It could have very well been the quietest, most sober birthday I have ever had. And it almost was, as I sat back in my room filled with artificially cooled air. a whopping 38 degrees outdoors meant all my plans of treating myself to a day of fun, forcing myself to shop for some clothes, eating lunch some place nice went down the tube. I thought back to every other birthday I have had since I came to Goa. Year one was spent in happy company, on the beach, in a stream of endless beer and sea food. The following birthday, much to my surprise was welcomed at the heels of another friends birthday that was just ending. A night of mad shenanigans and way too much alcohol and dancing meant that the actual day of the birthday was spent recuperating. Low key. Painting, to be precise. Last year, I was in the throes of my entertaining best and decided to throw myself a birthday party. I ordered food, picked out a cake, invited people over and had a blast. This year though, I made no plans. Surprisingly, the usual OMG-its-my-birthday excitement was turned down low too. The day came and went, much like any other, barring the single moment where it became acutely clear that my twenty-something phase is officially over. And even that didn’t send me into a fit of hyperventilation.
So when plans to check out Butter, Panjim’s newest nightclub, were made, I dragged my feet into the shower and decided to put my birthday face on. Unbelievable as it may seem, we don’t go “partying” too often. I’m not even a super heavy drinker, never going beyond a drink or two, or sticking to my other, more mellow choice of intoxicant. The kind that makes you calm, rtaher than hyper. On any given Friday or Saturday night you’re more likely to find us at a local watering hole, laughing too loud, consuming too much pork and pretending like we own the place. Either that, or we’re holed up at home, sometimes with friends over and letting the cooking circus commence. So plans to go dancing or clubbing are met with the same levels of excitement and build-up as it used to, when I was 18. Going clubbing was an event to remember. As it is now. Every few months when we get the chance to indulge, we pull out the stops, go all out, and invariably come back with a throbbing head, vague memory of the sequence of events and way too many suspicious pictures nobody remembers ever being taken.
I should have known last night was going to be another one of those, but given how uber sober the day had been, I braced myself for an evening of mellow drinking and dinner. When we reached the club at 9, it was sparsely populated and we picked a dingy corner with high bar stools. A look around then, gave me no indication of what was to come.
Anyhoo, to cut a really long story short, it would suffice to say that the evening that ensued had everything going to make it a memorable birthday. Friends, hysterical laughter, someone to stash the stirrers, the customary bored person who chose to read a book, ridiculous requests to the DJ, inhibited small bodily movements that somewhere turned into outrageous frenzied dancing, some drinks spilled, many consumed, and way too many lost track of. All in all, a great night to remember. And a complete turnaround from the way the day had been.
When we tumbled out at 2.30 am, it was clear that the party was nowhere near done, and had we stayed we would have probably bobbed on for a few hours more. But some peeps had work to get to, pshaw! So we headed home, and I collapsed into a hysterical fit of laughter while climbing up the stairs. I have no idea what brought it on. But the next thing I remember is trying to make VC an omelette, and to do it with a poker straight face. Epic #fail.
Crawling into bed past 3 am, I just knew the effects of the night were going to hit me hard this morning. And I was not wrong. I woke up with a pounding head, that made me creep right back into bed. And not leave, till approximately 5 pm. VC was kind enough to bring some lunch for me, for a change. And I ate it in bed and collapsed right back to sleep. Many extended naps, interspersed with a Big Bang Theory Marathon, two litres of water and one Crocin later, I was able to kick myself out of bed and actually piece the night back, in a cohesive manner.
Year 29 ended with a bang. And here’s my 3 point summary.
- Alcohol is evil.
- You’re never too old to belt out a Rihanna song, totally tunelessly
- If you don’t do something often enough, its always good to indulge and go overboard once in a while
The music went all over the place from the BeeGees to Boney M to Cotton Eye Joe and Scatman, would you believe it?! There was of course lots of Pitbull and Rihanna and when a certain questionable Carly Rae Jepsen song came on, I caught myself mouthing all the lyrics, rather loudly. But this was my song of the night. And they played it three times.
As for me, my legs still hurt a bit and my head hurts if I move it too fast. I decided to opt out of catching Iron Man 3 in 3D, because I thought the glasses might make me queasy all over again. It took a whole day to get over a few hours of drinking. I guess this is what the 30s are going to be like. And I can’t complain.
Big 3-0, let’s rock.