I was recently invited to a ‘Bollywood nite’ theme party at an embassy. Invites for this party had been sent out two weeks in advance, giving people enough time and notice to get their Bollywood costumes together for the fun packed night of music, dancing, drinking and eating…all in Bollowood ishtyle!
Now, I was always under the misapprehension that us Indians, in particular us who reside in the Northern part of this country, were party animals. There’s enough evidence of it at our weddings where even though the ‘Baraat Band’ insists on playing the same old out-of-tune and impossible to dance at music, we hop around in our wedding fineries wobbling and waggling our shoulders and behinds in time with the beat. I have to confess, I do thoroughly enjoy prancing around the dance floor at wedding parties and I sincerely hope that this is one part of our culture that will never go out of fashion. Going back to the ‘Bollywood nite’ at the embassy, I was expecting all the Indian invitees to be at their party best. After all, Bollywood is what we understand and do better than anything - this is our terrain, our comfort zone and the one thing, apart from cricket, that brings the country together. (Sadly though, Bollywood style dancing and cricket are not Olympic Sports otherwise Phelps or no Phelps, we would be the reigning Olympic Champs!)
On Friday evening, while I excitedly dressed in my version of Om Shanti Om’s 60’s outfit, I wondered what the other guests would wear. Once it was time to leave, I was seriously ready to party!
We arrived at the venue just in time to see the party being kicked off. As I walked in with my husband and a friend, each in their painstakingly put together Bollywood garb – one as ‘Amitabh Bacchan in Sarkaar and the other as a Kawaali’, I couldn’t help but feel people’s eyes on us, following us. “Hang on now”, I thought, “could we have misunderstood the invitation? Is this really a Bollywood nite?” For a minute, I was mortified! I looked around nervously, hoping and praying for a miracle to save me from complete embarrassment and being arrested by the fashion police! And then it happened. I saw a foreigner dressed as a Maharajah with a glittering turban, beads around his neck and a tunic dotted with gold sequins. Another quick scan and I saw another ‘foreign’ Maharajah in one corner of the hall chatting happily with his friends. Once my heart had stopped palpitating, I noticed a ‘foreign’ Singh is King, a ‘foreign’ Shahrukh Khan look alike from Om Shanti Om and a few ‘foreign’ Rani Mukherjis and Aishwaryas. Just as I had started to feel a lot better, I realized that nearly eighty percent of the party comprised of Indian invitees and the rest were foreign delegates and staff from the embassy itself. None of the desis had made any effort to dress in accordance with the theme of the party. It was an observation that me ponder at the strange and sometimes warped psyche of the so-called Delhi socialite or simply the wannabe who tries so very hard to feel appreciated.
Before I go any further, I have to state that I seriously have no qualms against any individual who happens to party often. I too have attended and have been a part of a fair share of what defines the Delhi night life. HOWEVER, I have also been exposed to such pseudo and pretentious behavior that I sometimes wonder if these people are people at all. The typical Delhi socialite today is an alien! She/he is so caught up in impressing those around her that she’s forgotten what it’s like to be genuine. There, I hit the nail on its head. It’s all about instilling a perception about one’s self in other’s minds. It is image management – from clothes (the most important part), hair, makeup to even the way the person laughs. It really is all an act!
It is because of this desperate attempt to impress and the fear of looking silly or not ‘with it’, that the invitees at the ‘Bollywood nite’ had not bothered dressing in accordance with the dress code for the party. In no other country have I ever seen so much fear – of exposure, of standing out, of being different and being viewed as someone who dressed away from the pack.
The Bollywood nite turned out to be a humungous success. The night had begun with only a few foreigners getting jiggy with the Bollywood numbers on the dance floor. But once the booze had generously flowed and had clouded everyone’s judgement and shed inhibitions, even the hardened Delhi socialite couldn’t help herself but finally let loose. Costume or no costume, the night ended with a bang – Bollywood ishtyle!
Now, I was always under the misapprehension that us Indians, in particular us who reside in the Northern part of this country, were party animals. There’s enough evidence of it at our weddings where even though the ‘Baraat Band’ insists on playing the same old out-of-tune and impossible to dance at music, we hop around in our wedding fineries wobbling and waggling our shoulders and behinds in time with the beat. I have to confess, I do thoroughly enjoy prancing around the dance floor at wedding parties and I sincerely hope that this is one part of our culture that will never go out of fashion. Going back to the ‘Bollywood nite’ at the embassy, I was expecting all the Indian invitees to be at their party best. After all, Bollywood is what we understand and do better than anything - this is our terrain, our comfort zone and the one thing, apart from cricket, that brings the country together. (Sadly though, Bollywood style dancing and cricket are not Olympic Sports otherwise Phelps or no Phelps, we would be the reigning Olympic Champs!)
On Friday evening, while I excitedly dressed in my version of Om Shanti Om’s 60’s outfit, I wondered what the other guests would wear. Once it was time to leave, I was seriously ready to party!
We arrived at the venue just in time to see the party being kicked off. As I walked in with my husband and a friend, each in their painstakingly put together Bollywood garb – one as ‘Amitabh Bacchan in Sarkaar and the other as a Kawaali’, I couldn’t help but feel people’s eyes on us, following us. “Hang on now”, I thought, “could we have misunderstood the invitation? Is this really a Bollywood nite?” For a minute, I was mortified! I looked around nervously, hoping and praying for a miracle to save me from complete embarrassment and being arrested by the fashion police! And then it happened. I saw a foreigner dressed as a Maharajah with a glittering turban, beads around his neck and a tunic dotted with gold sequins. Another quick scan and I saw another ‘foreign’ Maharajah in one corner of the hall chatting happily with his friends. Once my heart had stopped palpitating, I noticed a ‘foreign’ Singh is King, a ‘foreign’ Shahrukh Khan look alike from Om Shanti Om and a few ‘foreign’ Rani Mukherjis and Aishwaryas. Just as I had started to feel a lot better, I realized that nearly eighty percent of the party comprised of Indian invitees and the rest were foreign delegates and staff from the embassy itself. None of the desis had made any effort to dress in accordance with the theme of the party. It was an observation that me ponder at the strange and sometimes warped psyche of the so-called Delhi socialite or simply the wannabe who tries so very hard to feel appreciated.
Before I go any further, I have to state that I seriously have no qualms against any individual who happens to party often. I too have attended and have been a part of a fair share of what defines the Delhi night life. HOWEVER, I have also been exposed to such pseudo and pretentious behavior that I sometimes wonder if these people are people at all. The typical Delhi socialite today is an alien! She/he is so caught up in impressing those around her that she’s forgotten what it’s like to be genuine. There, I hit the nail on its head. It’s all about instilling a perception about one’s self in other’s minds. It is image management – from clothes (the most important part), hair, makeup to even the way the person laughs. It really is all an act!
It is because of this desperate attempt to impress and the fear of looking silly or not ‘with it’, that the invitees at the ‘Bollywood nite’ had not bothered dressing in accordance with the dress code for the party. In no other country have I ever seen so much fear – of exposure, of standing out, of being different and being viewed as someone who dressed away from the pack.
The Bollywood nite turned out to be a humungous success. The night had begun with only a few foreigners getting jiggy with the Bollywood numbers on the dance floor. But once the booze had generously flowed and had clouded everyone’s judgement and shed inhibitions, even the hardened Delhi socialite couldn’t help herself but finally let loose. Costume or no costume, the night ended with a bang – Bollywood ishtyle!
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