New Delhi, Jan 03 (ANI): A New Year's Day luncheon is a tedious idea. Wonder why Smt. Jha has decided to host one? But then, I had to go. It is one of those Lutyen's Delhi do's, which include a smattering of politicians, editors, television anchors, industrialists, restaurant or boutique owners and the kinds. You know, the pretty people of Delhi. Now, if there are pretty people, how can yours truly, Sweety Kapoor Khanna not be there?
I wore a smart black pantsuit and a single strand polki necklace with earrings to match. A few solitaires on my fingers and 5 inch wedge heels (not sensible to wear stilettos to a garden party as they sink into the grass, making your gait into a duck-walk) and I was ready to take on the world.
The husband was travelling, which meant that I would have to make a solitary entrance, so had to be fashionably late. I stuck my Prada sunglasses into my recently tinted hair and looked a million bucks (will save the modesty for company)
Revati Jha is the second wife of a cabinet Minister and she thoroughly enjoys the reflected glory. Bhai, that is the best job in the world: a minister's wife. Jha hasn't divorced his first wife who is conveniently tucked away in some village in Bihar and probably doesn't care for these New Delhi bungalows and the goings on within. See, we Indians are not like Americans, who get all pious and prissy about illicit affairs of their leaders. Such things 'happen' in politics.
I reached by about 1pm, in my Merc (this wasn't a party to pull out my BMW, that car is more dinner party kind). Revati and I air- kissed and I handed over the scented candles I had bought for her from Selfridges in my last trip to London.
I use the Blind School ones, but for gifting, I buy them from London or Khan Market. She can use them in that plush bathroom of hers. Yes, I have seen it. Revati got a Jacuzzi built in her private suite. Now, it is against the rules but then who is going to complain no? And I don't tell anybody. Revati knows she can trust Sweety. Ahem!
I could spot at least three 'power daughters', you know, daughters of Ministers holding important portfolios. They were in khadi silk saris and salwar kameezes, trying to look so patriotic wearing desi and all. All faux. Draped on shoulders, were shawls that cost a lakh a piece, the kind made most famous by Nira Radia.
This was a Lutyen's zone party. That shawl will be packed away next month when these ladies start their campaigns with their famous fathers in the five states that go to polls. I join in their conversation, which is about Mayawati and her recent attempts to clean up her government. "Imagine she sacked 24 ministers!" "How heartless is that!" "And for corruption! As if she is any less corrupt," "Have you noticed? She doesn't wear those diamond earrings these days?" "And her bag is also less loud."
The star daughters were into public service and did not hesitate to carry the same branded bags that Mayawati carries. But how dare 'She.' But I am Sweety and they don't grudge me mine because I am a businesswoman, which in the pecking order here, is at the bottom rung.
Move on to the next group. Wives of senior bureaucrats, I do my namaste and get a nod in response. These are wives of the twice born. Their husbands are the creme de la creme of Delhi...till the age of 60, when they superannuate and then before you can say Babu, they are nobodies. That is, till the UPA came to power. Now, the IAS are the 'never retirees'. Here the conversation is about Anna Hazare and how senseless his movement is. Uh okay. I dare not tell them that I too joined Anna's first protest at Jantar Mantar. Seriously, that Team Anna has made this movement so unfashionable now.
The next group consists of juice swirling men, a mix of retired and serving bureaucrats. Nursing hangovers after late night partying on New Year's Eve, most of them are cribbing about having to make appearance at a do, where the arrival of 'a possible future Prime Minister', is an iffy.
That is Revati's trump card. She has kept everyone guessing as to whether 'he' will come. They crack nasty jokes about one of the guests, a politician from the opposition party who is quite desperately circulating among journalists, hoping to be invited to a television studio for a discussion. A retired Home Secretary propounds, "The country is going to the dogs". A serving Additional Secretary in the Foreign Service contradicts him and says, "No Sir, if it was, then China wouldn't be so scared of us," Huh? China jealous of us? Really?
Intermingling with the group of bureaucrats are journalists. There is the retired foreign journalist couple that are the city's favourite. They have lived here as long as the Lodi gardens I think. Then there are those bearded newspaper editors who participate in TV debates on a daily basis, bursting their veins and yelling their lungs out. Yet, here they seem in good cheer mingling with the very people they criticize on screen. Bhai, that is why I love Delhi, so civilized no?
Women journos don't air-kiss like politico wives, they don't nod like afsar-wives, and they just raise their eyebrows and narrow their eyes.
Nobody was eating. Caterers make a neat packet in these kinds of parties. Rule of the thumb: richer your guests, lesser the food consumption, higher the per-plate rate. Everybody is on a diet in this city.
And everybody is into some kind of healing therapy-pranic, theta, reiki, whatever. Me? I prefer a nice deep-oil massage at the spa. But I'm wise enough, not to say that. I drop names like Ananda in the hills, Art of Living etc to approving looks. It is also important to say things like "life is so stressful, I head to my heaven by the sea every once in a while, and the waves lapping the seashore is such a soothing sight." Everybody nods at this nonsense and I laugh all the way back home. By Smita Prakash (ANI)
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