Just like pre-menopausal women of a certain vintage feel cranky all the time, something similar happens to hosts of both sexes during pre-Diwali. Hormones rage. Hot flashes happen. Sweat breaks out. Cuss words emerge. Migraines refuse to go away. Antacids run out. Tempers fray. The only thing that remains constant is anxiety.
Diwali parties have become such a pain and bane, sensible folks leave town as soon as the first phooljadi crackles and Chinese fireworks light up the sky. The Festival of Lights has turned into a Nightmare of Stress. Especially for celebrities who have to take sides. Bollywood camps use Diwali to play more than just taash. Power games begin weeks in advance, starting with the hush hush guest list—who gets invited, who doesn’t. Which camp bags the crème de la crème, which settles for leftovers. Established mega stars host their own parties and care a damn for the ‘’other’’ thirsty lot, trying a bit too hard to make the cut. Wannabes wait it out…and start heavy duty lobbying for that precious invite from one of the biggies. Now that OTT is considered kosher, and every major star is going into a space which was considered infra dig not so long ago, clever hosts throw in a newcomer or two into the mix—nothing like a hot ‘’unknown’’ floating around and snogging strangers in the loo.
Diwali parties have always been Bollywood’s secret weapon. Games of showbiz one upmanship are delicious to monitor. Content creators went nuts after Manish Malhotra kicked off this season’s Diwali dhamaka with his own personal Met Gala. Wave after wave of Bollywood’s most glam, arrived dressed in MM outfits that shimmered more than the milky way. From Rekha, wearing three, possibly six matha pattis, four gold chokers (and to make it abundantly clear she was representing the World Gold Council), a gold saree that blinded the unwary. No flashbulbs needed. Fans wondered which promising young actor Rekha would hug, kiss and bless this year. Rekha possesses the knack of anointing the next gen star on the red carpet…frequently grabbing the startled, unsuspecting person and posing for the paps.
Manish is by far the most liked desi fashion designer—never heard anyone bad mouth the guy, which is rare in a world as savage as his. Couture cuts deep.
Also read: Mumbai measures everything in Bollywood box office terms. Even Ganesh Utsav
The art of gifting
Diwali gifting is another story. There are big ticket gifting specialists these days who curate the most creative gifts—for a big, fat fee. It’s a lucrative side hustle for socialites. Billionaire-gifting is a science worth studying. Some billionaires are plain cheap. Kanjoos. They don’t want to spend.
But still want to send cut rate trays of rubbish. They create categories—who gets what. A B C classifications. If you receive a ‘’useful’’ gift, like a thermos, know that you are the lowest in the hierarchy. If last year you received a decorative photo frame, you are Grade-2. But…if a chauffeur arrives with a valet bearing a gigantic platter ablaze with twinkling lights, mounds of fresh mogras, and limited edition products from Harrod’s…aha. SCORED!
Gifting managers start sourcing six months in advance. Forget the old days of asli sona-chaandi tofaas. With silver and gold prices giddily climbing up, gift curators are in a fix. Their bosses want the gifts to look expensive, but cost nothing. Sensing the shift and anticipating the future, most top end silver boutiques have swiftly switched to plated items. Even the silver plating has become prohibitive, mourn veterans, who are positioning brass as the new gold.
But the chindi billionaires aren’t about to give up. The art of show-off gifting in the past stopped at bottles of smuggled Dimple whisky, nestled in purple satin. Then came champagne in wicker baskets lined with silk. But commercial bubbles are no longer in vogue, as connoisseurs look at artisanal gins and exorbitant tequilas elaborately encased in cedar. It makes me laugh to think of the immense struggle to stand out in the Diwali Hampers’ competition. Gone (thank God!) is the old junk—melamine tea sets, fake crystal vases, plastic cookie jars, dreadful lemon sets, packaged bedsheets, artificial flowers, kaju katli boxes, painted diyas. Gone, too, that painful ‘woke’ brigade that sent certificates virtuously stating a tree had been planted in your name in some distant taluka. Worse—a cheque deposited in the bank account of an obscure ashram which will feed 50 hungry orphans. Think matti diyas on a jute tray created by an NGO working with children of prisoners.
Done and dusted.
Gifts that induce guilt are the worst gifts of all.
I am waiting for the return of those, old fashioned Diwali thaalis, with marigolds, colourful paper lanterns, a few laddoos, packets of pista-badams, ghar ki mithai-namkeen, and a silver Laxmi coin!
Also read: Mumbai social scavengers are a special breed—did full paisa vasooli on Bastille Day in Taj
French kiss
The snobby Galleries Lafayette stylishly arrived on Mumbai’s shores, as select invitees set sail in yachts discreetly decorated in the iconic store’s colours. A short sunset cruise around the harbour—and voila! The moment arrived! Kumar Mangalam Birla led guests through the dazzling store located in the spectacularly restored Turner Morrisson building, not too far from the harbour—an awe inspiring 90,000 square feet of uber luxury. It was all terribly chi chi—tres French. Tres chic. And with that classy coup de grace, Birla showed who’s the real boss in the world of global luxury retail.
I was hoping there’d be cancan dancers high kicking around Horniman Circle. Who knows? The formal opening of GL for the janata is still a few days away. Come on, Kumar… do it! Get les danseuses to delight us over Diwali.
Till then, I’ll settle for a dekho of the majestic corner right here in the heart of Mumbai, which appears unmistakably Paris.
Shobhaa De is an author, columnist, social commentator, and opinion-shaper. She has written 20 books. She tweets @DeShobhaa. Views are personal.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)