Drama in High Heels

Rustling silks and politics. Heavy jewelry and mud slinging. Air kisses and name-calling. Manicured nails and double dealing. Christian Dior and chicanery … no, it’s not the latest saas-bahu offering on Zee TV, but local shenanigans playing out before my very eyes.

As surely as the sun rises every morning, throw a motley group of women together and watch as they pretend to get along for the sake of propriety, all the while baring their claws behind their backs, waiting to scratch each other’s eyes out.

Even after 10 years, mom hasn’t learned her lesson. With alarming naïveté, she continues to extend dinner invitations and arrange potlucks that bring mortal enemies face to face.

A can’t stand B; B hates C; A and C hang out with D but not E and F; E pretends to like B outwardly, but hates her inwardly; G and A are best friends this week, but there’s no telling how the tide will turn next week; D likes E and F but doesn’t want A to know about it; and, F’s husband wonders why everybody can’t just get along.

This past weekend mom issued an open house to her friends under the mistaken impression that nobody got together for Diwali. (Apparently, private gatherings are the norm these days.) When it’s a group invitation, participation usually depends on the guest list. Some will immediately decline, others will wait to see if their friends are attending, and then there are those who will keep the host hanging until the last minute with their maybes and call at the nth hour to decline saying their kid is sick.

It doesn’t matter if one family shows up or 10, mom turns into a harridan the day of the party and makes the entire household miserable. She starts cracking her whip at dawn, insisting everybody join in her cleaning crusade instead of relaxing with the morning paper and a cuppa. It is only when the house fills with the aroma of good food, and all the invitees congregate, that mom starts to unwind and go with the flow.

The last get-together served as a precursor to the next, eagerly anticipated gathering. Furious planning was underway to make the next party a memorable one. Tempers flared, a few manicured nails were almost ready to scratch, votes were taken, polls were conducted, opinions were aired and a consensus was reached about the menu.

To make things easier when it’s time to bid my humans adieu, I’ve helpfully compiled a list of mom’s favorite delicacies to prepare at their farewell party (if they ever leave, and if they’re ever honored with a party, that is).

In no particular order, mom (and, by extension, dad) would like Shivani’s paneer makhanwala; Shruti’s mom’s dal-baati and ginger tea; Gauri’s fruit crisp; Sandhya’s paal payasam and her mom's deep-fried modaks (among other things); Manisha’s mother-in-law’s sponge cake; Viveka’s nankatais and tomato saar; Vijaya’s red curry and her dad’s badam halwa; Zeenat’s bruschetta; Sucheta’s chaat creations; Ashwini’s Maharashtrian dal; and, Nandini’s white lasagna and Thai soup (among other things).

And, please, hold the idlis.