Open Letter to New-Years-Eve-Frantic-Partiers

Dear New-Years-Eve-Frantic-Partiers

It’s that time of the year again, where you want to drink lots of booze, dance with (and occasionally feel up) lots of hot chicks, outspend the neighbours in extravagance AND the frenzied fun quotient and live the next few months (if not the rest of the year) on the laurels of “I had such a blast at the New Years”.

However, call me a spoil sport if you will. But I do not like to have fun under a gunpoint – on call, on schedule, on a particular day. Chances are I am feeling maudlin of another year gone by, a few more figurative (and the odd actual, sighhhh) grey hairs, opportunities missed and the fact that I didn’t win the Nobel Prize (or any other prizes) this year either.

But the truth is, I would rather watch ‘Nach Baliye-3’ reruns of Rakhi Sawant rather than get jiggy with inebriated oily-middle-aged-men-with-their-stomachs-spilling-out-from-their-belts who look in the mirrors and see eighteen-year-old-studs-with-six-packs-who-can-dance-like-Hrithik under that waggling flab.

I object in principle to spend 10K to get my toes stepped on and my eardrums torn – I can get that from the husband-feller for free.

I really don’t want to go through one hour of traffic nightmare (gridlocks + crowds + horns + sweat) only to end up at another purgatory (parking gridlock + crowds + himesh +sweat).

Having said that, all adventurous souls who enjoy new years – great for you. But can you please desist from asking me every other day what my New Year plans are. I probably don’t have any. If at all I do, chances are that they don’t have the words –Hotel, Holidays or Yacht in them. It’s more likely to include Television, Take-out- menu and Twiddling thumbs-or maybe if am feeling particularly brave, Pals and Potluck.

I know this sends me right back into Hicksville, but since I was never even remotely close to Hepville, I am willing to live with that.

The last half a dozen years, I have been the recipient of looks of shame (‘how can we know someone who doesn’t like to PARTY’), pity (‘do you think her disease is contagious?‘), guilt ( ‘should we invite her – but she is really not a friend you know, just a colleague’) , awe (‘ man, I have heard of such creatures, but didn’t know they actually existed’) and disinterest ( 'well I am going to Athena /Polly Esther’s /Vie ( or whatever is the flavour of 'the month), who cares what she is doing) . So I thought its about time that I share the perspective of the New-Years-Eve-Non-Partiers.

Many thanks for your understanding and sympathy.

And wish you all a very Happy New Year. May you get very drunk, score with some hot femmes and have the biggest hangover since God invented alcohol.

Cynic in Wonderland

P.S. Happy New Year to everyone.