“Ek RC laana phull ice ke saath”, he ordered looking rather smug. Finally relaxed he sank further into his chair and let his gaze wander. He was at Malhar ; Anarkali down the road is better. However he felt a sense of belonging at this place and also he knew the waiters here by name and so he was here. Light-bulbs hung low from the ceiling were so dim, you can barely tell the person opposite you, let alone the table beside. This is where the men sipped double Officer’s Choice one after another, between heavy drags of chhota Gold’s Flake. As for the boys a beer would mean the Kingfisher Strong, reputably mixed with whiskey again with their favorite ‘Garams’. You’d be the luckiest ever to find for yourself lager and today he thought he would also indulge himself with one; after all he deserved it if the day gone by was anything to go by.
As the stereo at the counter blazed depressing notes of unrequited love he thought aloud “This izz life mahn!” And with a satisfied grin plastered over his face he recollected the day gone by……He wore his favorite black shirt today as he was asked to look presentable and entered the place. “Bling” ‘twas called and rightly so cause as he looked around he could see the guys dressed in their designer best and the girls….rather babes in their shortest! He wished his best friend Pappu was here …. Boy he’d love to see the ‘rapchik items’ here! Oh the girls with their voluptuous curves and sensual movements made him feel fuzzy. He glimpsed them groove with guys but he couldn’t decipher the reason why the gave him a disdainful look each time he let his gaze wander towards them. After all he wasn’t letching….atleast not now.
Wooing girls was a social hassle. Good girls stay among good girls; and men will be men. Never the two must mix. Families prefer it this way. Over time, he gets perturbed as he anyway turns out as someone you would never trust your unmarried daughter with. Parents will find for him a girl, once he finds himself a job. Religion and caste will protect this wonderful arrangement of class. If he gets lucky with neither a job nor, therefore, a girl, which is relatively rare, there is always dadagiri and street-activism to express his failure on others. February 14 isn’t still a date he marks excitedly on his calendar as Valentine’s Day. A boy holding a girl’s hand is for him a moment of severe envy and deep resentment. He can’t stand those lost in love. He can barely fathom the fun they have at a disco, that too dancing. He cannot have it. He’d rather have them shut down. So seeing these youngsters gyrating to loud music (which he personally found trashy) and moving so close to each other, hand in hand, only made him cringe. It isn’t that alcohol doesn’t make him, sitting in the corner, move. He dances, but only at weddings, where men gyrate against men because one of their friends is finally getting married.
So here he was surrounded by pretty chicks and happy couples all around which made his feelings of resentment reappear. What annoyed him furthermore was the sight of the females here casually sipping and smoking. Thus, the final straw was the sight of so many females openly boozing and smoking giving complete disregard to our rich culture and tradition. Such loose morals better suited the western world and not his very own neighborhood. Even if they like their apple martinis or their iced whiskies they should get sozzled at home, ideally on the terrace, under the moonlight, over aggressive business conversations. Ideally the women, the wives, are trained by tradition to serve soda and fresh pakodas on a floral plastic tray, before late dinner, and a drunken husband in bed. If he’d have his way she wouldn’t want to be near the bar; ideally nowhere close to even that paan-shop. She’ll be cat-called and stared at, until she is uncomfortable enough to leave.
So finally he reached into his pants , to the cell phone of his , and made that all important call……
Next day the nationwide newspapers screamed:
Club attacked in Mumbai by a right wing politico-religious group. The women were mercilessly dragged and beaten up by the moral police in a suburban pub …….……………
As he picked up the newspaper and read the headlines he just grinned broadly …..
As the stereo at the counter blazed depressing notes of unrequited love he thought aloud “This izz life mahn!” And with a satisfied grin plastered over his face he recollected the day gone by……He wore his favorite black shirt today as he was asked to look presentable and entered the place. “Bling” ‘twas called and rightly so cause as he looked around he could see the guys dressed in their designer best and the girls….rather babes in their shortest! He wished his best friend Pappu was here …. Boy he’d love to see the ‘rapchik items’ here! Oh the girls with their voluptuous curves and sensual movements made him feel fuzzy. He glimpsed them groove with guys but he couldn’t decipher the reason why the gave him a disdainful look each time he let his gaze wander towards them. After all he wasn’t letching….atleast not now.
Wooing girls was a social hassle. Good girls stay among good girls; and men will be men. Never the two must mix. Families prefer it this way. Over time, he gets perturbed as he anyway turns out as someone you would never trust your unmarried daughter with. Parents will find for him a girl, once he finds himself a job. Religion and caste will protect this wonderful arrangement of class. If he gets lucky with neither a job nor, therefore, a girl, which is relatively rare, there is always dadagiri and street-activism to express his failure on others. February 14 isn’t still a date he marks excitedly on his calendar as Valentine’s Day. A boy holding a girl’s hand is for him a moment of severe envy and deep resentment. He can’t stand those lost in love. He can barely fathom the fun they have at a disco, that too dancing. He cannot have it. He’d rather have them shut down. So seeing these youngsters gyrating to loud music (which he personally found trashy) and moving so close to each other, hand in hand, only made him cringe. It isn’t that alcohol doesn’t make him, sitting in the corner, move. He dances, but only at weddings, where men gyrate against men because one of their friends is finally getting married.
So here he was surrounded by pretty chicks and happy couples all around which made his feelings of resentment reappear. What annoyed him furthermore was the sight of the females here casually sipping and smoking. Thus, the final straw was the sight of so many females openly boozing and smoking giving complete disregard to our rich culture and tradition. Such loose morals better suited the western world and not his very own neighborhood. Even if they like their apple martinis or their iced whiskies they should get sozzled at home, ideally on the terrace, under the moonlight, over aggressive business conversations. Ideally the women, the wives, are trained by tradition to serve soda and fresh pakodas on a floral plastic tray, before late dinner, and a drunken husband in bed. If he’d have his way she wouldn’t want to be near the bar; ideally nowhere close to even that paan-shop. She’ll be cat-called and stared at, until she is uncomfortable enough to leave.
So finally he reached into his pants , to the cell phone of his , and made that all important call……
Next day the nationwide newspapers screamed:
CLUBBED!!
As he picked up the newspaper and read the headlines he just grinned broadly …..
