First we were going to Sarla’s home for New Year’s Eve, but because she had guests at home, the party was cancelled, and we had to look elsewhere for entertainment. “It’s just as well,” my wife informed me, “Sarla’s food is always the same, year after year after year, so I’m glad we will now go to Padma’s house for the celebration.” But Padma had other things on her mind, and entertaining a house full of guests, some of whom she didn’t know, was low on her priority, so at the penultimate moment she cancelled as well. “Hmph,” said my wife, “if she thinks we don’t have another place to go to, well, she’s wrong; we’ll just have to tell Savitri we’re coming over to her place with a few of our friends.” But Savitri said she didn’t think her husband wanted to be amidst strangers on the last day of 2008, and when Gunjan was rude and asked why my wife was soliciting invitations, and Paro giggled meanly and said oh no, they were going out, why would they stay at home to welcome 2009, my wife went into strategy mode. “We need to plan our New Year’s Eve,” she informed the family.
And so, on the eve of New Year’s Eve, the four of us went out for dinner, to figure out what we wanted to do the following night. “It would be nice,” said my son, who was visiting from Pune, “if we could go to a really rocking party with some cool music and a great DJ.” “I think,” my wife said, “we’re too old for that sort of dancing; besides, we’d be among total strangers, we must do something that’s more intimate and involves just the four of us.” “You mean, come out for dinner like we’re doing now,” enquired my son, “but we’ve already done that.”
“Let’s go to F-Bar,” said my daughter, “or Manre, or Elevate, or Ministry of Sound, that would be so hot.” “I don’t think they’d allow you in,” I reminded my daughter, who is underage and therefore ineligible for entry at these places, but she shrugged and retorted, “It’s not about age, it’s about attitude. Anyway, you can pull strings to get me and my friends in, and then you oldies can go and have dinner someplace quiet.” The plan, crushingly for her, was vetoed, and so she griped, “I hope we won’t have to have dinner by ourselves again, it’s so boring,” which was hardly a nice thing to say considering that’s just what my wife and I had agreed upon.
Eventually we decided that we’d a) go to one big bash somewhere with music, b) sneak into a bar for a bit, c) wind up with a four-course meal at someplace snotty enough and trendy enough to please everyone in the family. But even the best-laid plans sometimes go awry, and having received some sobering news late in the afternoon, my wife insisted she would cook us a special meal for dinner, but we’d have to camp at home.
“That’s so retro,” screeched my daughter, and applying mascara somewhat liberally, flounced off to a neighbour’s home where a party was in progress. My son chose to sulk in his room, barely getting out for a bite, as a result of which my wife and I fought too, and so we were all in bed and tucked up long before midnight, and asleep when 2008 slipped into 2009.
And ever since Sarla and Padma and Savitri and Gunjan and Paro have found out about our dysfunctional New Year’s Eve, they haven’t stopped crowing about what a wonderful evening they had, and what a bunch of losers we are.
Happy 2009, anyway.
