Weekend revelry

Weekends, these days, are more tiring than weekdays with the good citizenry of New Delhi pushing an exhaustive schedule of day-long parties and celebrations, now that the festive season — and good weather — is upon us. Time was when the city grooved in the evenings, leaving the day to overcome the ravages of the evening before, but given its hectic traffic and crazy schedule, day-long celebrations that begin with brunch and conclude with a sundowner are increasingly popular — and tiring. Your hosts aren’t the only ones fatigued by the revels of Saturday; by the time Sunday slips into oblivion, everyone’s equally pooped by the good time they’re supposed to have had. Relax over the weekend? Perish the thought. 

My wife and I were early converts to weekend bashes, choosing to rally our friends over lunch, when fewer people cancelled, or were busy. Besides getting full attendance, we were able to save ourselves the embarrassment of an evening out in town at places frequented by our children and their friends. More even than us, they objected to what they described as helicopter partying, when in reality, it felt like they were stalking us. Weekend lunches, while they slept late, suited us just fine. 

And then someone tipped the Delhi hostess about the possibilities of day-long soirees, and before you could say “All right”, the weekend had become everyone’s favourite gig. Guests no longer made themselves easily available, aligning themselves with the potentially better bash. From having to choose between a party or two in the evening, they now found themselves spoiled for pickings over whole weekends. Having partaken of bacchanalian excess by the light of day, the lure of the evening held less appeal. The late-night party was being asphyxiated out of existence even as we — our children and us — found ourselves, once again, at the same venue, amidst the same set of people, now companionable allies, no longer party adversaries. 

Over the years, we had seen our friends and their children happily arriving at parties together, unmindful of the uncles and aunties, a trend my daughter was a vocal critic of. In her world, there was no space for parents and children to share the same festivities, no matter the circumstance. If we had to attend weddings in common, we split our attendance so that we were never together in the same room, or at the same venue, for any length of time. The day party put paid to it. Our paths now crossed with greater frequency. More surprisingly, it bred tolerance. Not only was our child more welcoming of our presence, she allowed us to mix with her besties. 

Even so, I was unprepared when, over what had turned into a two-day, boozy affair, my daughter walked off the dance floor against the setting sun. No, not to refresh her glass of wine, nor to greet anybody, not even to go to the wash room. Instead, she walked straight up to me, held my hand, and pulled me on to the dance floor. Our child, who had baulked at even dancing in front of us, leave alone accompany her father — or even mother — to the pit — was now leading. I would have lost that moment by asking her what had changed. Perhaps it was just her growing up, maybe it was the mood, but I like to think it was the grace of the day-wali party that she was responding to. My wife and I had pioneered it, now our child was revelling in it.