Ysiad

This past Friday night, we were lucky enough to accompany K to our first Bollywood house party. There were even paparazzi outside the apartment.

We were coming from a bar at closing. This means we were driving around drinking from plastic cups full of alcohol while K was shouting out the window asking pedestrians for directions to the party. She’d relay those directions at a loud volume to the paid driver who was not drinking and found the scene hilarious. So far as I could gather, drinking alcohol in a moving vehicle is perfectly acceptable here so long as you are not the driver.

Anyways, that was an aside. So we get to the building and there are a bunch of paparazzi standing outside the gate. Each paparazzi had his own assistant who carried the camera equipment for him. The assistants handed their bosses the cameras so they could focus and take pictures of our car as we arrived. In case there was any doubt regarding how famous we were, these doubts were dispelled by our standing around the car chugging our drinks before staggering through the gate. Surprisingly, security led us to the party without asking us who we were or who we were there to see.

This guy’s apartment was insane. All marble floors at least 4,000 square feet (the parts I could see), with a huge terrace overlooking Bombay. There was a DJ spinning minimal house in the middle of the dance floor, and caterers running around with snacks. Lots of very beautiful people there. I was hoping to see the whole dance floor break out into a single choreographed Bollywood dance, but it did not happen. The lack of Bollywood dancing was a little bit of a let down considering the bar was handing out champagne and mixed drinks as long as we were there. But it was more than made up for by the presence of the first good dance music we’d heard outside of our apartment since we got to Bombay.

According to D2’s reactions to the people around here, there were some serious celebrities there. Not being locals, and not being the sort who care about that stuff anyways Daya, W, and I pretty much just shrugged and kept dancing.

The focus of conversation seemed to be “what do you do” as soon as you start talking to people. Daya met someone named S. He told me that when people ask me, tell them “Nothing!! I don’t do anything!”

The crew we were with got too drunk and decided it was time to leave at around 4 am, which was right around when the party started picking up. That also coincided with when Daya and I started interacting with people outside our group. Note: It’s surprisingly difficult to meet new people in India. Whenever Daya talked to someone who was a male, her friends protectively blocked the conversation and asked me why I was not also interfering.

W passed out on a couch, and Daya and I sat next to him while we waited for K and D2 to get back from the bathroom. In that four minute window, the owner of the house walks over, wakes up W, and asks him who he knows. It turns into an awkward exchange, at the end of which Daya and I stand up and introduce ourselves to the owner, leaving W on the couch. We let him know we are on the way out and really enjoyed his music. At this point his whole demeanor changed. In a twist of Indian hospitality, he started apologizing for being rude, and insisted we stay and have a drink with him. He led us to the bar, at which point he went behind the bar and had the bartender pass him bottles of liquor so he could pour us drinks himself. He insisted we stay until sunrise. Ultimately, we had to sneak out because whenever he saw us walk toward the door, he insisted we stay longer!

When we finally did get out the door, W, K, and D2 were waiting for us in a couch outside the elevator. Our timing was perfect. The elevator door opens and four uniformed police officers walk out of the elevator. They did not look like strippers.

We felt lucky not to find out why police officers were storming the party as we hopped into our driver’s waiting car downstairs. They either needed bribes, or were sent to remove W.