Spare the Cheer. Don't happy new year.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013I'd scowl upon people who'd come and say they hate/not look forward to so-and-so date or their birthday and so on. Until realization dawned upon me. I'm one of them. I hate NYE.
I cringe at the idea of spending an evening at home whilst constantly trying to fit in the social circle. My NYE plans are always simple and same. There is homemade pizza or it's equivalent, noodles or pasta. Some form of munchies. A sullen face in one corner, staring at screens- of different sorts, all of us. My grandfather always asks us to tune in to a channel showing montage of events that stood out. Me scoffing, telling him, this isn't Doordarshan from the 80s. After a bit of cynicism control, I'm seen with a novel in one hand and drink in the other, while we sit down to watch Aaj Tak or it's tacky Indian news channel equivalent. They don't come with the montage but something ridiculous that keeps the elders at my place glued.
Glued to not give a damn about the kind of parties that are hosted outside the residence where I've spent 22 eves, doing the same thing. Sitting on my butt and watching TV. Not me, my family. I started out realizing that I could make this day better, but that's a story for another day. Sibling and I used to have a secret Santa of a sort, when my grandmum was alive and kicking. Now that I look back, I don't remember when did I stop at it. Stopped pretending that this is the best evening of the year, where I'd ring in the new year by cutting cake and running to call my then best friend to wish her. It's all a haze, all for good. Never been glad for my folks to not have been a part of the party culture. Now, I'm talking about people whose idea of crashing on NYE is 11 pm and quite frankly, I've never been glad that I've never had the misfortune of announcing how I've to look for some plan to accommodate me since my parents are out partying.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not cribbing for the lack of social festivity around me. Neither am I expressing displeasure at the choices my family made for them and me. It's only been done to acknowledge how I can't possibly fit in with the world outside. To bring in my favourite pop culture movie- Mean Girls, the way Cady found it hard to fit around at a regular school, I'm the same way when I'm thrown in a set up for party. I will never know how to welcome a new year in style and be genuinely happy about the change in date. Staring awkwardly into phone is my way of saying hi and socializing with the world. I don't do well with people in setups where my feet are crying out loud to sit and my belly is protruding out of my dress and I'm trying my best to keep my glass and the handbag infront of it to make for a stunning picture that shall adorn the newsfeed of my friends. I may not know how to party but I do know which angles give me stunning pictures. I'm smart like that. Nobody cares about parties. Pictures, however, stay.
Coming back to NYE, then, is hard. It's hard when your parents try to fit in awkwardly by constantly asking you to accompany them to subway and getting subs made for lunch and consequently to pick up wine for dinner, grand evening at home. They're trying hard to make memories that I'd carry with me but sadly, I've become so rotten at heart that I can barely sustain this game face at home. I'm as crude and as big a stubborn as it can get. I crib, throw a tantrum, yell and tell them all, how it's the worst day of the year when you're suppose to fit in a social circle and subscribe to the cliches everyone expects you to. Why can't the parentals sleep through the night? Why must be they half awake on the sofa watching some random bollywood actress gyrate and do belly dance (only to ask later, who's she and what's her claim to fame, my father, the leader of the pack of ignorant bollywood dudes).
It's also got to do with the fact that some of the best evenings as a child were spent when my grand mother was around us. Sometimes I feel that my family tries too hard to cover up for her loss by being very accommodating with the food and beverage choices. It just takes me back to time when we'd look forward to the New Year's Day and go out shopping and eating with my grand mum, a tradition we tried to continue, so far, so forced. I'm not saying that I've not had any fond memories after she passed away. These occasions shall be fondly remembered, especially when I sat in the washroom to write this while crying, as my parentals sat in the living room watching the starlet perform belly dance. Some years down the line I'd happily recount how happiness meant eating pizza and drinking pre-made tequila drink with the family while they all tried to awkwardly fit in by doing their bit.
Turns out, we are all good with birthdays. New Years, not so much. So, excuse me while I go around hating this festive season of changing dates and pretending to be happy. I'm a thorough Grinch. Stick around at your own peril.
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