There was an office party at Vie lounge in Juhu. At first, I was not keen on going – but later, the thought of spending an evening by the sea was too tempting to turn down.
It was a very nice evening. The lounge wasn’t too crowded and the tide was high. The al fresco dining area in Vie is so pretty. It overlooks the cleaner part of Juhu beach and is not choked with tables. There are a few tasteful seating arrangements, a small bar in the corner, some candles on dark, wooden table-tops, and that’s it.
It was very humid. So much so, that even the stars looked moist. I absolutely love this about this time of the year. Humidity, I think, is very nourishing. I like the way it envelopes you, getting your pores to open up, making you sweat. I like the way it slowly, but surely, goads the body to respond. I like the moistness that shines on the skin – making one look like one has washed the face in moonlight.
Humidity is like a sticky kind of love. It’s love that makes you glow, it’s love that doesn’t leave, and it’s love that – even you if scrub it off you – returns ever so quickly. Maybe it’s not easy to deal with, but it beats dry, distant parchness any day.
We had the members’ area to ourselves, where we spent some time chatting. But mostly, we watched Nigella Lawson’s show on Travel and Living. She’s so gorgeous! And she can cook! I suppose that would make her the most coveted woman in the world.
A friend remarked, though, that just because she’s rich and famous, she’s ‘voluptuous’. If she were just one of us, she’d be “…like…FAT.” It’s an amusing observation, but not entirely true, I think. First of all, she’s got that face…it could easily launch a thousand dips!
When Nigella was done and a yellowish man came on (peeling basils like they were envelopes laced with arsenic), we stepped out again.
The glass wall that divides the lounge from the beach represents an interesting paradox. It separates without really insulating. Let’s say you used your clout to get a seat with a sea-view – apart from the commoners in the other area. You are sitting at your pricey table, gazing at white, frothy licks of a dark ocean. But some guy, suddenly, comes into your line of vision, drops his pants, and begins peeing into the wind. Now, there’s nothing you can do about it. So you’ll use your clout, now, to go inside with the plebeians. But that place is full already. You’ll just shift your seat and sit with your back to the sea. The glass on the opposite side, however, will mirror the beach, so you can’t really escape it. It’s quite funny.
The glass wall is oddly reassuring too. Here we were, a group of people who could afford to be in this place – nursing our sweaty glasses under an open sky, making conversation, listening to polite laughter on other tables, having a good time. A group taking a well-deserved break on a Friday.
On the other side of the wall, another group was probably doing the same. Except that they were slurping coconut water and wearing assortments of parrot-green and pink kurtas with jeans or red corduroys. They were tracing some designs in the sand distractedly, wiping their brows and looking up at the sky.
In a weird way, I felt comforted. If ever I find myself on the other side of the wall, I’ll still be okay…and happy. As people with sticky kinds of love usually are.