A Night of Fashion &... Fun?

All I wanted was a night out. A night full of people and friends and laughter and drunken embraces. But this is Auroville, India, meaning: there aren’t many people, “friends” already built their cliques and aren’t too receptive to outsiders, and alcohol is hard to come by. I’d settle for an evening laughing, though. Even with dry strangers who didn’t really know or care aboue me.

So I was thrilled to receive an invitation to a fashion show by one of the chicest, funnest designers in town, followed by a booze-filled dance fest in Pondi. Alas, the social scene I’ve been craving! I strapped on my fancy high heels and carefully dressed in a beautiful, brand-new white shirt. I even put on make up. (Oh my!)

Of course, as with everything else, these adventures always turn out differently than anticipated… especially if you don’t know where you’re going.

It was the hour of the day when driving the scooter means you are sure to eat at least six bugs, and twice as many will find their way into your eyeballs. It’s the time when evening begins to settle over Auroville, sucking away the day’s heat and replacing it with a moist cold that chills the skin and startles the lungs. And I forgot to bring something warm.

I was clearly distracted as I scooted around the outskirts of the City the Earth Needs. After a half hour, I realized I could no longer blame it on bugs or cold—I was lost.

I thought long and hard about the poor directions I received earlier; I envisioned the map on the back of my eyelids. No use. So I drove up and down the main drag of Edayanchavadi until I found someone who spoke enough English to guide me.

He was a young man eager to please. Within three minutes he’d given me five different routes. All I have to say is this: A “water tank” here is not what you think it is. It’s a reservoir.

The “road” to the venue turned out to be a painfully familiar dirt path I’d traveled once before—the path that ruined my favorite pair of linen pants. Dodging the bumps and slamming on the brakes to avoid livestock, I shuddered at what this was going to look like when darkness took over. “Thankfully it’s not as wet as it was the last time,” I thought, recalling the red mud that took over after the rains. There were puddles everywhere, including one so large we had to dismount and walk the bike through it. I shuddered at the thought.

Then, last night, I approached the same puddle.

I stopped the bike and hung over the handlebars defeated. There it was. In front of me. A nemesis. A giant, red, muddy, wet mess I had to pass if I ever wanted to have fun again. (Or so it felt.)

The car behind me beeped. The locals from the other side passed through with ease. I crinkled my toes in my heels and patted the wrinkles from my white shirt. “Why,” dare I ask, “is everything so hard these days?”

Alas, I’m a warrior. I drove to Pondi, I can drive everywhere. I’ve already fallen into mud puddles, and I laughed about it. “JUST DO IT.”

So I did. Slowly, carefully. One beautifully heeled foot sunken into mud. A couple spatters of water on the freshly cleaned pants. But I crossed—mostly clean.

And then a cow ran into me.

I didn’t fall, but I didn’t make it to the venue feeling quite as pretty as I did when I left. Looking around the chaotic parking lot, I also noticed they were all locals. And there were more horses than clothes.

I wandered the compound for an hour. It was a horse show. The strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Young women on giant, emaciated white beasts moving around while crackled music blared through broken speakers. Where was my fashion show?!

A new light invited me to the back corner of the compound, where a hundred empty plastic chairs faced a low stage. I took my seat and lost myself in my notebook for a few minutes. By the time I looked up I realized I’d arrived just in time; suddenly all the chairs were full and I was completely surrounded. By drunk Tamil men.

Thus began the show. A remarkably attractive Australian(?) emcee. A surprisingly impressive mime. A sexy-as-hell salsa performance. And a theatrics of modeling that can only be described as fun.

Never before have I see such a thing. But it was fun, and I laughed the whole time. I laughed, surrounded by people I didn’t know, on the periphery of a desirable social clique, with the sweet smell of alcohol in my nostrils.

As anticipated, right?