I have returned home from a buffet dinner. It was a peaceful, full meal – nothing extraordinary to write home about. However, as I made my way back, I vowed not to do this again for a long time. I don’t want to go for dinners or lunches, outside. I just don’t feel up to it. Although most places I’ve eaten, and the ones we frequent, I can safely say that the food is delicious and the company I keep is interesting, too. But of late, I find myself weaning from the culture of attending such social dos. I was talking to R yesterday about what would happen if I made my feelings plain. It’s rude to say one doesn’t want to attend social dos because you don’t want to. It just is. A lot of conjecture gets attached to that kind of refusal. However, I have just had my fill of being seated at tastefully done tables, artsy interiors, lip-smacking food, and laughter on the table. Heck I’ve even been to a place that had a ceiling library with a ladder to climb to it. It’s like my stomach is full now. I cannot swallow anything anymore. So, I want to sit aside and not be present. It kind of goes with my image. Also, what pisses me off sometimes is how overrated such excursions have become. Sometimes. But mostly, I’d like to be left to myself, these days. I kind of prefer it.
So now that I’ve made it plain what I think of such events, I ask myself what is it that I would rather do, instead. It’s not like I “have a life” like young girl tells me cheekily. And come to think of it, I don’t even refute it. But I think I’ve come to a point where I want different things. I want time to expand so I can finish reading The Grapes of Wrath. I want to play badminton with someone consistently, just to feel the coziness of my socks as I snuggle my feet inside my sneakers. I want to watch the stars – oh I so want to. I think Boy and me did end up watching the stars, but I may have my memory muddled up. Anyway, I want to do it again. I want to watch a Naseeruddin Shah/Ratna Pathak play. I want to talk to Gulzar Saab. Or have him teach me to write Urdu (which I’ve started. More on that in another post). I want to run. Yes, run. And I want to go to Boston. For some reason, I can see that city in front of me ever since I’ve watched Good Will Hunting.
I want to do these things and I never want to hear anyone say, for a long time from now, anything about a party. I just don’t want to hear it anymore. I’ve realised it’s a very Delhi culture. But without going into city wars – here’s me making my feelings plain – I detest the mention of parties; all those Honey Singh songs about parties on all FM stations, every morning; all those almost-naked women on TVs. They make my skin crawl. I don’t want to hear it anymore. I don’t understand that kind of fun.
So, as my sister said, I must tell the universe what I want, out loud. And here are my feelings, made plain. Plans to go to Suzette for breakfast are afoot.
There’s only one thing I need to do.