Even though Diwali is later than usual this year, celebrations – in Delhi at least – seem to have started earlier than most years. Teen-patti parties kicked off a fortnight ago, and though there’s no news yet of big-ticket wins, or losses, hostesses are already having a tough time scheduling their soirees — that annual outing of and for Lakshmi. My wife has thoughtfully taken out the previous year’s recycled gifts to put into a cabinet by the apartment door, so the kids – who freeload their Diwali presents shamelessly from us – have easy access to whatever is in the mysteriously wrapped packages.
Our own Diwali bash looks tentative with the cook going away for a bit, throwing any plans in disarray. My wife would prefer to do her annual hosting at the start, my daughter laughing that it’s to ensure that friends don’t pass off second- and third-hand gifts that have been in circulation from party after card party, till they’re stowed away for the following year. We all also know someone who’s likely to ask an IIM (Indian Institute of Management)-type to prepare an Excel that allows the least room for someone to receive back a gift she might have first begun by giving away.
“But,” complains my son, who works late hours at office and can only party over weekends, “why has the Diwali season started so early this year?” Perhaps it’s the weather, which is already cool in the mornings; more likely, it’s the doings of Arvind Kejriwal & Co, who are listing scams so fast and furiously, it’s difficult to keep with who is, or isn’t, tainted. In times of acute unhappiness, what better than to lose yourself in alcohol and gaming chips? True, you might squander away a fortune, but even that’s a high compared to the news the papers report in the mornings. My son, who is a lawyer, would like to caution everyone that winning, or losing, isn’t a simple matter any more, now that the Right to Information can open a Pandora’s box of favours given, or received, in the guise of Diwali. His solution? “Make sure you’ve got your flush hand on camera.”
That’s a bit iffy. Besides the impracticality and invasion of privacy, my wife, who has an opinion on everyone’s hand and how it should be played, will likely lose her remaining friends if she begins to question why someone moved the ten of hearts when it should have been obvious to anyone that it could be a backup for a suit, and, anyway, what was I doing playing blind when the only luck I’d ever had was when I married her (“Ha ha,” she says, “it’s a joke.”). At any rate, if Anna Hazare was a votary of prohibition, the Kejriwal cohorts are doing the damndest to drive us all to drink.
I have it on good authority that two things are different about gambling parties this year. The first, that barter instead of cash has become the preferred mode on the high table where you’re likely to see anything from mobile phones to luxury cars exchange hands among men, while women are playing hands for a Tarun Tahiliani jacket, Jimmy Choo shoes “worn just once”, and “that ring you liked when I wore it to Mona’s party”. And, the following morning, the office chartered accountants are on call to tote up the previous night’s wins and losses into MoUs (memoranda of understanding), so that it’s all legit. Who wants to be exposed for winning or losing a flutter or two among friends?