And so, December 31: it is that night of endless quandaries — what to do? How to bring in the new year? Scoot out of town? Across the harbour to Alibag? Attend a private party and make resolutions? Engage in a dance-shance gig with EDM blasting, or just sleep by 11.30 pm? It's about the valour required to go out and face the nocturnal crowds, the nakabandi, or accepting it is a night like any other, and awaken to the new year. Choices, choices, choices.
If in Mumbai, then there's always the SoBo vs NoBo conflict. For most SoBo-ites, there's that annoying, 'We need a visa to get to NoBo.'
(A side question, if we're now called Mumbai, and not Bombay, then why not SoMu and NoMu? Just asking.)
So, this year I chose a SoBo shindig. Didn't want to get stuck on the other side of the border, i.e., the Sea Link.

So let me get the cliché, stereotypical assumptions out of the way — I chose a SoBo party because I was hoping for some dosage of retro rock. I reasoned, the burbs tend to focus on Bollywood. In my ilaka, there'll be a focus on western tunes.
Okay, dear reader, so here's the confession — judge me, sue me, but Bollywood music isn't one of my favourite genres. And Punjabi music, my least preferred choice.
(Don't get me wrong, I love Hindi cinema. Badhaai Ho, Andhadhun, Raazi — my three films of the year — side by side with A Star Is Born and Bohemian Rhapsody.)
So, it's about the music, not the movies.
I just don't want Arijit Singh cooing into my ear, when I'm socialising, or Yo Yo Honey Singh urging me to have some Dope Shope.