You don?t have to do that all the time, you know, Mr Paulk,? I told the 70-ish American who?d come down to attend his daughter?s wedding to my cousin. James Paulk and his eight-member entourage had rather touchingly over-observed every Indian habit ever since they had stepped off their British Airways flight at Dum Dum airport. At the moment of talking, he?d respectfully saluted a six-year-old boy with an elaborate namaskar, his hands hardly ever removed from that position all the days he spent here.

Just like all of the unquiet American tribe that accompanied him. They dressed themselves in dhotis and saris, coiled themselves painfully into lotus positions, struggled gamely through complicated Bengali cuisine and watched ? with awed attention ? some of our madder rituals.

?The wedding?s going to be a lot of fun,? my cousin Sumitrajit had predicted, breaking the news of his engagement to Julia Paulk, his colleague at Northwestern University in Illinois, ?but I expect you to help me help the meye-pokkho?.

I?d got the most important portfolio of the wedding and started on my job in right earnest. From that minute they arrived to the time the Paulks drove off to the airport, I was on high alert. Armed with miniscule handycams and their hands perpetually folded in pranam, the Paulks were quite a sporting lot. Bombarded with information and ?friendly? advice (from the ?unofficial? guides ? the scores and scores of relatives and family friends), they smiled throughout and were all ears when it was my turn to speak. I was beginning to enjoy my newly acquired status.

The most important part ? and perhaps, also the most difficult ? was explaining the rituals of Hindu wedding ceremonies. It wasn?t easy for them either. For example, how would you explain uludhwani? To my ears, it?s nothing short of the battle cry of primitive warlords. It startled the Paulks but they had to rest with the knowledge that ulullation ushers in for us, as it does with the Greeks, good omen.

And while they were eagerly capturing moments of the gaye holud ceremony, the Paulks were suddenly accosted by a group of relatives. Little did they realise that their faces were about to be smeared with holud. They waited patiently while our relatives accomplished Mission Turmeric. Fortunately, their handycams had escaped the assault.

The real marriage ceremony ? sampradaan ? turned out to be the acid test for my language skills. While the elderly priest went through the nitty-gritties, I played interpreter to James Paulk, fumbling quite a bit.

It was like playing a round of ?What?s the Good Word?? Brahma, Vishnu, Ganesh, Shiva ? and that mystic witness to the deal, Agni ? the names poured out in confounding succession. My poor knowledge of the powers that be asserted itself, but with the help of my mobile connection to educated friends, I was able to fake it.

The ceremony over, it was time to get the Paulks acquainted with the catch of the day. They?d already sampled snacks and munchies ? samosas, jalebis, kachoris. Now it was time to get down to some serious fish-eating. There was a whole range to choose from ? rui, parshey, chingri and so on. While they managed the dhokar dalna, alu bhaja, etc. with the cutlery, the parshey maachh was a different ballgame altogether. It called for a short demo on how to savour the fish. And about 10 minutes later, eight of them (minus Julia, who?s allergic to fish) were using their fingers to separate the flesh from the bone. Next in popularity was ledikeni (?May I have some more of those red balls please??).

Julia?s dad was the most impressed of the lot. And he wanted to describe to his folks back home all the delicacies on offer at the wedding. ?Could you make me a list of all that we?ve eaten here?? he asked. ?Sure,? I replied. That would hardly take me 10 minutes, I thought.

When I sat down to make the list I realised it was easier said than done. It was important to describe the items in a few words; otherwise how would he differentiate between boondi and sandesh? My language skills were tried and tested once again. ?Inflated flour rounds ? is that how you describe luchi?? I asked my colleagues. ?No, flour cakes, I?d say,? replied one. ?Bread,? said another. I very nearly gave up.

Just as I was getting used to my new role, it was time to part with the Paulks. They were on their way (with folded hands) to Delhi, Agra and then Rajasthan. And they gave the parting shot. A copy of Margaret Mitchell?s Gone With The Wind, signed by Carol Paulk, Julia?s mother. ?Thanks for making Sumit and Julia?s wedding a success? ? well, I?d never received such appreciation in my life.

As we parted amid hugs and handshakes, the Paulks invited me to Atlanta to attend the summer wedding in June 2005. ?It?s our turn to play the guide now. Please come,? said Carol Paulk as the Toyota Qualis zoomed off.

If American hospitality is what I think it is, I will.