I know what you'll be talking about while you drink this summer

With summer having arrived in this part of the world at full throttle - and by throttle, I mean in both its noun and verb avatars - I realise that my favourite seasonal change party is a cocktail party. I love a bar soiree because a bar is such a cosmopolitan place.

You arrive and perch yourself on a stool as if you can get up and leave anytime. Which feels far freer than being trapped at a table with a placard bearing your name on it. You order drinks - nothing could ever really be wrong with that. And then you then let the conversation flow. Yes, that's the only tricky part about a bar-top evening. It really puts your conversational skills to the test.

Are you a slow-sipping whisky tete-a-tete? Or a tequila shot garrulous sort who leaves people reeling in the wake of your gab? But here's the thing: what we consider 'private' and 'social' in polite society can be cultural. One man's mann ki baat can be another woman's bakwaas.


For instance, Americans are not shy about wearing their vote as a badge. Unlike Indians, who find 'Who did you vote for?' an intimate question on a par with someone asking them the colour of their underwear. You see eyebrows go up with the look, 'Are we really that close?' before composure returns.

Money, too, is culturally slippery on the Indian side. Americans can discuss salaries with startling openness, often in the language of self-worth and ambition. Meanwhile, Indians are masters of financial camouflage, despite living in a society deeply structured by class. We don't even casually ask each other the price of our houses, let alone discuss debt, inheritance or income. Old money whispers, new money posts receipts on Instagram, and everyone at the bar pretends to practise Indian detachment from materialism while discussing Gauravi Kumari's cut-up Gayatri Devi sari-gown at the Met.

On the other hand, we, desis, don't bat an eyelid if asked about our marital status. We have become so used to being asked, 'Are you married?' 'Any children?' since the advent of adulthood and the beginning of time by so many self-appointed aunties and other near-strangers that we have become numb to it. Westerners, quite understandably, are perfectly scandalised.

None of these topics is technically forbidden. Yet, one culture treats voting and money like state secrets, while another reacts to relationship questions as if it has been served a legal notice with the olives. Sure, a vote is a protected right, and money is quite risque. But bars are for dirty martinis and dirtier declarations. And in an age of situationships, chosen identities and endlessly revised relationship labels, it seems odd that simple questions about personal status can still shock people.

So, small talk can be culturally contested, because it can be a conversation-starter or a social faux pas, depending on which side of the world you are on. It's just how cultures are tuned.

Things can also change. The twee idea, still prevalent among PG Wodehouse admirers who mentally wear tweed even in this near 50 degree summer, that weather is the ultimate universal conversation starter has become ironic, with climate change becoming such a heated and divisive subject. Comparing AQI levels, though, can be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Food has become dangerous territory with vegans entering the scene. Some Michelin chefs have learned this the hard way after making anti-vegan jokes to unforgiving audiences, only to be force-fed humble tofu pie.

In all societies, and no matter the politics of the moment, a strict no-no at the bar is religion. This makes perfect sense because the two blessed spirits - the holy and the alcoholic - remain as separate as chalk and cheese or, if you like, mandir and bar. And inside this airconditioned shade on a Sunday, I'll bloody order a round of Bloody Mary to that.