Rules of Revelry

A party that lasts 3 years teaches you a lot of things.



February Fantasy:

Everybody on the dance floor

It is hard to remember how many bottles of alcohol were consumed. It is also hard for most people to remember the events of that night. The terrace, the bedroom, the dance floor and yes, the bathroom, had all been taken over by the music. No-one remembers how it began but at some point, the dirty dancing crackled and spiralled.

Come on baby, light my fire...

The body-count per individual ranged from none at all to 6. Most people were somewhere in between. Could have had something to do with the fact that the party was one day after Valentine's Day, which seems to be designed by Hallmark and Archies to make everyone feel inadequate.

Or maybe everyone was just drunk beyond belief. Drunk on the vodka and the whisky and the gin and the beer. High on the beautiful weather that night- Delhi winter's last lap. On College. On each other. On Madonna and The Beatles and Punjabi remixes. Sloshed because of the sense of the ridiculously safe anonymity on a dark dance floor where it is nearly impossible to tell who you've wrapped your arms around and are dancing with. High on the fact that maybe you don't even want to know who you're dancing with. High on love, or the possibility of it. And wasted on an occasional shot of infidelity; most potent of all in my opinion (also leads to the worst hangover but that's besides the point). And, most of all, drunk on the fact that there is no impending judgement.

----Remember, 'the morning after' is just like any other morning and ought to be treated as such.



Smoky September:

Last day of the fest. No Escape.

I get knocked down, but I get up again

"Can I bum a cigarette off you please?"
"Sure. It's a Navy Cut though."
*smiles*
"That's my brand too. Thanks."
*smiles back*

The cigarette is lit and the two of them stand together smoking.
Pull-hold-puff-pause-pull-hold-puff-pause

"Crazy scene tonight huh?"
"Yeah... Look at them going at it on the dance floor!"
"Why aren't you with them?"
"Need a breather."
"I see... Beer?"
"Sure."

Sharing a drink.
sip-pause-sip-pause-sip-pause

I drink a whisky drink, I drink a vodka drink
I drink a lager drink, I drink a cider drink

They never make it back to the dance floor. The conversation at the bar carries on. Inconsequential, regular stuff. Right uptil 2:00 AM when the place finally closes down.

Nah, don't worry. It doesn't turn predictable and they don't end up best friends for life/ get married to each other. But every time they meet after that, they share a smoke and a drink, and the No-Escape-night sparkles in the fizz and glows in the embers of the Classic Mild/ Benson and Hedges/ whatever (brands change with economic prosperity!).

Nostalgia in tobacco and alcohol.

I sing the songs that remind me of the good times
I sing the songs that remind me of the better times

----Sharing a cigarette or a drink is a quasi-religous experience.
Yes.
It is.



March madness:

Party in Ghaziabad. We're in North Campus. A one-hour drive away.

"Are we going?"
"Too far ya... Too much of an effort. Let's just chill at home."
"Cool. What are we eating? Chinese?"
"Hmmm... Momos and fried rice."

The College boys arrive alongwith the delivery boy.

"Come ON women. Let's go! All the third years are going... It's a full on third year scene. And the Maths guys have bought an insane number of beers."

We hesitate. What finally decides the matter is that it's easier to go than to spend half an hour making excuses.

Leave at midnight. Get there at 1:00. The party's just getting started.

A massive garden with beer bongs placed in strategic spots. General camaraderie. The music is loud and EVERYONE is dancing. People being thrust up on the table one by one. Cheers and beers and no-more-tears...

The electricity lets us down A general protest. One smart cookie drives his car onto the lawn and puts on the music- full blast. Never say die.

We wind up at 5:30 AM. The cops have arrived. Flee the scene!! The cars screech out of the driveway past the police vans.

Three cars driving side by side on the highway. The last few cigarettes and bottles of vodka being passed from car to car, while driving. Laughing at the madness.

Driving up the ridge. It's a winding road and contrary to the popular perception of crazy, drunk college kids, all three cars slow down and drive carefully. Blind turn coming up. We're in the first car and we take the turn.

screech-skid-crash-silence

A Maruti van, speeding in the opposite direction on a one-way road has crashed into the car behind us. We park on a side and suddenly there are 20 people on the road. The Maruti driver has already fled into the forest before anyone could react. He must have known he had crashed into a car full of Sports players (who also happened to be Jats). The two passengers weren't quite as smart. The College crowd loses its temper. When you're high and still driving carefully, an accident really hurts. The Maruti-men are hauled out and bashed up. We (that is- the girls) protest feebly but there isn't much point.

K. walks around in a trance and comes up to us.
"Have you seen my shoes guys?"
He's been walking around barefoot.
"Nope. Just go sit down in the car please."

The cops are a 100 metres down the road and have arrived. They stand around, enjoying the show. For those of you who are unfamiliar with North India's social dynamics... Jats and cops are brothers, kindred spirits...

The frustration has finally been vented. The passengers pay up to cover the cost of the damage.

The cops see us off with strict, paternal-style instructions to drive carefully and get some sleep.

"Thank you ji! Bye!"

Home sweet home. N. had left the party earlier. He took the keys and is now sleeping inside.

ringing-the-bell
ring-ring-ring-ring

Crap.

"Call him."

dial-no answer-dial-no answer-dial-no answer

Oh, you have got to be kidding.

Banging on the door, screaming his name together on the count of three. Six voices shout in unison. Our knocking is bringing the damn house down.

N. has evidently passed out good and proper.

The neighbours are now screaming at us. Bedlam in the building.

We give up. Drive to another friend's place and collapse into bed at 8:00 AM.

----Every night is a potential adventure and holds the possibility of a memory you will recall with fondness.
Also, don't mess with Jat footballers and hockey players.



December Disaster:

A birthday party. Beautifully done up. Waiters and expensive food and lush green lawns and a DJ. Vintage airplanes in the backyard.

'Cos i try and try to forget you girl
But it's just so hard to do
Everytime you do that thing you do

A hand up a skirt is all it takes to ruin a night.

She was wearing a very pretty skirt. Short and shimmery and green. He was talking to her when suddenly, without preamble or permission, he thrust his hand under the flimsy fabric.

What an idiot.

I don't ask a lot girl, but I know one thing for sure
It's the love I haven't got girl, and I just can't take it anymore

Her boyfriend was livid with rage (yes, there was a boyfriend in the picture) and I think he would have killed the offender if he hadn't been held back by friends. She was sobbing in the corner. Some of the guys slapped him around. A couple of his friends attempted to defend him.

"He's very drunk yaar. He's had too many."

The host realized that the party could easily turn into a war-zone and it nearly did. A couple of people got beaten up. They weren't involved in the episode but that hardly matters when tempers are running high and there's a girl involved. Blood on the dance floor.

"Take him away guys. We'll deal with it later."

They do. He doesn't come to College the next day. Only after 30 days and repeated apologies does he step into the hallowed halls once again.

----Don't be an asshole.
Alcohol is not a reason or a valid excuse. You only do the things you really want to do.



January Joint-

Sitting around in the sun.

rolling rolling rolling rolling rolling

Boom Shankar

Memories of Malana and Manali. Someone's got a friend along whose sitting with us.
Take three hits and pass it on. The group is large and there are only 2 'J's. The new chap's turn.

1...2...3...4...5...6...!!!

The old-timers look at one another. Obviously a rookie. Hostility is growing in the circle.

7...8...9...

Someone takes pity on the poor chap.

"Dude...pass it on. There are a lot of people left."
"Oh sure, sure.. Sorry!"

5 minutes later, it reaches him again.

1...2...3...4...5...!!
6...7...8...9...!!

----Every social activity involving more than 3 people is a ritual and has its own rules.
And some people never learn...