The Utterings of a Disillusioned Wannabe!!

Going to a disc (this word screams out -WANNABE!!) in delhi has brought on a revelation... in this mad mad mad world (I know I know - copyright infringement) of uberVIP's and their tank top wearing cling ons, social status is measured by the amount of freshly exfoliated and electrolysed skin showing. No matter how pathetically mirror cracking you look with 5 different skin tones on the same body (courtesy revlon) what matters is how much of your shoulder, back, cleavage and legs are out having a breath of fresh air. Don't get me wrong, I am as much of an ardent admirer of these, as any roadside Romeo whistling songs of his bollywood counterparts, but having it as an eligibility criteria for entry in a nightclub...

Socially I admit to be a wannabe. As all 20 endings with a decent enough job and fertile imagination, I hope for a vacation in san Tropez, a yacht cruise in the Riviera, a Mercedes S class with a music system even marlin Manson would find loud and of course a flat in DLF Gurgaon. As Recently as yesterday this list has been extended by an item - hosting a private party in a delhi nightclub.

A few of me (nope not a typo...There are crack marks on my weighing machine)and my friends went to one such on Saturday, where we were told with sarcastic pseudo-politeness " We would love to accomodate you but as there is a private party going on we are only admitting guests and those with prior reservations". As my ego tried to get back on its feet from that near knock out blow, I saw gaggling (gaggle of giggling - entry sent to websters) girls looking like bad copies of a Goya nude with spray paint on the interesting bits being let through smilingly by the son of dara singh of a bouncer. As he had failed to look at any reservation sheet or guest list , I assumed the guest list consisted of "60% or more skin showing only" kind of criteria...Which we in your demure middle class mortal morality had failed to embrace. Any how we somehow managed to camouflage ourselves within the gaggle and were ushered in.

Once inside the class divide was finally flattened, its pretty difficult to see anything in the strobed darkness inside so a well shown cleavage and a my drunk friend mooning the crowd looked all the same. In fact for some thing that charges a grand as an entry fee it was like being put in a sensory deprivation chamber. Everything looked dark and sometimes scarily fluorescent, smelt like puke+alcohol+chanel, felt like lycra and sounded like Vesuvius erupting in a rhythmic bhangra (faintly reminiscent of black glassed santros which drag race on Delhi roads...Imminently driven by black goggled teenagers...I wonder why). We got ourselves drinks in sufficient quantities to be able to undergo brain surgery and parked ourselves near the loo. There we got to talking about our latest wannabe item "the Delhi nightclub private party". Not that we could talk much...(the sign language we used would have made iqbal proud) but we communicated. We got to the part where we asked just how many years till we could afford one. Some said three years some four, I showed two fingers and was immediately rewarded with a show of one, which I still do not know if the person had utter confidence in his ability to make it big or was just being rude.

We got out alive, I thanked the selfsame bouncer for doing a wonderful job (I think he missed the sarcasm) and went back home. The next day I spent cradling a massive hangover (now I know ...you do feel like hanging yourself to end it) and thinking about the latest addition to my to do list. Did I really want it? My wife, when I woke her up and asked her, checked my temperature, then checked to see if she still had the number of the shrink on her cellphone and went back to sleep. At night as I was watching the football match I realized that all the short skirts in the world cant beat a good world cup match on TV...I slept sated.

Now I have a new item on the list "to watch the next world cup finals live" (now the shorter skirts there are definitely a bonus..wink wink)

PS..points to ponder "Are punjabuns the blondes of India"