved no impediment to his mythical career as a Lothario. Anyway, Khochu’s parents were the silver lining in this ominous shyam-borna cloud. They candidly admitted they wanted to decide post-haste and that two other ladies were in the running, coincidentally, both acquaintances from Lady Gaga’s university cohort.One Saturday morning, at seven, Lady Gaga’s parents were summoned for tea at Khochu’s South Calcutta home. They punctiliously arrived 10 minutes early and stood outside until precisely seven to ring the bell.As they waited, my grandfather said, “Don’t expect your daughter to get married into such a well-heeled family.”My grandmother shrugged. “Why would I have any expectations of that kind?”Why indeed.Inside awaited lightly-brewed Goodricke tea, tasteful china, lace filigree mats and meticulously arranged accoutrements courtesy of Khochu’s mother. Then came the roshogolla. Khochu and Lady Gaga. Photo: Author providedFor the ungainly bunch, a syrup-filled roshogolla is a daunting prospect to devour gracefully, and my grandfather was our mascot. As he valiantly cut into one with a teaspoon, it escaped his plate, completed a perfect inverted parabola – the pinnacle of my mathematical prowess in this lifetime – and splattered across the intricate lace. “E raam! O maa go!” Oh my god.As the roshogolla slipped away, so, presumably, did Lady Gaga’s marital hopes. Except companionship, it turns out, occasionally owes less to destiny than to deposits.One of Lady Gaga’s competitors had been eliminated for being “too forthright”; the other’s father was working in Europe and pleaded for the wedding to wait until February 1990 so he could attend.Khochu’s father pointed out that the deposit for the December 12 wedding venue was non-refundable. The rest was, as they say, Golbaari history. Despite the roshogolla carnage, Lady Gaga and Khochu found their way to each other for 28 years, until Khochu’s sudden demise in 2018.Fast-forward to 2023: Lady Gaga’s wiseacre daughter, living on another continent, told her she was moving in with her partner.I explained that I needed to live with him for at least two years before contemplating next steps. I had prepared a battery of justifications: changing relationships, cultural differences, the peculiarities of being a biracial couple. “I am an adult and I’m doing it anyway!” waited as a particularly sophisticated final resort. The joke was on me.She nonchalantly agreed it was prudent and asked about the logistics.My mother, Lady Gaga, played roshogolla roulette while I hinged my hopes on playing swiping solitaire. Neither of us could have known where the smallest things – a newspaper box, a deposit, a swipe on dating app – could lead.She remains a shyam-borna enigma to me. Her blase acquiescence to my decision was the anti-thesis of the dramatic shaadi.com showdowns she had with my elder sister, before that reached a precarious stalemate. Maybe her origin story had clouded my judgement. I thought she would have a more traditional approach to this.Lady Gaga and her two daughters. Photo: Author providedMaybe it’s about time I realise I will never fully fathom the depths of her personhood as we continue to support, exasperate, confound and celebrate one another. Her response to mine was no grand declaration of changing values, no intergenerational reckoning. Just a shrug, a practical question, and permission I hadn’t even asked for but was quietly moved to receive.Take a bow, Lady Gaga!