Pande’s be hosting!

HIYO! I am back!

I’ve not written in what feels like ages and, to be fair, I think I’ve forgotten how to write. Before you go on to read whatever’s in store today, I wanna take you through the entire year up until yesterday in about a paragraph or two.

The year started in Lucknow. Went to Calcutta for my grandparents’ 50th anniversary. Gave exams. Hosted a get-together. Saw Def Leppard live. Turned fucking 17. Jesus. Almost went for Scorpions but the idiots cancelled. Wrote 65 pages for Legal Studies’ project, 60 for PE, 56 pages of information on A4 sheets and 60 pages of A3 sheets with photos and titles and all for Pol Sci, wrote some 50-something for English, finished the vacation, watched the entirety of FIFA, which started the fuck-up in my sleep schedule, studied for the unit test, gave 3 tests, caught the most fuckall swine flu ever, studied some more, gave midterms, sleep still fucked btw, stayed up till 6 am ramo-ing garba, got my results, continued studying, didn’t go to school for a week cuz Dad had a thing, prepped for the Diwali party yesterday.

The latter is what I wanna talk about.

You’ve celebrated festivals, I’ve done them too, and they are never not fun to celebrate, but this year was epic. Hear me out.

In my opinion, the best parties ever held are at B-204 Paarijat. That is not because the others do it badly or that we don’t enjoy ourselves enough, but it’s just that at B-204, I, the child of two kickass people, along with said people, host others over. I LOVE being a host. I LOVE organising parties. It’s my thing. Or it will be my thing once I’m an adult? Cuz technically right now Mum and Dad are the wallets for it all lol.

It’s not just having someone over unannounced, calling in pizzas and having a beer or two that makes a good host. It makes a great host because you’re comfortable enough to show up at their place and still have a good time without having to pre-plan it all. I believe I am, hopefully, that host.

That aside, when you need to hold bigger get-togethers, there is a shit ton of stuff that needs to be sorted. It started back in late August, September, that okay, we’re hosting. Mom came to me and was like, baby, make the save the date pehle, and that is the beginning of why I love being a host.

My save the dates/invites will always reflect me and some aspect of my humour, personality, persona, whatever you wanna name it. It’ll have 007 theme music, the entire thing made like a Mission Impossible movie, which later Mumma will reject because she doesn’t get those references lol. It’ll have Bollywood goated references, upbeat music, funky text, lights, colour, something that required me to chew off ChatGPT’s brain, etc etc.

I don’t even know about the guests, but I’ve watched my save the date and my invite for the Diwali party N number of times. I mean, I made them. I’m allowed to admire my own work.

So the actual prep started a week before. From getting lights, to flowers, to confirming food, to confirming the guest list, deciding the outfits, picking up cute decor, getting out all the decor already at home, setting things up, looking for ideas on Pinterest, having Mom call me mid-shopping to pick up a few more things, getting Mom to rest so that she enjoys the evening, forcing her and then all the women to wear sarees, and so much more that I don’t remember.

And the thing is, I enjoy ALL of it. Even the running around. Even the tenth trip to check whether we have enough glasses. There’s something so satisfying about having a vision in your head and slowly watching it take shape. You see a random picture on Pinterest, think hmm, we could do that, then spend the next twenty minutes figuring out how to make it work in your own house. I did that. I can’t begin to explain how proud I felt.

Then there’s the shopping. Oh, the shopping. You go out to get three things and come back with twelve, seven of which you didn’t know you needed until you saw them. Mumma will remember something else halfway through, call me, and suddenly we’re adding another item to the list. The list, by the way, is never actually complete. There’s always something. Always.

It’s like waiting for a vacation. You start two days before, decide places, put diyas, get flowers, put them on skewers to make decor, order tonic water, sodas, cut up limes, wait for the food to arrive, put that up, turn the lighting to yellow, light up the diyas and then finally go and get ready.

There’s also this very particular feeling just before the guests arrive. Everything is ready, or at least you have convinced yourself that everything is ready. You’ve checked the lights, checked the food, checked the drinks, checked the flowers, checked the lights again for good measure. And now you’re standing there wondering whether people will notice the little things you’ve spent so much time putting together. Will the music work? Will everyone have a good time? Will the food be enough? (The last one is a very serious concern in an Indian household. And safe to say there’s always plenty!)

And then the people start arriving.

The second they do, there’s just laughter, love, warmth, photos, good music, dancing, catching up on things, more laughter, more eating, more photobombing, and seeing all of that makes me the happiest.

There’s something about watching a house transform once people walk in. The lights are the same, the flowers are the same, the furniture is in the same place, but suddenly everything feels different. The house has a pulse. There are conversations happening in every corner, somebody is laughing a little too loudly, somebody is looking for somebody else, somebody has already found the food, and somebody is probably asking where the music is coming from. And you stand there thinking, yes. This. This is exactly what I wanted.

Mumma is the host up until the start of the party, and then she’s supposed to let loose and enjoy herself. So naturally, I take over. Refilling water, getting somebody mutton or fixing up a drink, somebody something else, while in between grabbing a bite or two, making Mom and Dad eat because the two of them become so hospitable that they forget to eat, changing the music in between, laughing some more. Basically, running a small hospitality enterprise while simultaneously trying to attend my own party.

There is a funny little difference between attending a party and hosting one. When you’re attending, you can just show up, look nice, eat, dance, talk to people and go home. When you’re hosting, you’re doing all of that while having approximately seventeen other things running in your head. You’re talking to someone while mentally calculating whether the starters have been replenished. You’re dancing while wondering if somebody has been offered a drink. You’re taking pictures but also keeping an eye on whether Mumma has actually eaten. It’s a full-time job, really. Paid, might I add. In gratitude. In leg presses from dad because I’ve pulled something, in the form of sleep till it’s lunch time.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I also think there’s a certain joy in being able to anticipate what people might need before they ask. It’s the little things. Knowing who likes what, making sure somebody gets the dish they’ve been waiting for, remembering to put something aside, noticing that someone’s glass is empty. Nobody is going to write home about being handed a glass of water, but it’s these tiny things that make people comfortable.

And then there are the people themselves. Our gang. The one-piece people, the old ones, the new ones, the ones who have been around forever, the ones who are still figuring out adulthood, and the ones who have apparently figured it out but I have my doubts. All of them have their own little groups, their own jokes, their own conversations, and somehow it all comes together under one roof.

Some of them have known me since I was little, some have watched me turn into whatever this is, and some have met just this version of me. They’ve all, in their own ways, adopted me into this rather large adult tribe. And I love that. I can walk up to them, interrupt a conversation, ask for something, make a stupid comment, or just sit around and listen to them talk. There’s a certain comfort in that.

One of my favourite things is watching Mum and Dad with their friends. Because for most of the day, they’re Mumand Dad. They’re the people I ask for things, argue with, bother, and occasionally make run around for my own convenience. But at these parties, I get to see them as their own people. Laughing at jokes, catching up with friends, dancing, being silly, and just enjoying themselves. It’s nice. Really nice.

And I think that’s another reason why I love hosting. It’s seeing everyone in one place, watching conversations happen that wouldn’t otherwise happen, and knowing that for a few hours, everyone has put aside whatever they were doing and is just here.

The party eventually ends, obviously. The food gets packed away, the music stops, the lights go off, and the house slowly returns to normal. And after all that running around, there is this very strange satisfaction in looking at the place and thinking, we did that. We had everyone over, everyone ate, everyone laughed, everyone had a good time. And then, of course, you realise just how tired you are. But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Or, more accurately, after lunch the next day.

I don’t know if this is something that comes from growing up in a house where people are always welcome, or if I’ve just developed a slightly concerning obsession with organising things. Probably both. But I know that I want my own home to be like this someday. A place where people can just show up, where there’s always an extra plate, something to drink, food to share, and a playlist that’s hopefully got carefully curated music playing somewhere in the background. A place where nobody has to think twice before making themselves comfortable.

And I hope B-204, or wherever the nameplate reads Pandes, always remains that kind of place.

Diwali was just one occasion. There will be birthdays, anniversaries, random get-togethers, and probably some completely unnecessary excuses mom will have to have people over. I already have ideas for the next invite.

So if anybody has a reason to celebrate anything, please let me know. I have invites to make.

I love doing them.

As ever,

Ambika