New year’s eve and morn were FANTASTIC!
This year, some of us opted to whip up good food and sip chilled wine at a friend’s pad, dilate our pupils at the cheap antics of a crude but well-meaning Kazakh journo and laugh at familiar impersonations of Indians and folks of other nationalities, abroad, by a Canadian Indian stand-up comedian. There was microwave-roasted chicken made in herbs, garlic and wine. And smokes sausages. And a smattering of vindaloo. And buttered bread.
And so, we beat the crowds, traffic, potential molestation by hordes of depraved Indian men and potential death by drowning post dancing atop a lame stage.
We crashed at about 5 am and woke up at leisure. Breakfast was eclectic — margarita sandwiches, rose-flavoured tea, cookies, plum cake and followed by more rose-flavoured tea.
Initially, I was wondering if age is catching up. But when I checked in with a couple of 20-somethings on their party plans for New Year’s Eve, most were hitting the sack, early or attending/hosting a house party.
Then it dawned on me. The Mumbai party scene is a trifle jaded now, and needs some spicing up. There’s nothing new and affordable and unpretentious and avant-garde, to offer. Sam old, same old…sigh.
