“No party is any fun unless seasoned with folly ”, said Erasmus. The days when there is a mess to clean up after guests have gone home, means you are a lucky person for you have friends, who created the mess.
Parties of youth were of another genre. When four friends met, it was already a party as the jubilation and thrill of being together , cracked up the atmosphere with sparkling chemistry that was clear as a mountain spring. There was only pure mirth and bonhomie and sincere joy at being together. In between classes, an oily samosa and sugary, sherbet-like tea in a grimy cup, could make our life seem glowing and alive. This, of course, was a girl’s college, where a cacophony of sound always prevailed and hysterical yells and whoops of uncontrollable laughter, echoed in the long corridors of learning.
Next came the university, where a treat was the order of the day for any little achievement. Well, at that ‘ mukaam’ in life, everything and anything was a reason to celebrate. ”Hore phir ki chal riha hai?chhadd yaar class ki laani hai?” (What’s Up Dude ? Forget classes ) Drunk and groggy on the wine of youth, a walk up the Student Centre ramp, meant a sure-shot feast of dosa, vada, and coffee.
The friends of that golden, shimmering era are still a part of my life. Their silent, yet strong support is like my backbone. I know that the bread we broke together in university eateries and canteens, makes them friends for life. They glisten luminously on my friend list with their loving care and concern. Carefree days when there were ‘mele mittraan de”.Life was a carousel and festivities could begin at the drop of a hat. The youth festivals, held annually were a riot of merry-making and jollification. Life itself was a huge carnival. Watching films in huge droves, was the norm. Gate crashing into the department of Indian theatre and gaping and gawking at the would-be stars was a pastime.
The slurpy-worthy Chinese food, of the earliest restaurant, served some heavenly concoction called, Tomato Egg Drop soup. It was a big deal at that point in life. How did I ever manage the chilies and vinegar fuming through my ears.’Hanging out, was not a word in our dictionaries, nor was ”chilling”. I wonder what it was that we did? A bright, colorful ”paraanda”, which is a hair extension made of silken threads, in my long braid, made me walk with a sway and a swagger .I miss my simple, uncomplicated self, who truly knew, the real meaning of a party.The army taught me to be formal and starched, prim and proper, coifurred and shod to the gills . Parties meant yawning endlessly through boring banter and aerated drinks , pretending to be ladylike, while the men guffawed till the wee hours.
“Kehne ko jashn e bahaara hai , ishq yeh dekh ke hairaan hai ; phool se khushboo khafa khafa hai gulshan mein ,chhuppa hai koi ranj fiza ki chilman mein”
Life remains a party for me as I am grateful for each breath I inhale.So have a party guys. God gave you the gift of life.
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