Hosting a Bengali House Party
You'll have to master it at some point of your life.
The prep
Party, next Friday? Prep must start from at least a week before. Bengali house parties are disasters just waiting to happen, with scrutinizing aunties thoroughly scanning for moila on plates and their manic children running around the house, high on chomchoms. That one uncle just might finish all the toilet paper, Chintu may fall down the grill on his attempts to be Spiderman, that one girl who you saw gobbling beef burgers on Snapchat might decide to turn vegan for a week; the possibilities are endless. You cannot be unprepared for any of it, because gossip spreads fast. By the end of the day, the telephone wires and Facebook inboxes will have heard and seen enough slander to defame your reputation as a Bengali host. Beware.
The peeps
We Bengalis have big hearts. Unfortunately, sometimes our houses aren't big enough. But that doesn't stop us from inviting enough people to fill up a football stadium. It's like, you can't leave out that one fupi because she'll definitely find out about it from another and you'll discover a significant drop in your salami this Eid. And what if your sister's nephew's eldest son finds out from Facebook pictures, captioned "Lit Fambam", about how he was rudely excluded from said fam? We can't have that. So invite all your mamas, fupis, frenemies, colleagues, and neighbors, and perhaps that random bloke you only once met at your sister's holud. And that's how a personal gathering for your brother's farewell turns into a regular sized Momtaz concert.
The pera
You're doing it all wrong if you haven't felt like choking yourself with the wipe cloth at least twice. You're not just hosting some party, you're screaming "In your uneven foundation caked face" to the friend who said you couldn't handle so many people. Mold an impression. Wipe every inch of furniture, including the back of the shelves which no one sees ever. Make sure all your dress drawers are tip top because some random guest just might yank it open, revealing the messy disgrace of a host you are. Prepare at least one dish more than Mrs. Rahman did in her dawaat because you're the ultimate host, duh. Hold back your sarcastic retort when that friend you secretly envy says, "Ami abar eto beshi chini khai nah" and smile through your tears when her son breaks your 150-taka vase.
Now the 3 P's are just the basis of your dawaat. Then there's the fighting with your landlord about the parking of 20 extra cars, paying the chuta bua in compliments and saree bribes for staying afterhours, bringing out expensive pillow covers from the untouched pile and what not. And always, always be equipped to handle a political brawl at around desert time.
Samin Sabah Islam is on a quest to find the perfect diet while simultaneously drooling over pizza. Throw her some tips at sabahsamin11@gmail.com