The Terrace Party Guest List

The bathroom is where all the bad-asses literally get swept clean, but the most badass of all parts of a house is the terrace. If there’s one thing a person should learn from it, it has to be confidence. With dirty walls, hanging kachhe-baniyan, black Sintex water tanks and bird-poop all over its face, it is still the most loved part of the house for a party. The evidence for the same is all over my facebook home feed and I’ve decided to reiterate the same by being a host to one at the nearest opportunity.

Organizing a terrace party is easy. The blackness of the night and a bunch of glittering fairy lights from Diwali set the perfect lighting for new flattering profile pictures for all present. Deciding on the food doesn’t require much thought either as long as there’s booze and a dramatic couple on the guest list. This brings us to the most important part: deciding on the guest list. Your terrace party is incomplete without the following people, who will ensure that the event lives up to every minute detail of a typical Delhi terrace party.

The Invite Said It Starts At 8 Guy: Leaving the host’s best friend aside, every other person who makes it to the party before or within half an hour of the “scheduled” time deserves an eye roll for not just presenting himself at a time when the host has not even begun to get ready, but also for leaving open the risk of making awkward talk with the host’s parents that leaves immense scope for undesirable disclosure and hard to imagine consequences. He does not only show his lack of social understanding by reaching the party at such an inopportune time, but also exposes himself to arguments that best explain the concept of generation gap through voices traversing from hallways to awkwardly silent drawing rooms. You must not forget to invite him so as to make your parents believe that you have some “sensible” friends. It comes with the side effect of later being given his example as the epitome of the ideal son. Deal with it.

The OMG It’s So Good To See You Hyper Jump and Screech Girl: Ask this woman about any of your mutual facebook friends and be sure to get a “omg, we’re like best friends” in reply, which is enough for you to know that she uses the word “best friend” as liberally as Siddhu uses the word “haha”. She lives in a false belief of having a wonderful social circle that begins with noticing a name etched behind a DTC bus seat and ends with adding every person with that name on facebook because wow, 2900 facebook friends! You must not forget to invite her because even if the party is actually boring, all present should think that it isn’t so for others. I mean, it will look like at least someone’s having fun.

The FirstName LastName Photography: If you haven’t invested in a DSLR yourself, there is no way that you can miss out on inviting someone who owns one, no matter how much you loathe him IRL. If creativity was his last name, he’d watermark it on his pictures with the word “photography”; but he does enough already to live up to the creative image with a narcissistic facebook page, nerd glasses and a profile picture that is a selfie of him wielding his 30k possession and looking at a mirror through the view finder. You won’t have to worry about putting up pictures, because he will do it for you complete with “editing” which is the one word for crop-deepen-glow. Just make sure to tell him not to add that idiotic watermark. No one’s stealing his work to enter into a desi-dope-scene-photography competition. He can just drop. the. goddamn. watermark!

The BFF Girl Gang: These gals have a post party night-over planned for themselves that shows how thick their friendship is to have survived over six months without anyone getting vocal about the ugly group dynamics. The leader of the pack stands in the centre while the others flock around in poses that would be most suitable during a screen test for the new face of Moov’s Aaa se Aaha campaign. Putting all hands on the waists and more than gently arching the backs to flash their better profiles into the camera, they can also never seem to get rid of the Hyper Jump and Screech Girl, who they will bitch about being chape when the picture is up on facebook. You must invite them to really understand the value of all your friends who you have been taking for granted till now. Zilch, that is.

The Dude Chain: The guest list has to include a bunch of cool guys who look good holding a beer bottle each and just silently observe the girl gang do 'their steps' to 'their song'. This group has nothing much to talk about other than discussing everyone's need for a change in job. It diffuses with one taking charge of DJ'ing on the laptop; another trying to network with all the random faces because that's what parties are for; the third tagging along with his girlfriend because he got invited courtesy her; and the fourth joining the women in dance, thinking of himself as a player despite just having played the trail of aces in being friendzoned.

The Silent Corner: You will have to invite at least one person because he/she invited you to his/her birthday in the third grade; or because he/she thinks of you as a close friend and this is your chance at a guilt-free pass for not feeling the same; or your parents are fond of this person; or you have to invite him/her because others from the same group are invited and it'll be awkward otherwise; or because this mirage called social norm is staring you in the face. If it's a woman, don't worry; she'll find someone who'd try to make conversation with her in order to get lucky. If it's a guy, I feel you, bro.

The Uninitiated Relatives: I know you know it's a bad idea, but you can't fight against your parents' prerogative of inviting some bua’s and chachi’s. It's not generation gap when you can tell that it's not a wise idea, but your parents can't. It's just wisdom of the fact that there will be scandalization of middle-aged peeps who will complain for eternity about today's kids not touching their feet and wearing haaye, besharmi wale kapde. The worst part is how they won't roll their eyes, but stare right at all your friends, further scandalizing everyone else. Judgment Day has a whole new meaning in your life henceforth.

The Cinderella and a Half: This person will make the biggest deal about leaving early so as to make it back home well before her curfew time. But she won't leave in silence. Instead, she'll send the person she came with on a guilt trip because ek toh jaldi jaane ka naatak, upar se doosre pe waapis drop karne ki responsibility is how she rolls. It's just the absolute worst if it's a guy. Back home by 11, my Punjabi patoots.

There may be more awesome peeps on your list, but I assure you that I am the worst version of all the above-mentioned, including being a member of a girl gang and worrying about turning into a pumpkin as soon as the clock strikes ten. That might make you strike me off your next party guest list. But I'd ask you to consider how just inviting one person (cue: me) who meets all the criteria on the list will help you have a very cool, economical party. Aakhir hum jahan khade ho jaate hain, party wahin se shuru ho jaati hai.

Machhi Khaabo Bhaalo Baashi!

Known for having big and beautiful eyes, a Bengali lady never feels the need to ask a man to look up when he talks to her. It’s also reason why Crime Master Gogo doesn’t pick on Bengalis. After all, “aankein nikaal ke shot put khelunga” does not have the same ring as “aankhein nikaal ke goti”. But big eyes are not the only physical feature by which you spot a Bengali. A bangali babu is of a short stature, so much so that it’s never difficult to spot Aamir Khan in a Kolkata crowd. With pale skin and a mustache gently fringing over his upper lip, the bangali wears a bush-shirt tucked in his trousers, hanging almost like he hangs on to a handle in the bus. He has a thin coat of hair on his head that remains stuck to his pate because of a healthy diet of fish and mustard oil. But the love for food doesn’t end there.

The reason why the bangali perpetually carries his roshogulla and sondesh in the mouth is not because it helps him pronounce that his favorite actor on Kophee bid Koran was Sholman Khan, but because there’s only so much you can stuff yourself with till it all brims up to the throat. Punjabis mostly mistake Bhaat, Maachh, Loochi and Jhal-Muri to be names of Monjolika’s children, but they’re only appetizers for a bangali, whose meal also includes a brinjal, half a kilo of peas, forty chunks of paneer and a pitcher full of mishti doi.

Like that wasn’t enough, your bangali will also tell you about another food item that he calls myoojik; because “myoojik is the food for the soul”. The bangali will scoff at YoYo Honey and Mika Singh’s tunes and tell you that Robindra Shongeet elevates the mind. He will talk at length about Geetanjali and a million other literary works that he’d have found time to read, instead of completing his office work. Because Chatterjee, Mukherjee and Banerjee aside, “Layjee” should’ve been added to the list of respectful Bengali surnames as it most accurately depicts the nature of a bangali, who loves to laze around in the beauty of art, literature and history.

The bangali sings praises of the goddess and that’s reason why you use that word for a female with the surname Sen. He fears his wife not only because she stands just as tall as him, but also because it is intimidating to hear a lady shout, “Aey, maachhi khaabo bhaalo baashi” at the top of her voice anywhere in the world. Durga Pujo has always been the bangali’s favorite festival. It ensures that he gets awesome food to eat for a week and also gets to ogle at women dressed in white sarees with red borders, clicking their tongues in celebration of the matriarchy that puts their culture ahead of every other in the country.

The bangali speaks a language that is easy to learn. He sha’s his sa’s and pha’s his fa’s, along with awwing his aa’s, making him the perfect person to make hand hearts and go awww every time that he sees a box that says “consume Bengali sweets on the same day”. He bhaalo baashi’s his lovelies and oodibaba’s the uglies. He khaabo’s the khaana as well as khaabo’s the paani. He calls a kurta punjabi; and a Punjabi he calls kutta. He expresses love in simple ways by saying, “aami tomaar, tomi amaar”; and knows that there are only four seasons: “shpring, monshoon, bintaar and samaar”.

He may come across as a lazy bum and a smoking glutton at the outset, but don't mess with the babu-moshaay because he will own your patootie at an inter-college debate. Also, you might want to get with a lady in his family. Not everyone is as lucky as a Bachchan. Or so did the sixteen year old me believe. 

Image Source: facebook.com/officialbongtips

Just Stop It, Yaar!

There’s no limit to which I can sing praises for the brand that is Maggi. The nation owes it to them for helping its youth develop a taste for instant noodles cooked in five grams of turmeric powder, and how! So, as a good financial consultant, I’ll throw some free advice and ask them to charge a heavy amount as license fee from every director who dares to use their tagline, “it’s different” every time that a movie is up for release. It will not only contribute to the company’s turnover, but also remind our very creative Bollywood peeps to shut their trap whenever they feel the urge to use these words, being shamelessly ignorant of the irony of the statement.

The year 2014 opens with another such “different” movie that speaks more about a broken new year’s resolution of making quality cinema than about the “college based romance adventure” that its wiki page boasts of. The description, “Yaariyan is a story of close knit 5 friends who are exploring the best moments of their lives in college, experiencing different relationships and learning new values every day” leaves me so impatient about wanting to know what this movie holds for the audiences, that my sarcasm stands in shame for its forced attendance in the previous phrase.

Yaariyan is the directorial debut of Bhushan Kumar’s homemaker wife, Divya Khosla Kumar, who just proved that the phrase “women can do everything that men can” can actually be taken far enough for even the most serious of feminists to ask her to get back to cooking aaloo-gobhi in her husband’s kitchen while listening to mata ke bhajan recorded on her T-Series cassettes. The movie also marks the debut of actors, what’s-his-face and what-the-holy-cow-of-a-rack, who along with their sidekicks are still hungover about Star One’s Remix being the best show to have ever been made in the history of television entertainment.

As the movie plans to set a new benchmark in youth oriented films after Dil Chahta Hai and Rang De Basanti, the makers have roped in YoYo Honey Singh to establish the cult status because wow, so original! The song ABCD opens with YoYo singing, “raat ko hoga hungama, jab chamkega chanda mama”, making the middle aged snap their fingers to the tune in front of their pre-pubescent children till what-the-holy-cow-of-a-rack comes on screen and booty shakes the Cyrus out of Miley to prove that the song is no lullaby. The song that could’ve been a horcrux of the ABCD from Hum Saath Saath Hain must, however, be praised for the honesty with which Benny Dayal pleads the audience to come and watch the movie and not be judgmental. The words “A for aao re aao. B for bhaao na khaao. C se chilaa ke gaao. D se daaru peete jaao” also offer a truthful heads up about the movie making sense only to the inebriated. Or maybe, to those who really care for the “kudiyon ka buffet” that Honey Singh is proud to announce.

Sunny Sunny is another beach-party track that puts Baba Sehgal’s twitter timeline to shame for the brilliance in an undiscovered lyricist’s rhyming abilities. Even before one can come to terms with the shot of Honey Singh wagging his forelegs in a swimming pool on a set that looks like the bastard child of Golmaal Golmaal and Lazy Lamhe, the words “aaj blue hai paani paani paani paani paani… aur din bhi saani saani saani saani saani” hit the cerebellum at a speed that would make anyone pronounce Mr. Singh’s name as YoYo Haani Haani Haani Haani Haani. Not aimed at sapiosexuals (that’s right), the song assumes how no one cares for the lyrics as long as you get what-the-holy-cow-of-a-rack to bite into mangoes, watermelons and strawberries while the lyrics go further to say, “ek tu, ek main aur sea side pe paani ka shor… aaja tu paas mere, girl what you waiting fore.”

The title track, which is called “Baarish” instead of being named “Yaariyan” seems bearable, but the fact that someone needs to gift a dictionary to the makers to help them define the words “title track” keeps me from speaking much about it.

I am sure of how, one, the post-release movie reviews will be no different, and two, how the term ABCD could be used to call the producer, “Aey, BC Doofus!” Before you blame me for such a forced expansion of the acronym; in my defense, I just wrote about the goddamn movie! The creativity kind of rubbed off.

Image Source: gallery.oneindia.in