So, what do hostesses do? They throw fancy-dress parties instead. That archaic reminder of the British when India was still the Raj sneaks in every time Sharmaji wants to ask some friends over for a drink, but his wife Sweety, who's done a finishing course, turns it into a masquerade where everything from the food to the people are unrecognisable. If your cronies are wearing Texan hats and speaking cowboyese but eating sushi, blame it on party organisers who earn up a storm by making simple things difficult. Which is why single malt is the most difficult thing to get at a party because -get into the party spirit, boy! - there are no straight drinks, only cocktails with names like Heera Aunty and My Other Drink Is A Manhattan.
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If finding costumes is a problem, spare a thought for the poor hosts who are challenged in serving up a party theme that doesn't invite a dismissive curl of the social lip. Indian nationalism is a cross we must grin and bear, but the American elections at least are providing fodder for Delhi's parties. I attended one recently where everyone came wearing Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton wigs - and no one could tell them apart.
Even though it's sizzling outside, ever since the BCCI secretary's ill-advised comment about water and swimming pools, high society's selective conscience seems to have been pricked. The club pool where we retreated on weekends to watch the IPL matches and cool off with beer is now out of bounds thanks to home-grown activists carrying on about "wasting" water in a time of drought that takes the pleasure out of diving in the deep end. "Can't they restrict such conversations to TV talk shows," complained Sarla's husband who's taken to sitting in his jacuzzi over slabs of ice from where he entertains his drinking buddies, and doesn't find it awkward.
Meanwhile, I've been invited to a rooftop pool party over the weekend with the strict injunction to "dress appropriately". Since my wife is travelling, I don't know who to ask what's appropriate for a pool party any more. My wife called to say I should check with Sarla, who volunteered to come home to pack me a "contingency bag" the size of an overnighter. I peeped in to check what she'd included and here's what I found: a formal jacket ("always be prepared"), two wigs ("just in case"), a change of clothing ("because everyone should have one"), extra jeans and loafers, my toilet kit, music speakers, a selection of wines ("for the journey" - which is why it also contained chips, nuts and other snack stuff) - everything but a pair of trunks, so at least I now know that it will be a pool party that is definitely not a pool party.