Kishore Singh: The art of arriving late

There are probably places where people still meet for dinner at eight but that place is not Delhi, and it isn't only because the capitalists (or Dilliwallas) like to be "fashionably" late. Fashionably late is a misnomer, in any case, because unless you're a Bollywood star, being late at a party means the best seats are taken, your good friends are closeted with your other good friends with no squeeze space for you, and the bartender is taking a break because the hostess ran out of mint leaves, or caramelised sugar, for the caprioskas. Late is a euphemism, anyway, considering hosts and guests routinely agree to meet at "eight, give or take", and it's always give, never take.
 

A few days ago, when the kids struck out in favour of a treat at a trendy diner, our attempt to reserve a table at dinnertime was telling. "Could we have a table at 10?" "We can give you a table at 8.15, Sir." "Did you say 10.15?" "Okay, 8.30, Sir." Tables, it appeared, went abegging till 9.30, but you needed clout or the ear of the management to get in any time after. We were able to swing a reservation for 9.45 and made it by the skin of our teeth at 9.50, when the front manager was on the verge of giving it away to a hopeful walk-in. But it was 11 when the hip and happening crowds began flowing in, not in dribs and drabs but in droves till there was standing room only. No one could hear a spoken word, getting a drink from the bar took longer than a response to a Right to Information request, and it occurred to me that this is what "meeting up with friends" meant to our children's generation that only communicates over social media.

In large part, arriving late isn't people's fault as much as it is the city's. No matter when your office shuts, the capital's mean streets make time redundant. This week, it was the kavads who created jams. That's when you were also wondering whether a boat might be a more suitable mode of transport in the city during the rains. Traffic lights failed, buses broke down, motorcades held up commuters.

So, if you're invited somewhere, do you head straight from work in creased clothes and uncombed tresses, or do you head home for a shower and a spousal pick-up? And what of the hosts? Chances are they're stuck in the same jams as you and are going to be every bit as late, and will probably be peeved if you arrive 'on' time, because they might feel the need for a shower, or to pull out bar glasses and fuss with the flowers? So, even if they said "8.30", they didn't mean it, and arriving before 10 is, well, rude.

But what of official shenanigans? The kind that say "7-9 pm"? There's no way you can do a dash home, and what with traffic at a standstill, is it okay to make it at 9.05? I was to find out when a formal 7-10 pm event we were hosting seemed to be somnolent till 10, when a throng of guests walked in, and was followed by swelling crowds that filled up the space and seemed to be in no hurry to leave till my wife and I discreetly slipped away at 11. Only to reach home and find the kids readying to head off for parties that, they said, "should be warming up any time soon".