I have never had a good time at a party. I happened to watch this strangely symbolic movie yesterday, 200 Cigarettes, which reveals the uncool lives of an unconnected group of people on New Year's Eve, all of them trying desperately to get fixed up in some situation that would save them the reality check of discovering they're losers. The situations included: A, ending up at some happening party, B, hooking up with someone for the night (who knows where that might lead?), and C, being somewhere and just having a whale of a time (getting drunk with somebody hot, laughing, being lightheaded, letting it all hang out, more or less).
With New Year celebrations around the corner, there has never been so much preparation or pressure, socially speaking. I went to one all-night New Year party in 2006, the first New Year I spent away from home, and I was cold, lonely, pretending to have a great time with my friends, but just wanting to get home and spend the evening with my family. I did get home.. at 7:00 a.m. on the first of January! Last year, I went to Brigade Road with a group of friends, watched people act crazy, ate chicken-dosa at Empire and had Suleimani chai. I am going to stay at home this year, with my mom, and have a quiet, reflective and peaceful New Year. I will be working on Dec 31. Questions are already flying thick: "What are your plans for New Year?" and I don't want any of the hassle of planning for that day, or the hype that surrounds it. I don't want to get all befuddled trying to figure out what to wear, or spend a fortune on a pair of ridiculous witchy black boots that'd just collect dust in my closet that I might wear for one party once a year (almost ALL my friends have this pair of almost unwearable boots). And no, I do not want to go to Catholic Club.
It's not like I haven't had my wild days. I'm no saint - no one is. I'm just someone who's ultimately chosen the path less taken - the path of sensibility and sobriety. I have lain on the beach in Goa watching the sun go down and then come up over the water, hip-hop and trance music blaring, the multifarious crowd partying strong even 12 hours later. I've bunked college to visit party places at 12 noon where it doesn't make a difference whether it's night or day once we're inside, it's so dark and soundproof. I've lost count of the number of friends' cars I've been in - music thumping, reckless driving, me being dropped off in the middle of the night outside my house. I've co-hosted parties with close friends at their houses, and I've accompanied friends of friends of friends to parties at their houses on the outskirts of the city. I've dressed up and gone to classier events where the same fun was had, but in a more elite way, where people didn't hug, but air-kissed, and where the cans of beer were replaced with delicate-stemmed flutes of champagne. A lot of years - a lot of parties. And though I've forgotten the people, the music and the jokes - I still clearly remember one thing: I haven't truly enjoyed being at a single one of these parties.
All I've come away with is a head full of throbbing music, memories of screamed conversations because the music was too loud, visions of people's teeth as they burst into uninhibited laughter, echoes of too-loud shrieks of alcoholically-enhanced delight, remembrances of people acting silly because it meant they were "having fun," the clink of glasses at bottoms-up competitions, and the clanging, empty noise of what is generally considered a good time. People are so crazily different when they are drunk - I've witnessed everything from girl-on-girl action, to stripteases, to pour-alcohol-on-your-head-and-get-on-top-of-a-table shimmy-shaking, to supposedly erotic pole-dancing, to guys skinny-dipping in the Bay of Bengal at 4:00 a.m., and I've held the hand of numerous girls and boys who were too drunk or stoned to walk. Everyone feels so adventurous and they'd do just about anything from playing risqué, ribald Truth or Dare, to exposing various parts of their body just for kicks. The couples make out in front of everyone because they want to show the rest of the gang they're having... an especially good time, maybe?
Then there are always the inevitable few people (girls, mostly) who pass out, or curl up in a corner in tears, suddenly not in the mood to party. And it becomes the unspoken duty of the sober ones to console and cajole them. They share their love stories with me in drunken, slurred words, of how they loved and lost, or how they're loving and losing right now. I've accompanied scores of my girlfriends to the powder room, where they check their makeup, convince themselves that they're looking hot enough to attract whichever guy they've their eye on for the evening, smoke a stealthy cigarette in the loo, spray on some deo like they weren't already reeking of stale perfume mixed with the smell of a few splashes of their own spilled drink and second-hand cigarette smoke, and waltz back out into the group, ready to socialize some more until the next visit to the john in about 23 more minutes.
Boys look funky enough in low-waist jeans and an ab-hugging T-shirt, but God help a girl who lands up at a party in those very same things. I did that once - I was unwell and was in no state to step out, but I happened to be my friend's ride, which meant if I didn't go, she'd be stuck without transport. So I put on an old shirt and jeans, and was ready to take her to the party. She arrived at my place, tottering on her impossibly high heels, and her first words were, "Aren't you changing? Wear a better shirt!" I was quite pissed with her comment and didn't bother changing, and was glad I didn't succumb, because we went to Nyk's and it was freezing, and I had a fever so I was burning AND freezing, while the other girls were wearing standard party clothes which consisted of a few straps, some scraps of fabric, and little else. I felt no sympathy for one of my friends when the flimsy noodle-strap of her "hep," revealing dress snapped, leaving her trying to uncomfortably conceal the incessantly-plunging bodice of her dress for the rest of the slippery evening. I don't even own such clothing - first of all, because I don't have a fabulous body to show off - and second, because I could never wear a mini-skirt or a strappy top in freezing weather AND in the midst of the stares of a hundred strange people, from the fat, middle-aged partygoer at the next table, to the bartender who gives me a strange look when I politely request him for orange juice without ice.
Sometimes it all feels like an all-that-glitters mating game. We girls are obliged to dress up in inches of clothing to earn those precious compliments from the boys, who suddenly notice our earrings on party night, or a flash of leg or cleavage, and are in high spirits, alcoholic and otherwise. The couples fall more in lust with each other, and the singles dance together in a noisy corner where a "friendly" guy approaches and says, "Hi, I'm new to Bangalore, would you know if there's an after-party happening anywhere? Oh, you don't? Well, me and my friends are sitting right over there. If you'd like, and there's absolutely no compulsion, please feel free to join us. *broad smile* **wink**" Everyone's advertising, selling and buying themselves.
So parties are a way to "meet new people." Whatever happened to honest, good intentions, no mindgames, conversing intelligently with someone, discovering you had enough in common to want to keep talking, becoming genuine friends, and then taking it to the next step as naturally as possible? It's sad that meaningful interaction with people has taken a backseat. Everyone's trying to outdo everyone else, and in this quagmire of artificiality, I am thankful for the few real friends that I'm lucky enough to have.. friends who became my friends the old-fashioned way. Friends quickly made are friends quickly forgotten - it takes time to create any bond of true value.
One part about partying I really enjoyed was the dancing. When Bangalore used to dance, that is. I liked dancing when there was a protective wall of male friends around us girls, like my friends' husbands or boyfriends, to block us from the unwanted groping hands of strange guys around us. The craziest unblocked dancing I've done was with an all-girl group of friends at the Taj Residency once - this huge, stoned, drunk guy had made a mess of the dance floor, he'd crashed into a waiter with a tray full of drinks, there was glass everywhere, he was still crunching away and dancing on top of it with his girl, he was slamming and smashing into everything around him, and I pushed him off me so many times. He was eventually hauled out by the bouncers - elements like him, and there are many, make it impossible for a single girl or group of girls to enjoy something as innocuous as dancing to La Gasolina.
I used to party to fit in, but I don't care about belonging anymore. I don't want to be part of a system I don't believe in. I don't drink or smoke, the rare occasions when I've tried to, just to be a part of the happening crowd, I've been left with paralysed senses and disjointed fragments of human shapes floating around, dancing, smoking, laughing and making their presence vividly felt. The fading din of music and intoxicated conversation, and the aftertaste of acrid cigarette smoke in my hair that remained long after I got back home, has put me off parties for now. I don't know when and if I'll ever want to attend one again. I want to stop going simply to avoid passive smoking, or smoking just because my friend is smoking and it's such a "girl thing" to share a cigarette that's disgustingly clammy and red with liquid lipgloss, as if it wasn't already disgusting anyway.
I do not condemn people who need nicotine or alcohol to shed their inhibitions and relax - all I know is that I can relax just fine without them. I do not judge my friends who party - you guys rock - you know that. I am different.. not better, or worse.. just different. I love the feeling of being completely in control of my senses, and I wouldn't trade that feeling for even momentary headiness or light-headedness. I love being able to talk coherently, knowing that I am not making a fool of myself. I love being able to get into my car after leaving the company of my friends, knowing that I will be able to drive home safely. I value the knowledge that I haven't ingested any substances that, no matter what modern health books may say about red wine, are harmful, period. I fail to understand why people measure the amount of fun they had by how drunk they were. "We were so drunk!" is a commonly-heard refrain while one decribes a party later, to his/her friends who weren't there. I have never "hooked up" with anyone at a party and I am thankful for the conscience I possess that prevents me from even going in that direction. I am not even attracted to anyone with an addiction of any sort, if only all the guys who try their drunken luck knew that.
I sometimes am the only one in the group who doesn't "do anything." People are often surprised at me. I went to Pecos for the first (and only) time last month, and had lime juice and admired the decor. I like long, lazy lunches, bookstores, Shopper's Stop, interesting conversations, long walks and old Hindi music. I wonder if I'll wake up one day, look back, and regret not partying like there was no tomorrow. Nah.. unlikely. I already know what kind of life I want to live, and I am living it - a simple, straightforward one. I like the way I am and most importantly, I am comfortable in my skin. I am the same person everywhere, and with everyone. I don't need a smoke or a drink to feel better or happier. And I'm grateful I have the brains to know what's bad for me, and to stay away from it. I was talking to my best friend the other day, and she put across a very important point that there will be all kinds of people in the world, and that I shouldn't expect everyone to be like me. I agree with her - my friends are wonderful people in their own way - and I love them. It's just the untamed party animal in them that I simply cannot identify with. All I ask of destiny is that I cross paths with more people in life who are like me: 100% human, and not part(l)y animal.
