Guys and Gals Gone Wild

You usually know what a gathering is going to be like when you view the guest list.

For instance, if A is invited, you know the party will involve dancing. With B around, who knows, even the rasam might be spiked. C will regale the crowd with his antics. D’s eyes will dart around the house, summing up your latest purchases. E will start yawning even before dinner is served. F will never compliment the hostess on the food. G will sail in late, air-kiss her friend du jour and leave early. H will not make eye contact with you or admit he reads your blog. I and J will flaunt their wardrobes, while K will make furtive glances at your chest as he talks to you.

So, when mom received an invite for an adult birthday party recently that included all the above guests and then some, she immediately accepted, knowing that the evening would invariably invoke an ode to Bacchus - and there’s nothing more entertaining for a non-drinker (at least for the first five minutes) than to watch normally sensible people get plastered and completely shed their inhibitions.

“Please be there by 7 p.m.,” the hostess had requested. In keeping with their desi roots and sense of timing, some guests were still streaming in at 9 p.m.

The patio party was just warming up as mom arrived, a mere hour late. It was a beautiful, starry night, the kind of night that makes you forget the summer heat and the scorpions, and be grateful that you don't live in some frigid city on the east coast, where the guests would be huddled inside with the heat on, while 25 raucous kids would be thundering upstairs, causing the chandeliers downstairs to rattle.

This time, while the kids stayed inside and undid all the cleaning done just before the party started, the adults gathered outside, sipping on sangria and catching up with certain people they hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with the last eight months or more.

The party began in earnest once the sets of visiting parents from India had eaten and left. Bellies were sated with Jamaican rice and spicy chicken and bladders threatened to explode with the booze. Bottles of hard liquor were poured down parched throats, Kajra re almost shattered eardrums and body parts jiggled in time to the music.

Maybe a hectic week of organizing and attending Navrathri functions finally took its toll on the women. Maybe it was the fact that 40th birthday bashes roll around only once. It could’ve even been the trifle pudding ... whatever the catalyst was, some of the invitees proceeded to let their hair and guards down, much to the amusement of the sober spectators watching from the sidelines.

The host was thrown into the pool, and in a show of spirited camaraderie, his male friends joined him. An attempt was made to throw the hostess into the pool, but her thoughtful girlfriends, conjuring up visions of a soaked Mandakini in Ram Teri Ganga Maili or a wet Raveena in Tip Tip Barsa Paani, intervened on her behalf.

The party progressed through the night and the alcohol consumption showed no signs of slackening. Birthday cake was smashed in people’s faces, leading certain impressionable minds to ask mom difficult questions, such as, “Why is that aunty covered in frosting? And why is that uncle licking her face?”

Ah, well ... 10 years from now, at the host's 50th bash, mom knows the tables will be turned and she'll probably be looking to her kids for enlightenment.

Until then, cheers everybody!