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Oh Parties!

When people ask me why I dislike parties, I want to ask, 'What's to like?' But this is bad tempered of me. Actually, I have often gone to parties which have been fun and most of my friends are excellent hosts. Nevertheless, I don't look forward to going.

My problem dates from early childhood. In those days, the only type of party available was birthday parties. I would go to someone's house bearing a gift. There would be at least 20 other children present, many of whom I knew from school, some of whom were strangers, the unknown friends of my friends. All the gifts would be piled up on a table and the birthday child would look longingly at the pile, but of course it was unthinkable to open the enticingly wrapped packages until after the guests have gone. Once all the children had arrived, an adult would come along to force us to play party games. No normal child openly admitted to enjoying party games, but we played them obediently enough and it's very likely that we did enjoy them secretly. Especially since we were all given prizes at the end, regardless of whether or not we deserved to win.

The worst games were of the pass-the-parcel variety, unless the parcel had been cleverly wrapped so that it didn't disintegrate while it was being passed around, and if the forfeits were amusing not merely humiliating. Pin-the-tail-on-the Donkey was all right, except that I didn't like being blindfolded. Sometimes the organising adult would be an especially gifted one and then the games would be magical. The principal of my Montessori School, Mrs Byramji, was one such lady. One of the games was to create the most interesting pattern in coloured powders using Parsi-Gujarati powder-stencil trays. Another one involved pairs of children wearing blank face masks, no eye-holes. The challenge was for the children to draw their partner's faces onto the masks, with nothing to guide them but touch.

My mother gave marvellous parties too, with thoughtfully planned games. My favourite was the Geography Game which had the whole crowd of children swarming in search of a sequence of international cities whose names were written on posters in different rooms all over the house. But even better was the spread of food which followed an hour or two after the games. My mother knew perfectly well that the only food children really want to eat is chips and ice cream, so there were tons of that. But the sandwiches were good too and the cake itself, the centrepiece of the table, was often superb. There was one in the shape of a castle, covered in little spangles. It was made at home, by my mother and sisters, all of whom were exceptionally gifted in these matters. There was another in the shape of a clown. And all the party favours given away at the end had a circus-related theme.

The reason why these parties became a problem for me later is that by contrast, when I was old enough to go to adult parties, I found them astonishingly dull. No toys, no games, no mounds of cake. The evenings would have no focus. I can remember parties in Bombay which involved milling throngs of vaguely familiar people shuffling about in the smoke-filled darkness, deafened by raucous music, balancing plates of foods and drink, while groping or being groped. I never had my own means of transport and was too much of a ninny to take cabs alone at night, so I would find myself marooned at one of these 'railway station' parties as I called them, till someone could drop me home. Very few adults like to play party games any more and that is a shame. I can remember parties in my youth when grown-ups had a hilarious time playing Dumb Charades or setting up Treasure Hunts.

Nowadays, I have yet another reason for being unwilling to go out. I don't like dressing up. I have never had a natural flair for finding clothes that suit me and whatever I do find, however attractive it might be on its own, looks dowdy and unremarkable when worn by me. A couple of weeks ago I went to a party where everyone else was not merely exquisitely dressed but famous too. Meanwhile, I was doing bag-lady impersonations in the corner. I felt genuinely apologetic towards my hosts, because I was ruining the pretty and elegant scene just by being there! But what's to be done about it?

To change myself takes an effort that I'm not willing to make. And changing the parties takes an effort that no one else wants to make! It seems so much easier for me to avoid going to parties altogether, that I am surprised that I continue to be invited. I look forward to the day when it will be possible to attend parties electronically. Guests would create images of themselves which they would send to the party while sitting at home, talking into a mike, drinking champagne and eating micro-chips.

Manjula Padmanabhan