The Disguised Kitty Party

She had her best crockery out.

'Was that really Villeroy and Boch...' I did a mental gulp.

She smiled, adept at reading gulps, even if these were silent. 'We got those when Satish was posted in Germany...' the story went.

The maid brought out the samosas, cakes and mini pizzas for the kids. Thankfully not on the V&B, I gulped again, given my son's love for flinging unsuspecting pieces of crockery available within his grasp.

The kids played in the nursery, watched by the maid, who had been asked to stay back. The mums lounged on the Italian couches and admired the Plasma. 'It should have been in the TV room but the points you know...'

Two days later, the scene was replayed. In a slightly sober setting and without the V&B grandiose. No Italian couches this time but a perfectly well-kept home, fresh flowers in crystal vase, neatly displayed child's room and better finger food.

"It's a good thing it's been raining," smiled mum no. 2, whose house it was and faced the audience, "so whose turn is it next?"

And then it hit me. Hell. This was the kitty party in disguise!

There are five kids in the building in and around the son's age. Actually there are several more. However, in those blissful early months when monkey just lolled around in the pram and gurgled, I paraded it round the building and struck up some sort of a 'we're-all-mums-in-it-together' rapport with these five, two of whom were familiar faces from the lift.

We'd meet downstairs with the kids, take them to the park or simply let them run around. Some of them would meet regularly, some like me would at times be dragged out kicking and screaming by a super energetic toddler waiting to meet his friends.

Then came the rains. And a weather that no mom trusts a kid with. So we started meeting in each other's homes, simply because the kids liked it.

Or so I thought.

As it turns out, these 'informal' playdates are an excuse for showing off wedding lehengas and gilt-edged crockery. Of course, it's not labelled a kitty party, because that's so behenji, isn't it?

Invitations are extended a day or two earlier these days, irrespective of the weather. I'm dreading my 'turn' because I shall serve chips, chai and chocolate flakes in unbreakable melamine plates and surreptitiously beg the husband to come home earlier than usual.

Wondering if the son will lose any friends!