Why am I worried that my friends think I’m not fun anymore? 

In 2003, I was 20 and the poster child for ‘fun’. And this was the year Main Prem Ki Deewani Hoon released so I had stiff competition. I derived deep pride in being the girl that people called when they wanted to up the ‘fun’ factor. It was a label I craved and wanted to keep fiercely, so I downed more shots, kissed the awkward pimply guy, danced on the bar. Anything to get people talking. Sometimes, there was as much truth to these stories about me as there is to UNESCO declaring the Indian national anthem the best. But it certainly made for delicious gossip and no one was above it. Least of all, me. I enjoyed the attention. And so when I began to hear the opposite refrain a few years later — “you’re no fun!” — I had to do a double take. How dare they? I am still fun. SO. MUCH. FUN.

Sure, I had started turning down invites for weekday parties, choosing instead to slather on skincare and drink copious amounts of water. Somewhere along the way, I had traded pub crawls for nights in with my girlfriend, sprawled on her couch. If I did step out to socialise midweek, there might be the occasional glass of wine before winding up at the late hour of *gasp* 11:30 pm. The 20-year-old me would have choked on her 7th drink if she read this, but I think I’m still the definition of fun…Or am I?

What no one tells you is that when you’ve to start adulting, being the fun girl becomes less of a label and more of a cross to bear. And that when your life is a circus, you don’t always enjoy being the clown. It was on my 31st birthday that I discovered that not caring about being the ‘life of the party’ can be rather addictive too. With the guest list whittled down to eight of my closest friends — bound by their love for me and the looming threat that I would see their absence as a betrayal — it turned out to be one of the best nights of my year. The conversation was flowing, there was no undercurrent of simmering resentment. I felt loved, no one was performative including me, and everyone was fun. Yes, not just me, all of us.

As time went by, I dropped off people’s speed dial for when they wanted fun i.e. go on benders, hook up with strangers and have zero boundaries. And I found I was okay as the label started to fall away. Especially as I had begun to question what it is I was actually chasing with that label, and the answers that came back were sobering.

I now know that my ‘fun’ phase was a desperate attempt at being remembered. I was surrounded by people I thought were cooler, smarter and more accomplished — and with all the labels taken, I felt a little left out, unseen. So I went with ‘fun’. This was also a tag that came with very little accountability. Being the fun girl meant I had to take little responsibility for my actions, brushing off any blame for breaking hearts, spending too much, or being the person that had to be dropped home each time because she had passed out on the floor of the pub. It felt like a party all the time.

I try not to judge younger-me, she was getting by the way she knew how and I won’t lie, she did have a great time. But now I’m embracing current-me’s idea of a good time. It includes taking control of my narrative, setting boundaries, having fun on my own terms. I am willing to try new things with new people without any of us needing to take our clothes off. To take up activities that need me to consume alcohol to enjoy them. I see merit in waking up early and going to the gym (yes, I worry myself sometimes). You can no longer drag me to meet friends at parties, I would rather meet them in a quiet environment where we can have an actual conversation without wondering if the music is too loud or an appointment with the ENT is due. 

Crucially, I realised that the ‘no fun’ refrain I had been hearing was actually because the grapevine has nothing new to report. Perhaps they assumed implying that I was boring would have me rising back, giving the local Lady Whistledown something to write about. And maybe at one time I would have, but I’ve outgrown that impulse, and along with it, I’ve outgrown those people whose entertainment hinged on stories of my revelry.

But what I have truly come to enjoy, in such a deep, satisfying way, is being able to walk into a room with confidence. I don’t need everyone to know I am there, with the spotlight shining brightly on my face. And that is actually such a comforting feeling. I am now my kind of ‘fun’, the definition of it continuing to change and evolve as I grow older. I hold my boundaries, I own my actions, and I validate myself. Who would have thought that what I had sought all those years would find its way to me — and through me. I can drink (a glass of nariyal pani) to that!