It’s that time of the year again—the glorious Christmas season, sprinkled with a generous dash of parties! Different venues, diverse themes, eclectic groups of friends—each gathering feels like a new episode in an unending social sitcom. And I, for one, never shy away from my starring role: the dressed-to-the-T attendee.
Let’s be honest: dressing up for these events is half the fun. Shopping for the perfect outfit, meticulously following the dress code—its like a big project in itself. I love it when there’s a theme. It gives my mind something to chew on—an opportunity for creativity! For instance, one such party inspired me to go as “Razia Sultana,” but thanks to an untimely illness, I ended up as “Rajaai ( रजाई)Sultana,” swaddled in a duvet, Netflix remote in hand. Life, they say, has a sense of humour.
Before every party, I indulge in a ritual that’s equal parts amusing and strategic: the pre-party revision of current affairs. I skim through headlines with the seriousness of someone preparing for a pop quiz.
Who’s Putin plotting against this week? Not hard to guess.
What’s Sir Keir Starmer on about now in British politics? (Spoiler: He’s probably just standing sternly.)
Who died on Coronation Street?
Which pop star is reverse ageing—or is it regressing?
And let’s not forget the ever-relevant wellness updates. In 2024, if you don’t know your Vitamin B12 from Vitamin D, are you even living right? These are the new superheroes—knights in shining armour fighting fatigue and saving the day.
Work parties? Oh, they’re a breeze. Grab a good-enough outfit, toss it on, and voilà—you’re ready to mingle while casually avoiding any awkward run-ins with your boss near the dessert table. But what truly intrigues me is the seating arrangement. Who decides who sits where? Is there a spreadsheet for it?
In the end, it boils down to this: liven up the table or be remembered as the person who silently demolished the breadbasket.
The food at parties—ah, now that’s where things get tricky. It’s often a hit-and-miss. The meat is mostly half-cooked, the veggies are sadly over-boiled. Thankfully, desserts always rescue the evening. A rich chocolate brownie or a gooey pudding has never let me down.
And then there are those gloriously unique desi-firang parties. The vibe screams champagne and hors d'oeuvres, but the food proudly announces, “Aloo tikki, samosa chaat, biryani zindabad!” It’s confusing but comforting
Now, here’s the paradox. Despite my enthusiasm for attending these soirées, deep down, I sometimes feel painfully disconnected—like a lone extra in a crowd of well-rehearsed performers. This feeling isn’t new; it’s been my quiet companion since childhood. Back then, I’d dread the countless parties my mum hosted because they meant wearing a mask. Not a literal mask (though that might’ve been more fun), but the mask of interest, of belonging, of playing the part.
Do you ever feel like that too? That you’re surrounded by people but feel utterly alone? That the social energy you exude drains you out to the core? I’ve learned to cope with it in the most ironic way possible: by attending another party. It’s like the gym—you push yourself through frustration, fatigue, failure, and only to get up and do it again.
So, here I am, hopping from one party to the next, living in a haze of sequins, small talk, and dessert plates. At least until the next season rolls around and Razia Sultana decides to make her glorious comeback. Until then, it’s Rajaai( रजाई) Sultana, signing off!
MKP
17/12/24
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