Garba sharba

Five years in Delhi, and I'd not attended one Navratri... and here I was, yesterday, getting all excited to garba with the desi gang at Santa Cruz!
(It's curious how living in pardes makes you more desi than you were when you were in des. More on that later.)

So the usual CEO (Gaurav) called up sometime after noon, proposing we attend the celebrations at Mountain View. I had loads planned for my fifth Saturday ;-) so I got fire in my pants and finished up my work before six, when we first went to Amin's place to get something appropriate to wear (I was in my Kroger sweatshirt, with red and white stripes, white stars on navy blue, you get the picture... not the ideal desi-cultural-evening-attire). A white kurta made me happy. It was then that I remembered I'd not shaved that morning, but who cared, by then.
So we left, and on the way we remembered that we had to get cells for Amin's camera, and somebody came up with this bright idea letscallSubhashtellhimgetthecellsbe. Subhash was in Campbell at his brother's place, and was due to be picked up on the way.

Meanwhile in another car, the ladies left with poor old Shamboy (kahanfansadiyabe). After seventeen U-turns, we got to Campbell, when Subhash asked Amin didyoubringmykurta to which he wickedly pointed to me. It took Subhash four and a half minutes to understand that this was no joke, he really didn't have a kurta for free, during which time the ladies arrived, and Subhash rushed in to get his brother's shaadi's sherwani. It was no surprise, then, when fifteen minutes into the freeway he sheepishly admitted to have forgotten the eight used cells he had collected during our seventeen U-turns, back at home, in exchange for the sherwani. Anyways.

Sometime later near Mountain View we picked up Malik, and finally got to Vibha auditorium. It was past nine. Some of us, including me, didn't know that admission came in exchange for fourteen dollars, and immediately started looking for ways to get in without the trouble. We soon came to know that a bluestarsonwhiteband was necessary no matter what. (No matter what? What about the back door Shyamboy saw four guys with bands go through? Fifteen minutes into debating whether we should follow suit, Shyamboy checked again but this time the door was locked! So, we reasoned, the blue stars were emitting some authenticating fields to the doorlocks, and such trivia.) Thus we dug into our pockets anyway, but then...

... were bombed with the news that tickets were sold out, so thankyouseeyounextyearbyebye. (And then we spent fifteen more minutes shouting at Shyam for not going in with the four guys and calling us from inside.)

Meanwhile someone remembered how hungry we were, so we packed up and found a Mexican place nearby, where we had nachos and burritos and tartos and doyouexpectmetoremembereverybodysorders. Hence spirited, we went back, gangly, to Vibha, this time resolute to get in come what may. The motivation for our optimism lay in true desi bhailog community feelings, which we were confident we could stir given adequate guineapigs.

We finally (actually our very first hit) found a guy who succumbed, took fifty dollars for the whole gang as donation, and in return gave us The Eight BlueStar Bands. We got inside, it was a noisy, wild party of ABCDs and first generation desis in ghaghra cholis and kurta pajamas clicking and clucking and whirling and thumping full steam. Trust Shyamboy to find 7 sticks under the speaker wires, and nobody remembers what happened in the next half hour.