Gibberish

"I paint", he said by way of introduction.
"Yeah?" I nodded, thinking about dinner.
"I direct plays too", he persisted.
"I dont watch much", I insisted.

It was a long party. And the only person i had counted on had decided to back out last minute to see a match. Hell, i wanted to see that match. It was my team playing. Instead here i was at this 5-star lounge drowning in martinis, air kisses and one-sided conversation.

"Oh honey, its been ages! Where have you been?" red-lipstick-black-hair-turned-blonde-turned-brown-asked.
"Here and there" I muttered.
"How does the color look?" she preened.
"Fascinating", I said through my teeth.

A man was giving me the eye from over the bar. A woman was giving him the eye from the stage. Painter-cum-play-director was conversing with model-type-bimbette.

"Oh but i absolutely adore plays" bimbette with her hands all over painter-cum-director.
"My plays always have a social message, its absolutely imperative that they do" while guzzling another whiskey-n-soda.

Rich golden kanjeevaram sarees. Clingy black tinier-than-handkerchief outfits. Bright maroon lipstick. False eyelashes. False smiles. Face lift. walking liposuction advertisements. Plastic surgery noses. Heady scent mingled sweat mingled something else.
Married-superstar sneaking glances at wannabe-starlet. Three Mercedes, 5 BMWs and a poodle called Baleno.
Blonde-fashion-designer male bonding with top-model-turned-struggling-actor.

"No ofcourse it isnt the same dress i wore last year! How could you even suggest such a thing?"
"London, dahling! London ofcourse".
"You looks so thin, you sly thing"
"What is with that oversize tee? She must be pregant."

Nose rings. False tattoos. False breasts.
Psychotic. Psychedelic. Claustrophobic.

The Dj played "Khallas" Remixed.
I texted for the score.
Pass the martini someone.