Come December 31st, the scramble for party plans will reach its peak. Frantic scrolling through address books has started. How else to call the scattered jing bang and figure out who's going where, and the best place to be is which? To avoid this mad fury, wouldn't you think a preferable new years eve plan would be for a jovial bunch of, say, fifteen people you like enough to hug and kiss at midnight, to be snugly collected and milling about a dining table at home?
Predictable as that is, wouldn't you rather spontaneous side hugs and camera flashes going off in the company of people you enjoy? Introductions wouldn't be needed amongst such few people. Being stupid would be allowed and welcome because these people would know you. They would understand and empathise with your tendency to be part tickled about that last photograph where you have half a chip perched at the corner of your mouth. That would be nice. Something familiar and cosy, like these home affairs where stand-in DJs tinker with CDs and someone circulates a plate of kebabs. Barbecue could be an option. Dip can be hung the night before and fairy lights brought in for the occasion. Laughter usually sets the mood easily and conversation knows how to find its place. Bottles do the rounds. And glasses, yes please, are topped up full-full.
Who wants to visit loud Dahli clubs with laughable cover charges and zero parking space? Why spend half the night speed-dialling the homies to get in on their exact co ordinates? That too provided Bharti Airtel and other cell phone networks behave.
I'd think we could all do without bribing cops and stopping at all stupidly-spaced check points to have one poor on-duty policemen shove his necks into driver boy's mouth to smell out the daaru. And really, why bother with this business of a cavalcade of DL/ HR cars with various couples in each, all driving in the fog, all racing to get to some farmhouse before 12?
Dress code wise, everyone will wear black. No gender bias, there. But the girlies will do the boots and bling. Given the time of year, the it fabrics will be synthetic and wool, and winter corduroy will make cameo appearances. Women will freeze. All of us ladies will have freshly washed hair. Ironed, if not poker straight. And we will collectively give birth to one shiny disco ball of static electricity.
Socks won't go well with pointed-toe shoes so icicles will replace feet and, except the boots wearers, of course. But even given the clothes-to-season mismatch, there will be not one whimper out of any of us because we're so happy to just NOT be sitting home in bed after dinner watching Titanic on Star Movies.
No, seriously. New-Year's. What plans?
Predictable as that is, wouldn't you rather spontaneous side hugs and camera flashes going off in the company of people you enjoy? Introductions wouldn't be needed amongst such few people. Being stupid would be allowed and welcome because these people would know you. They would understand and empathise with your tendency to be part tickled about that last photograph where you have half a chip perched at the corner of your mouth. That would be nice. Something familiar and cosy, like these home affairs where stand-in DJs tinker with CDs and someone circulates a plate of kebabs. Barbecue could be an option. Dip can be hung the night before and fairy lights brought in for the occasion. Laughter usually sets the mood easily and conversation knows how to find its place. Bottles do the rounds. And glasses, yes please, are topped up full-full.
Who wants to visit loud Dahli clubs with laughable cover charges and zero parking space? Why spend half the night speed-dialling the homies to get in on their exact co ordinates? That too provided Bharti Airtel and other cell phone networks behave.
I'd think we could all do without bribing cops and stopping at all stupidly-spaced check points to have one poor on-duty policemen shove his necks into driver boy's mouth to smell out the daaru. And really, why bother with this business of a cavalcade of DL/ HR cars with various couples in each, all driving in the fog, all racing to get to some farmhouse before 12?
Dress code wise, everyone will wear black. No gender bias, there. But the girlies will do the boots and bling. Given the time of year, the it fabrics will be synthetic and wool, and winter corduroy will make cameo appearances. Women will freeze. All of us ladies will have freshly washed hair. Ironed, if not poker straight. And we will collectively give birth to one shiny disco ball of static electricity.
Socks won't go well with pointed-toe shoes so icicles will replace feet and, except the boots wearers, of course. But even given the clothes-to-season mismatch, there will be not one whimper out of any of us because we're so happy to just NOT be sitting home in bed after dinner watching Titanic on Star Movies.
No, seriously. New-Year's. What plans?
7 comments:
Great post, Nimpip. I'm going to a farmhouse with KA-reg cars, myself. And wearing a dark brown shirt.
{this is not a comment}
Guilty I am! Will be at home only.. since the only other option I have is a gay bombay party and can't set that tone for year, now can I?
and a happy new year to you too!
Drinking with four economists...weird, but fun. Happy new year, Pips.
Per: Hey. Good party then, the KA farmhouse?
Blueeei: Shae-dap! You just got back from holiday. No stay-at-home sympathy for you. Part-envy if anything.:)
(as always, froze in Delhi)
Chandu: Hello ji. Happy to you too:)
Mister ji: Haan ji. A good 09 to you too (again). Can't imagine how much fun you must have had with your four economists (where have all the lawyer boys gone?) but sounds cosy.
Thank you for the awesome blog, N. I have sort of become an addict, coming back every day to check for new posts. Keep the food for thought coming. I must say your blog helps with my vocab too (blashphemous this coming from an M.A. in "English," of all things). By the way, have you started on that novel? Have you? Best time, before you get sucked into that world of 9-5, or whatever it is you want to do next.
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