That's the way - a-ha, a-ha - I like it!

'That's the way - a-ha, a-ha - I like it!'

Twinkle Toes is slightly jittery. There's a party tomorrow, and I'm not sure if I'm going or not. My supposed date for the evening chickened out, and I'm hemming and hawing, with the obvious intention of going, but still hemming and hawing with the consummate ease of a diva balancing a dainty tush on the fence.

Let's face it: I'm a sucker for GB parties.

Flashback: my first GB party. Full sleeve crinked shirt in grey and blue that a friend had commented earlier looked 0-so gay! and black drawstrings. I enter the disc, and nurse my drink lovingly in my hand. Gorgeous men milling around. Some stare at me, and I'm a bit shy, though I've done this dozens of times in Delhi. But this is Bombay, and Bombay boys stare at you and smile at you and dare you to come over to them. It's not like Delhi, where everyone's a snob or a muscle mary, and as soon as you get on the dance floor, there's a hand grabbing your crotch or a tongue in your ear. Bombay plays it cool. Bombay makes me sweat.

Eventually, though, I find someone to talk with. I flirt with him, compliment him on how good he looks, how sexy he dances, and I press myself up to him, while the DJ plays Kevin Little. At the end of the party, I leave with him, and we screw till late in the night. Yes, that's the way we false Punjus do it in Delhi.

Flashback: to the last GB party I went to. Recently broke up with boyfriend, I'm the only singleton amid a gaggle of friends who are all couples, and I feel like the proverbial kebab mein haddi. Recently recovered from jaundice, so I can't even get drunk. I stand like a wallflower against one of the pillars, nursing a glass of suddenly insipid pineapple juice in my hand.

It's bloody hot in here, too many people have showed up because it's the Holi weekend, and I'm sweating bullets just standing. A couple of jocks passing by flash me a grin or a stare (mostly, a stare), and I try to sip my pineapple juice as seductively as I can. Not happening. Outside, it's cooler, and while there are a whole lot of guys lounging around, I know none of them, so going out to gawk and be gawked at is simply not an option. They're playing another chhammak chhalo number, and I yaawwwwwwwwwn.

Yawn disappears, when ex-boyfriend passes by, with friend. I grin and say hullo, how d'y' do? and he looks at me intently, as if looking for semen stains all over my body. His friend, who was o-so chummy with me, till the other day, now looks through me. After a couple of minutes' freezing conversation, the duo depart, leaving me to my solitary non-reaping wallflower act.

And then it hits me: OMG!!!!! Have I lost it??!!!!