Kishore Singh: The toast of voting day

On the evening before election day in the national capital region, my son asked the family cook to lay out some "starters and stuff" for "a couple of friends" who were, he said, going to drop by for a bit. "You know why they're coming home, don't you?" said my wife suspiciously. "To spend the evening with him," I said, wondering what had her mojo in a twist. "To drink your whisky," she said darkly, "because, in case it hasn't crossed your stupid mind, there's prohibition in Delhi."

Which might be the reason that a dozen or so of his drinking buddies appeared to spend a good part of the night, and up to the early morning, propping up the bar. But given fair warning, I'd been careful to remove the more expensive malts, and can only hope no guests thought to look in the medicine cupboard in the toilet, which might have led them to wonder about the strange consumption habits of the residents of the house. At any rate, it meant that the kitchen found itself turned into an industrial enterprise, serving up meals on the go to a band of hungry revellers who seemed not to have eaten anything in a while.
 

Our daughter, finding out by default that the pubs would be shut, decided that if her brother could entertain his friends at home, she would not be denied the privilege either. Therefore, a gaggle of girls descended upon her room where loud music soon played, and my wife sent me to the local market to scout for takeaways because the kitchen couldn't cope with the pressure of feeding an army of young adults who, she predicted "will soon be obese, just look at them gobble up stuff". Not knowing what they might prefer, that "stuff" consisted of pizzas I'd ordered, alongside Chinese soul food, hearty biryani, and some burgers to be on the safe side. While I was out shopping, my daughter rang to say she wanted chips and nachos, and my son asked if I could find a store that stocked ice, so it was quite late by the time I got home and to bed.

The following day, when they had done with casting their votes, our friends from the neighbourhood dropped by for some coffee and stayed on for, first, "all right a beer then", next a cocktail, and, finally, because "what the hell, it's a holiday, isn't it?", some old-fashioned drinking. My wife attempted vainly to disguise the leftovers as hors d'oeuvres, but when it was evening, our children's friends who'd slept over, decided that they needed to pep up before going home, "so what's to eat, man?", leaving me to call up restaurants that had started to open, to order up fresh supplies for the dining table. And then my son remembered that the liquor vends were open after the voting, so the boys charged off with my credit card to replenish their reserve of chilled beers, and it was once again late by the time everyone finally decided to head for their own homes.

I can now claim with some authority that prohibition is a rum thing because, of course, people will find a watering hole wherever it exists. At least, having made sure that everyone went out to vote, I think whoever comes to power must square up a bill for a party that was thrust upon my wife and I because of a prohibitory order that cost us a carton full of empties and a table load of food. Anyone?