If you are not a self-proclaimed expert of something or the other, you are simply not on ‘The List’. Whether it’s art, literature, wine or yacht, your life must boast of a high luxury quotient without, however, appearing to be consumed by it.

Do your homework well, tread carefully and take your cue from the hostess of the evening's celebration. Bandana Tewari fine-tunes the subtle art of being the perfect invitee at champagne soireés and sumptuous ‘sit-downs’.

The good thing about real parties in Indian metros (just keep that to Delhi and Mumbai for now) is that there are no VIP areas. The hostess will boast, after a few Martinis, that the whole house is a VIP den. The preoccupation of hosting a party requires a certain nonchalant flair, like whipping up the perfect camembert soufflé. It must be fluffy yet rich; warm and comforting, but just enough; lest it linger towards philanthropy, or worse, a confessional booth of mother-in-law woes. In fact, take your cue from what the lady of the manor hangs around her neck – if it’s a serpentine gold and leather necklace (that can double up as a whip), the message is quite clear – she wants her party to be chic and saucy. So keep your sob stories to yourself.

The hostess may be the definitive picture of composure and an unending deluge of beatific smiles, but she has a darn tough technical role as ‘production controller’. She is no less than a seismologist, who charts the rise and fall of volatile energies that can make or break a peaceful circumstance, such as this – La Dolce Vita, caught in a seductive loop of laughter and champagne. In faux alarm, you may exclaim: “Goodness! Life can be very daunting. Remember those days when ‘I’m having a party’ meant scrounging in your friend’s cupboard for clean party clothes and cheap trinkets and dousing yourself in a vitriolic mix of rum and coke and boyfriend blues!” Well lady, some of us grew up. But some, being more equal than others, learnt how to throw a perfect party.

The Aficionado’s Party

To be invited to this party, you have to be an aficionado and, of course, know how to spell it. If you are not a self-proclaimed expert of something or the other, you are simply not on ‘The List’. Whether it’s art, literature, wine or yacht, your life must boast of a high luxury quotient without, however, appearing to be consumed by it. You must also have a commendable vocabulary of esoteric terms that relies on calling something as inane as a manicure, cuticle management. You must pepper your talk with synonyms and antonyms while describing the virtues of your current pet preoccupation, relying on a formula of social hierarchy that I fear Charles Darwin didn’t pay much attention to: the more material your taste, the more philosophical the explanation. Tread carefully. If you arrive without doing your homework on your ‘intellectual acquisitions’, chances are you will be ensnared into a world of facetious ‘isms’ that dwindle your life into existential hell. Take your pick and brush up your theories; there are enough floating around: Actionism, Stuckism, Aestheticism (not Criticism) and more. Just remember Post-Modernism is passé and Voyeurism doesn’t apply here in the strictest sense.

The Emissary’s Party

If you fly over Croatia and suddenly acquire a Slavic accent, this party is for you. It is here that the hostess takes the idea of ‘global village’ very seriously and will invite the equivalent of the Benetton advertisement to her backyard. Try and rely on some expensive autobronzant tente, if you have not acquired a natural tan of a faraway land by the time you arrive here. See, 99 per cent of the time, a perfect tan is a great opener, as in: “My, my, where is the holiday flush from?” This will allow you to wax lyrical about where you went, what you ate and how many men surrendered to your charm, all in one breath.

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