Kishore Singh: The glory of a Delhi bonfire

On a night when the cold was intense, the children thought a bonfire on the terrace might be good idea. The staff had been hoarding firewood and coal for such an eventuality and were put to task bringing these out, dusting the trusty receptacle, and pulling out the barbecue, for what was a blaze without some friends and a good deal of conviviality fuelled by alcoholic spirits and smoked meats? A bar was set up, the local delicatessen sent over packets of marinated cuts, friends were summoned, music was arranged and before you could say cheers, a party was underway.

Notionally, it seemed like a good idea but the tinder was damp from lying out on wet nights, no one knew how to start a decent fire that would last, smoke billowed up to choke our lungs helped by fistfuls of newspaper that swirled around in a sooty rage and clung to clothes and hair. Someone suggested pouring the entire contents of a bottle of kerosene to set off the fire, but the helpful hands that were summoned to carry out the orders emptied a precious bottle of whisky instead - which seemed to put the smoking logs in a stuttering good mood.

Having got the fire going, it was time to turn to the grill where the coals wouldn't catch. Someone suggested putting potatoes in the now roaring fire while the barbecue was being prepared. Smoke stung our eyes, and generous helpings of whisky and vodka cleared our choked throats. The dog, seizing his chance, made off with the raw fish and chicken tikkas, and was soon being sick in a corner. The potatoes burnt into cinders, so someone suggested a round of sweet potatoes wrapped in foil - which were soon forgotten and turned to pulp through overcooking, a gooey mess that looked gross and no one touched.

Unwilling to wait any longer, the smoky grill spat out half done, or "rare", mutton kebabs, which no one cared to eat. The cottage cheese was singed on the outside, making them difficult to bite into. While the bonfire warmed our toes, our backs were frozen into icicles. Far from cheerful bonhomie, we were left both hungry and dirty. The party had no choice but to move indoors.

All available blowers, heaters and radiators were brought in from the bedrooms into the living room and switched on together, causing a power blowout. Candles were found and lit, and though candlelight might have been romantic, it left us feeling colder than when we were outside. Mixed drinks, on account of lack of visibility rather than choice, warmed our insides, but fingers and toes seemed to have been stung with frostbite. It was cold, it was dark, and we were still hungry.

The cook's freezer having been cleared out, we were forced to call for food. Somebody ordered pizzas but the pizza delivery boy lost his way in the fog. The local Chinese restaurant was prevailed upon to send over bowls of glutinous soup that no one wanted to have. The neighbourhood biryani takeaway mixed up orders. We had roomalis that had been pre-ordered, but no curry to eat with. Finally, someone thought to scramble eggs that we had with leftover cake - there being no bread. Because of their drunken state, and the fog outside, guests grabbed whatever coverings they could find, crashing out on beds and couches, leaving everything in disarray. And causing the kids to exclaim, "That was a successful bonfire!"