Reserved Table for Real Ones Only

If I could host a dinner and invite anyone — world leaders, celebrities, long-lost philosophers, or intergalactic aliens — I’d still choose my favorite people: my family and friends. Because let’s face it, what’s the point of inviting Einstein if he can’t pass the sambhar without spilling it?

I’m not the type to drool over the idea of shaking hands with someone I’ve only seen on TV. I drool more over my mom’s biryani and my kids’ laughter echoing across the dinner table.

“Fame is fine, but familiarity is flavour,” someone should’ve said. If not, well, I just did.

Imagine the chaos of inviting a stranger like Shakespeare — he might talk in riddles while I’m trying to figure out who took the last puri. Or Elon Musk attempting to explain Mars missions while my aunt interrupts to ask if he’s married.

I’d rather spend that magical evening watching my cousin dance to 90s music, my husband trying to crack dad jokes, and my best friend rolling her eyes as I serve burnt garlic bread with confidence. There’s no pressure to impress, no awkward introductions — just stories we’ve told a hundred times and still laugh at like it’s the first.

“Home is not a place. It’s a table surrounded by laughter, overcooked food, and people who know your Wi-Fi password.”

Thought to Ponder:
In a world obsessed with followers, maybe the real luxury is dining with those who know your soul, not just your profile.