Before sunrise

I can finally say this. I am so done with clubbing. I have danced up many a storm, club hopped till breakfast, shared chemistry with quite a few on the floor, created a riot in my girl-brigade phase, fudged hostel late-passes, and sometimes made a fool of myself too.

Now, with two men (the husband and the boy), two cats, and six friends from the real world in tow, I feel almost smug. And slightly dismissive about the way people engage in the city, particularly when the sun goes down.

I guess the reason people succumb to the black hole of social grandeur in night clubs is because it insulates them. Even though the amount of clothing worn these days at such night outs is next to nothing, it still makes them feel more protected than say, meeting for breakfast.

It’s a minefield out there and nothing is as it appears. Singletons are busy scoping the scene and marking potential mates on their datometers. Couples with kids are eager to make an appearance again, almost with a vengeance so as to not appear uncool. DINKS are making the most of whatever they can get while they wait for their mutual funds or reproductive organs to surprise them. The married ones are revelling in the fact that they can still score and making a point of their partners noticing. Those married-but-available are actually acting on it and hoping their partners will not notice — a fact that has become increasingly impossible in an over-tagged, over-commented, over-facebooked world. Insomniacs are hoping that night blends into day, so they can begin tagging and posting pictures the minute they reach their dreary homes.

And no one gives a damn about the music or the deejay, although it is cool to appear knowledgeable about one or both. So while people down their shots and max out their credit cards, the clubs always have the last laugh.

And yet, why do people do this? Why are bars and clubs always full, no matter what the price tag? Simple. Because it’s easy. It involves no work. And once you are on a list, it’s just the comfort of numbers. All you have to do is show up. After all, how many house parties does one get invited to anyway? How many of your night-lifers will actually have you in their home for breakfast?

I know quite a few over-zealous party animals who look like complete fish out of water at home parties. Without the strobe lights and the haze of smoke machines and the ear-shattering decibels, they appear almost naked, speechless, move-less.

So , one of the first rules of dating is do not go clubbing. Or, at the very least, to take it somewhere else from there, given that you have, after all, met the object of your affection in a bar. Things look, sound and feel very different with Long Island Iced teas or vodka-Red Bulls in swishy bars.

As for romances that yet happen, well, you are good as long as you are in your bubble.