The most intense discussion in our household takes place not over current affairs, diet plans or who gets to exercise control over the television remote, but on what everyone’s plans for the evening are. No Bollywood actresses get into as heated catfights with their designers for wearing the same outfits to an event as the kids do over where they’re planning on chilling with their friends. Disaster is sometimes narrowly averted only after establishing that their presence at the same new hip hangout in Khan Market will not permanently scar their youth.
“So, where’re you going?” brother and sister ask each other by way of greeting. The response is always “Dunno” though, in fact, they do know exactly where they’re headed with their groups of friends. Embarrassment that they might land up in the same spot is sometimes compounded by the threat that their parents, on a night out, could be celebrating with their friends in the party room of the same lounge. “Why can’t your pals have their parties at home?” snaps my daughter, consigning us to a generation when simpering couples coyly cut the anniversary cake together instead of – as they do now – ignoring each other on the dance floor they’re burning up with their best friends. “Why don’t you stay at home for a change?” my wife lashes out, upset that the kids have decided that it’s alright for us to go out as long as we don’t change our minds and drop in unexpectedly for a drink at Capitol or Smokehouse.
We’re declared safe once we indicate our entertainment plans for the evening. “LAP,” guffaws our son, “that’s for the oldies anyway.” His own plans are based on who is part of that evening’s group. Blue Bar requires young gentlemen to be accompanied by ladies, so the girls – always in short supply – have to do courier duty, ferrying multiple boys from under the noses of the bouncers at the front. “Keep your phones on please, girls,” says the nerd in their group who, the previous time, had to sit it out because, once they were inside, either deliberately, or mistakenly, they forgot about him, leaving him to spend a lonely evening watching everyone else step in while he remained dishearteningly out.
“Let’s see,” says my daughter, “we could go to Hype,” which is members only, but someone in the group has the manager’s number. “Or to Shiro’s,” where someone’s friend’s father is a member. “Maybe we’ll do Roxbury,” nods my son, “or maybe we’ll head for Urban Pind.” Both have been economical with the truth, which becomes evident when, instead, they come eyeball to eyeball at Boombox — where both had intended to go in the first place. It’s bad enough that brother and sister are nonplussed, but the buddies don’t seem to think much of it either. “Same place as your sister,” mutters my son’s friend, “it’s not happening, dude.” “Eeyew!” says his sister, “don’t your friends know any other place in town?”
They do, as a matter of fact, and that’s precisely why weekend plans become a minefield of non-options. “My cousin’s going to Route 04,” starts off my son’s friend. “My mom said she might drop in at F-Bar,” laments another. “Eliminate Kuki,” chips in a friend, “my brother’s insisted on reserving it for his buddies.” “Maybe Shalom,” muses my son. “Hey,” butts in his sister, “my pals and I decided on Shalom before you did.” “Yeah, well, my uncle’s having a gig there — you might want to re-think,” says my son’s friend. “Once you’ve figured it out,” I yawn, “let me know, but please remember that your mom and I have made reservations for staying home tonight.”
