Ode to the Ladies Club

"Beijing"
"No, that is the new name, you have to say the old name of chinese capital"
"Shanghai"!! This from the nattily-dressed Mrs- thigh -high -leather -boots -from-agra.
"Nope' The MC was fast descending into throes of despair
"Ooh,Ooh,Ooh, I remember"Mrs-pudgy-violet-pochampalli-with-shimmering gold -border piped up.
"Yes?"MC turned to face her with a faint glimmer of hope.
"It is Taiwan"So said the lady -in bengali-handloom-sari, who till now was so absorbed in her play store app on her samsung galaxy 4, that she thought nothing of interrupting her CO's wife (the pochampalli). Heaven forbid.The moment play-store- induced -fog clears from her mind,she realizes her unforgivable mistake, bites her tongue and reluctantly half-lifts her ample, taant-clad posterior, peers in the direction of mrs,pochampalli and mouths a silent "I am sorry".
The glaring look softens immediately, with a magnanimous wave of bejewelled fingers, mrs.p forgave her protege, straightened her saree, fixing the MC with a iconic-kajal-lined stare 'sahi kaha na usne?' (wasn't she right?)Lips glistening with oodles of gloss, mrs.p continued to pout.
The MC 'No, Maam.' The air in the ante-room of the mess was thick with an assortment of imported perfumes, and was under the threat of being overrun by the odour of severe disappointment.
'It is Hong-Kong' Mrs-prettiest lady-in-town-clad -in-backless-choli said with a sense of finality.
The MC mutely shook the head. "Toh King Kong hoga!!" cackled an old hag,wearing a cowboy hat; with traces of dust sitting on the hastily cleaned rim.And the room dissolves into sneers and girly giggles.
The AOC's wife(the first lady of the station) tries to salvage the situation'Give us some hints"she says testily.
"Yes,yes Hints" everyone echoes instantaneously.
'Give us the first alphabet of the word"said the bespectacled- english-teacher-from-air -force-school.
Quizmaster scans the silent last benchers, the newly weds, "the junior lot".Her hope lies there. She scans the faces, some lost, some scared, mostly indifferent. Very unlike the ladies in the front. Heavily made up faces(hours and hundreds spent at beauticians),bursting with bling and importance, sitting in their cushioned comfort(while the 'junior lot' sat on plain plastic chairs), fanning their rapidly mildewing make up with monogrammed hankies.
"P".Patna, Pithoragarh("You know what happened when I was posted to pithoragarh, listen to me na," a furiously whispered private conversation began in the middle row)
"Hai kitni garmi hai na"!!A front bencher thinks nothing of interrupting the rapidly dwindling -into-chaos quiz session, with her take on the weather, despite a multitude of AC's humming in unison, and a small plattoon of bearers, bent double with refreshments and cool drinks, silently slithering in and out of the room.
The quiz is terminated, summarily. One of the organizers comes up and announces a dance session by a nubile lady wife,to the 'authentic chinese song"ini mini ching chong". The crowd awakens to thunderous claps and wolf-whistles. The quietly sipping her -nimboo-paani-in -the -corner quizmaster is accosted by her CO's wife whispering loudly,'should have thought of easier questions, no?'raising a carefully plucked eyebrow. The quiz master opened and closed her mouth like an agonised fish.The thigh-high -boots sneaks up behind and pats her shoulder, kindly,'next time'.A sad smile. More slurping of nimbu-paani.
Today, the theme is 'chinese'. That explains the inanely 'mentally-challenging' quiz session being conducted by yours' truly.
Many of the enterprising members have gone to great lengths and "bazaars" in hunt for the perfectly chinese outfit.Like all incredible things, the hosts have turned up actually dressed as' geishas', with knitting needles sticking out of hairs, and silky , embroidered blue gowns, slit till the knee.Matching danglers completing the pretty picture, which cost a packet to put together.
The other members of the motley crowd have arrived, dressed as per their personal interpretations of chinese theme. Some wear clothes that are newly acquired, others have come because theirCO's wife is coming( an erroneous belief in the armed forces , that being in the good books of the CO's wife some how influences the ACR of the husband). Some others have come to see a good spectacle, have some gossip/ bitching session and go back feeling contended having ruined the evening for their normally-golfer-and-drinker-in-the-evening husbands, compelled to babysit spoilt fauji brats.Still others have come for the food on the menu,chaat and such delicacies.
The evening ends with an inane competition in which people try and eat noodles by chopsticks, solve su-do-ku puzzles, and try and make complete fool of themselves by carefully devised means.
The concept of Ladies'Club dates back to the days of our British rulers, where, security concerns forced 'memsaahibs ' to live in heavily fortified garrisons , in the lacklustre isolation of  rustic cantonements, while the husband was busy with' official matters'. To relieve the collective boredom, the ladies got together and played cards, silly party games, drank coolers, fanned themselves, complained about the weather , were rude to the native servant, and had a blast, in general. The scene has changed. With more and more working women marrying the officers' of armed services, these clubs become more of albatrosses around the necks.
In a world which is increasingly individualistic, these kind of forced gatherings tend to erode goodwill and patience of the hapless participants, who in true army style,are"forced to volunteer".
As I alighted from the car of our CO, which dropped each one of us home, the street lamp glinted on someone's newly acquired diamond studs, and I was reminded of my class 8 teacher(a nun)'s words-'remember, the real wealth lies in between the ears, not on them.'