For an antisocial person I had quite a social weekend and miraculously, I did no work at all. Of course, the mag is dreadfully late but I have decided to leave it up to fate on the lines of the ancient Greeks.
On Saturday, we had birthday of Indian friend (the one who wanted to go to bhangra after the party). At around 5 pm, totally groggy from afternoon nap, call the girl and she goes “Hahn so you’re coming for the bhangra after no?” I’m thinking – err but I already made my excuses on that one. Instead I say: “But I’m working on Sunday”. To which she goes: “Arre so am I”. Now what to do I say to that – especially since I can’t hear her because V is shouting “tell her we have a party to go to the next day”. What V doesn’t realise is that most other people can handle more than one event per weekend. But I don’t have tickets, I say, honestly believing that to be the final word – to which she replies something that I cannot hear.
Anyway, it is pissing rain the whole day, not making for encouraging party mood. For once, V is trying to get me to be late – I swear I think he is scared of Indian gatherings. But I insist we must get there on time because S (the birthday girl) has requested that we be there at 6 (no 6.30, no before 7). Anyway, when we finally get there – it’s just us and the caterers. I should have known – S is perennially late. V and I start behaving like the kind of married couple who have nothing to say to each other. I think V gets edgy if away from the TV for too long. I am pmsing so average a fight every two minutes or so. Topics range from ‘why are you emailing your ex’ to ‘why did you tell me I couldn’t stay with you when you first moved here but your sister could? (ok long story)’.
Finally, the hosts arrive. It looks like they have insufficient wine. I am happy to note that other people (apart from me) are scatty. The crowd at this party ranges from old people to babies to people of our age. Three people in the room are wearing a sari. Two girls typify the Indian person you want to avoid – asking intrusive questions unrelentingly and generally being ‘aunty’. S is manic and insists that we either dance, sing or play musical chairs. We end up doing the latter! And then still S wants us to dance. It wasn’t as horrific as you would think – especially since there were samosas.
Throughout the evening, people are trying to get us to go to the bhangra thing. It turns out that S has told the organizers to keep two tickets for us. Maybe we should have gone since it was her birthday and all but I hate bhangra and I didn’t want to be standing there with a face. Finally V says that a friend of his (already alluded to for legitimacy) is waiting for us and we will meet up if he agrees to go. S’s husband offers us his ticket if we need an extra.
V and I go home to bed (at 11 pm).
The next day, V is doing everything to cop out of the first birthday party we have been invited to. It doesn’t help that it is still pissing rain. I have to wade out to buy a gift – the toyshops are really not as fun as I expected.
We make ourselves presentable (which means that I don’t let V wear a T shirt) and head over the venue. This is first birthday Indian ishtyle – which means children’s party with entertainment and giveaways and lots of adults invited to Indian lunch. We don’t know a soul except the hosts who I expect to be really busy. Glimpsed the child whose birthday it was – she looked overwhelmed and ready to cry but didn’t.
Whole thing is surprisingly nice. We meet old (ok elderly) man who reminisces about Pune, decries the state of Indian hockey and rues the rising cost of labour. To which V points out about equitable distribution of wealth and he freaks out “Is he a commie or what?” Then hung out with a bunch of white people who play hockey and were otherwise vague about what they do. I spotted the head of debt at Citi who I think is so cool because he said “dude” in his presentation but resisted the urge to say hello. Food was so good that I developed huge paunch and someone actually asked V if we were having kids (so says V – he is really rude about my tummy). Everyone at the table actively discouraged us from having kids (while sending their daughters to fetch beer from the bar).
Though we had fun, cannot remember the names of anyone we met.
To kill time that evening, we went for a Cantonese film (there were no English films playing that we hadn’t already seen). Ended up being a horror thriller about Chinese black magic. Gritty but surprisingly well made.