Tuesday: Went for a model's birthday party near the Taj and then headed to a hopping night spot that was hosting a private party.

Wednesday: Missed a Dubai launch of a leading French designer's latest line. Couldn't fly down, other social commitments.

Thursday: Went for a ladies night at a glitzy bar in south Mumbai.Friday: Attended a new designer's fashion show at Marine Plaza.

Saturday: Have to go to 1900s -- have to be seen otherwise everyone will question the state of my marriage, my bank balance and my designer wardrobe.

Sunday: Reserved for a champagne brunch at the Oberoi Hotel.

NB: Just another week ... A bit like last week, and the week before that. Oh yes! Next week seems to be taking on the same shape -- my engagement diary is already fillingup. Have to be in Delhi to catch the fag-end of the Indian Fashion Week. Rohit Bal -- `Gudda' to me -- still has to display his line. And models Noyonika Chatterjee and Gurpreet Singh get married.

That takes care of November. And December, the party season, takes care of itself.

Recession? A money crunch? No onions in the market? A law and order crisis that makes the Wild West look civilised? ``Really? Is that really happening? That is just newspaper headlines. You know you cannot believe everything you read.'' In the rarefied world of penthouse apartments where expensive fragrances mingle with the rich smell of Havana cigars, nothing comes between the chichi crowd and the latest party -- not even reality.

Not the much-talked about economic slump. Look at the new lines Beautiful Boulevard and assorted other lifestyle stores introduced to cash in on the Diwali rush. You can pick up a Rs 2 lakh watch to match your equally expensive pen -- after all, if you are cutting cheques with so many zeroes (beforethe decimal point) then you must make sure the ink will not run out.

Not spiralling prices and the shortage of onions. ``I went to Crawford Market the other day and picked up basil, thyme and some really nice broccoli. Onions? Are they out of stock? I didn't notice.''

And definitely not the fact that people are gunned down in broad daylight, just across the road from their exclusive havens. ``Is there a law and order problem? We thought Pramod Navalkar was shutting bars at midnight. But 1900s is always there and then so-&-so threw a party at home and so did so-&-so.

It is really quite nice to go for these cosy sit-ins of 200 close friends.''When the air is rife with fat bank balances and talk of sushi parties, conversation revolves around the midnight rush-hour -- the result of everyone getting into their Mercs and Beamers, at the same time, hot in pursuit of the next party spot. Two parties a night are common, where alcohol flows fast and furious and designer gear is worn as casually as the mark oftheir privilege. Who was spotted where and with who's wife, who was wearing what, and which party is everyone going to next -- is the real issue.

The crumbling facade of Mumbai as India's safest city is not cocktail conversation -- it is just happening to someone else.

The worlds of the 1900s crowd and those who catch the 19:15 Virar fast are so separate that the orbits cannot coincide. Why should a shoot-out at Bandra station mean anything to people who haven't even stopped at Churchgate for an andapao when the late night munchies hit them? If Shamiana is where dawn is brought in, where is the reason to think that railway stations are actually the lifeline of the city?

As long as there is no blood on the dance floor, who cares? Public memory is short. And if you are busy penning in your social engagements then it is easy to avert your eyes from the fact that Sunit Khatau was in a Mercedes when he was gunned down.

And yet there is a certain ugliness in this frenetic partying while the city is reelingunder a blood bath. It's almost as if everyone caught a glimpse of a bearded, dishevelled man standing at a street corner -- with a billboard claiming the end is near -- at the same time. The manic intensity of the partying has a nervous, jittery edge -- a bit like tonight's the night, tomorrow we will all be gone. And like Niro fiddled while Rome burnt down, Mumbai's glitterati parties till the sun comes down, almost in an attempt to show the world that it cannot happen to People Like Us.

Nonita Kalra is assistant editor, features, The Indian Express.