When I was(and felt) young, my trips to Hauz Khas were guided by Mallya’s First Law of Alcoholism: “A medical student inside aukaat stays inside aukaat, unless propelled by parents’ money”. Hence, for a party at HKV, all I was able to afford was booze at MRP from the local theka and an auto trip to and fro. Now, that I finally have a temporary job which actually pays money, I feel old and out of place at the same pubs of HKV. Such Irony.
I went to HKV recently, and felt old, worn out and out of place, or as BJP followers say, being LK Advani. It is not just about the age, I mean I am just 24 and my best years
have been destroyed by MBBS kabhi mat karna saalo, mar jaoge are yet to come, but still I felt awkward among such a party-freak crowd(Latin for drunk and horny). Here are my reasons:
1. So You Think I Should Dance?
See, being born and raised as a Punjabi and having been fed twice daily dosage of Tunak Tunak Tun in disguise of ‘music’, most of my basic dance moves include looking like a monkey having seizures. So, it is obvious that I do not feel comfortable dancing on EDM music that sounds like a monkey actually having seizures on a piano.
2. Where’s The Company?
When I go for a party with guy friends, we are the official representative of the ‘Fukrey’ society of Delhi, and are called insulting terms like ‘Stag’ and ‘Tharki’, and when I have company of girls, HAHAHAHA WHO AM I KIDDING THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS HAVING COMPANY OF GIRLS. So, whenever I go to HKV, I can’t help but seem desperate and lonely, so that’s the only time I am mistaken for an IITian.
3. Parking Problems
Hauz Khas is probably the only place in Delhi where you can come by car, and then might have to take an auto-rickshaw from the parking to the actual village. The seating inside the pubs isn’t very generous, hence, other than one’s car, one also has to worry about finding a place to park his/her bum.
4. The Failed Threshold
Gone are my glory days where having ‘beyond limits’, throwing up, and then not waking up the next day was the usual story. Now my limit is dependent on my end-of-day frustration levels, throwing up seems too much effort on my rusty physiology. Plus no senior at work now accepts diarrhea or UTI or piles as an excuse now, so not reporting on duty next day is no more an option.
Well, somewhere between “bhai wo dekh usne kya dress pehna hai” and “Saale ghoor mat Bhabhi hai teri” to “Kids these days! Totally different fashion.”, I think I grew up.