Kishore Singh: The electoral party-poopers

Now that the Delhi elections are over, you'd think that the party carousel would start all over again, putting an end to the requiem-like grief that had cast its shadow over the winter season up till now. Remember when you didn't know which one of the house-warmings and just-like-that parties, the I'm-feeling-down, pick-me-up bashes, the soirees and salons and mass addas that friends and acquaintances organised simply because everyone else was doing it too? Some saw it as their duty to keep the great Indian economy churning with the aid of the catering and hospitality services, offering employment to the food and garment industries, the bartenders and waiters and couturiers and party planners and interior decorators - because, of course, you couldn't have a party in a space that looked the same every time, making changes in decor imperative with every fresh party list that was drawn up.

The planners had been hard put to think up themes beyond the merely plebeian, having exhausted all potential around Bollywood or beach or molls-and-villains, the focus now being on a minimal, pre-eminently white decor - leading on some days to a shortage and, therefore, skyrocketing prices for white lilies and carnations. But that was before the elections were announced. Suddenly, it was as if the party spirit had gone into coma in the capital. "Psst! Don't spend your money," the major players were advised, bringing down a veto on conspicuous consumption because it was deemed best to exercise caution till the air had cleared up around the winners and losers.

If the Assembly elections were a spoiler, the national elections are turning the capital's jet-set even more parsimonious. Friends are heading overseas to host birthday bashes for their one- and two-year-olds, flying out a babble of kids and their nannies to resorts in Thailand or Sri Lanka to get away from the prying eyes of neighbours. From baby showers to celebrating awards and exams, they're being staged in exotic Morocco or over wildlife safaris in Kenya, and since a party necessitates the presence of friends, the budget for these could be heftier than an average company's turnover.

Back home, the bill of fare has been as sad as the stale food at Sarla's parties. With most friends swinging overseas, she's taken to freezing her party leftovers to serve to her "small, intimate groups, darling - that's the way to enjoy one's own party", but the lasagna has seen better days, and the lamb cutlets have been reheated so often, they'd be better off as frisbees, this last comparison having been made by my wife who makes sure to eat at home every time she's invited over to her best friend's. Society hostesses are now organising corporate events rather than elegant sit-down dinners at home and have, therefore, lost most of their friends for failing to invite them in favour of the Page 3 people, photographs of whom the paparazzi prefers. Having turned up at a few hoping to meet up with at least social acquaintances, we were disappointed when it turned out we knew no one (nor did anyone know anyone else), so we've now opted for Sarla's leftover meals where we at least know that interesting arguments, if not a fist-fight or two, might ensue. It's like watching the Christians being fed to the lions - except, you can't tell the Christians from the lions at her parties, which makes it rather more fun than her food.