A mere two weeks after my mock warzone adventures, I find myself in the middle of traditional Bengali wedding celebrations. I am in Chittagong, Bangladesh's second largest city, on the invitation of a good friend who is getting married the traditional way.
On his Gaye Holud ceremony, after he's been pasted with Tumeric, washed and dressed for the official evening function, a mesmerising dancer comes on stage. Young, shy and of Pakistani origin, the girl unfolds into a red swirling bundle of energy, displaying her fine art of dance, gesture and mimics on stage.
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